The Creativity Continuum

April 11th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Quote:

Creativity is usually figured as a highly unusual episode in human behaviour, a rupture or breakthrough in an otherwise seamless, continuous, relatively predictable stream of thought and action. Most theoretical models of individual creativity match this intuition, containing such elements as ‘illumination’ in which hidden processes somehow intervene in our normal cognition and provide, for example, the creative answer to a problem, the idea for an artwork, the outline of a new invention or theory.

This paper will argue (after Perkins) that this image of creativity as separate from the everyday processes of living and working is incorrect and is driven more by a romantic ideal of ‘the possessed individual’ than close observation of creative acts themselves. It will be demonstrated, rather, that creativity is, in fact, simply the name we give to one part of a continuum of perception and awareness.

Perkins, D. N. (1981). The mind’s best work. Cambridge, Mass.; London, Harvard University Press.

Unquote

This is more like it. The presentation was concise and well illustrated with examples.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Creativity, Illumination, Perkins, David | No Comments »

Consciousness: the explanatory gap

April 11th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Some of the papers on psychology and consciousness might be interesting. This from the abstracts:

This paper will build on work done by McGinn (1989) and others since, in identifying the explanatory gap that exists not between any proposed mechanism for consciousness and an adequate method for demonstrating the factual status of this proposal, but the gap between any such claim, however well authenticated, and the extent to which this explanation is experienced as ’satisfactory’. The philosopher of science JBS Haldane, speaking of certain aspects of 20th century physics, famously remarked that ‘The universe may not only be queerer than we think, but queerer than we can think’.In making this remark, Haldane was not indicating that data could not be collected, hypotheses developed, tests carried out, and progress made in these difficult areas.Rather he was referring to the inherent difficulties in understanding the results of such processes in a way which was ’satisfactory’ or which had ‘intuitive appeal’. A significant amount of scientific knowledge that has accumulated in the last 100 years has been exactly of this nature, and it is an accepted fact of life that advanced theories in quantum science, astronomy, etc are likely to be non-visualisable, disembodied, and often counter-intuitive.Such theories and models Given this as a condition of advanced knowledge it seems extremely likely that any description of the mechanisms of consciousness are similarly disembodied.

McGinn, C. (1999). The mysterious flame: conscious minds in a material world. New York, Basic Books.

Haldane, J. B. S. (1927). Possible Worlds: And Other Essays. London, Chatto and Windus.

I was glad I made the effort to hear this one.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Haldane, J.B.S., Knowledge, McGinn, Colin, Philosophy, Physics | No Comments »

The Cybernetics of Mind

April 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Since I can’t get to all the presentations, I will be posting some of the more interesting (to me) sounding abstracts here verbatim. As follows:

Libet (2004) famously observed that the intention for carrying out an action, contrary to expectation, does not precede the initiation of that action, but actually follows slightly after it.The implication of this is that the conscious ‘willing’ of an action is an illusion and that the conscious mind is, in effect, a witness to the actions of the unconscious to which we attribute the illusion of control.This finding, if correct, has profound consequences on our notion of intention and of the concept of ‘free will’. A significant interpretation of Libet’s results is one in which it is proposed that the conscious mind, the ‘will’ if you like, whilst it may not be the originator of action, nevertheless has the right of veto. In other words, an action initiated by the unconscious, when presented to the conscious mind, may be blocked such that the action is not carried out.

It will be argued here that this identification and selection of action by the conscious mind, which may seem through this description as corresponding to a police action or a restraint, is unlikely to be experienced as such. Provided an appropriate action is initiated swiftly enough that the conscious mind can effectively say ‘yes’ to it (i.e. not exercise its right of veto) it is likely that the selection of right action and the avoidance of error is experienced as simply the flow of everyday life. This proposal will be developed through an extended visual metaphor in which consciousness is represented as the ’steersman’ of the ship of cognition, navigating an oceanic phenomenal universe of experience.

Libet, B. (2004). Mind time: the temporal factor in consciousness. Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Free will, Libet, Benjamin, Metaphor, Time | No Comments »

The View from Everywhere

April 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Normal waking consciousness is a located phenomenon supported/created by sensory organs which orient the normal conscious mind as a point or body in 3-dimensional space. This is particularly evident when considering the visual sense, which transparently places the individual at the centre of space and arranges the furniture of the world in relation to that central location, (although it is likely that the proprioceptive sense is even more potent in this positioning of consciousness).

A common feature of the experience of ‘enlightenment’ is a weakening of this sense of a located consciousness such that one feels oneself distributed across, and in some cases in union with, a wider environment than a point or body.

A more everyday version of this extension of the located self, which gives a suggestion of the phenomenological changes which take place in moments of enlightenment, can be found in the experience of binocular vision. The distinct difference between a two dimensional image and a 3-D space parallels, in a small way, that between 3-D space and the expanded field of consciousness experienced by the enlightened mind.

Nagel writes about ‘the view from nowhere’ in his critique of empirical objectivity, seeming to indicate a visual metaphor in which knowledge which is assumed to have a viewpoint is accorded the unique distinction of seeing everywhere and everything, like a giant omniscient eye hovering over the otherwise horizontal plane of usual (viewpointed, perspectival) knowing.

Posted in Centre, Consciousness, Nagel, Thomas, Space, Up | No Comments »

Attention Grabbing States of Mind

April 18th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The central question asked by this presentation is; does the state of a person’s mind affect their ability to attract attention. Secondarily to this, is such a correlation exists, what mechanism might be posited to explain this effect.

A series of trials have been carried out which strongly indicates that a factor in the ability of a person to attract attention, is indeed the particular state of mind of that person. Certain brain states, and even certain contents of consciousness, seem to be able to generate different level of this attention grabbing quality, (sometimes referred to as presence).

A number of possible hypotheses present themselves for rejection immediately. It is unlikely that there is some as-yet undiscovered force or substrate through which states of mind might be transferred non-materially (c.f. Sheldrake’s ‘The Sense of Being Stared At, 2003′). It is also unlikely, though not physically impossible, that this effect is the result of an underused and possibly unconscious faculty of the senses, such as the sense of smell; maybe people with presence simply smell different. This idea is explored by Teresa Brennan in relation to the ‘Transmission of Affect’ (2004). A third option, which will be offered here, is the hypothesis that certain states of mind or conscious thoughts produce subtle but measurable differences in the physical presentation and behaviour of the person, particularly the co-ordination of different sub-behaviours such as gaze direction, angle of the head, visible breathing patterns, and small movements of the extremities, particularly the fingers.

Brennan, T. (2004). The transmission of affect. Ithaca; London, Cornell University Press.

Sheldrake, R. (2003). The sense of being stared at: and other aspects of the extended mind. New York, Crown Publishers.

Posted in Attention, Brennan, Teresa, Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Sense, Sheldrake, Rupert | No Comments »

Can a Brain be Creative, and would we know

April 19th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Last night’s paper (presented at midnight in a disused church for some reason!)


In ‘Can a robot be creative, and would we know’, Margeret Boden (in Ford, 1996) identifies two types of creativity, each associated with different domains. That which she calls ‘H-creativity’ (for Historical) is associated with actions and artifacts which have never been produced before anywhere (or at lease not anywhere in the culture). These artifacts are usually applauded as genuinely original; unique solutions to old problems, new scientific theories, patentable inventions, copyrightable artworks etc. What Boden refers to as ‘P-creativity’ (for Personal) is only creative in the limited domain of personal experience. Although the person carrying out the creative act may be doing it for the first time, the actions and artifacts produced already exist in the wider domain of culture. It follows from this that whilst all instances of H-creativity are also P-creative, the reverse is not true.

In this paper I propose a third level at which this process occurs, call it ‘C-creativity’, in which the ‘C’ stands for ‘Consciousness’, and which corresponds to the creative formation of new unities of phenomenal experience. Here the domain is that of working memory to which new sensory experiences are introduced with each passing moment.

Ongoing phenomenal consciousness, in this model, therefore parallels the ‘body of knowledge’ which makes up a domain within H-Creativity, and to the ‘body of personal experience’ which forms the domain within P-Creativity. Just as in these larger scales of creativity, C-creativity is a dynamic process and the body of consciousness it produces is constantly evolving, not in the sense often used by new age gurus etc. but in the routine flow of everyday awareness. To paraphrase Boden’s original question, not only would we know whether a brain can be creative, but knowing itself is a deeply creative act.

Possible neurological correlates of this process will be discussed and suggestions made concerning the implications of an evolving consciousness.

Ford, K. M., C. N. Glymour, et al. (1995). Android epistemology. Menlo Park Cambridge, Mass., AAAI Press; MIT Press.

Posted in Boden, Margaret, Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Creativity, Phenomenology, Story | No Comments »

Creativity and Selective Forgetting

April 22nd, 2006 Fred McVittie

The moment of ‘illumination’ within a creative process in which a sudden insight, breakthrough, or intuitive leap is made, has been show to be decomposable into a number of discreet conscious stages. This contradicts the naive experience (and romantic mythology) of these moments, in which the creative outcome is usually reported as emerging fully-formed into consciousness, having been produced through non-conscious, non-personal means, (these means usually involving ‘the unconscious’, or occasionally a deity or muse. The feeling of ‘illumination’ furthermore, has been shown to occur after these conscious stages have been gone through and is accompanied by a kind of selective forgetting, in which, unless particular attention is paid, the intervening stages between problem and solution are forgotten, leaving only the illuminated moment. This phenomenon will be discussed in the context of the Baars Global Workspace model of consciousness.

Baars, B. (1997). In the theater of consciousness: The workspace of the mind. New York, Oxford University Press.

Posted in Baars, Bernard, Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Creativity, Illumination | No Comments »

Liquid States of Mind

April 26th, 2006 Fred McVittie

William James (1892) famously uses the term ‘Stream of Consciousness’ to describe the unbroken succession of images which seems to characterize the flowing, river-like experience of wakeful awareness. He also writes of the ‘oceanic’ feelings associated with religious experience (1902), an entailment picked up by Freud (1973) and Clement (1994) and which also figures in first-person accounts of certain varieties of peak experience; a feeling of unbounded unity with the wider cosmos and an apparent dissolution of the boundary between self and world .

These two images, the stream and the ocean, can be seen as complementary features in an ontology, or rather a ‘hydrography’ of consciousness; at one extreme the subject is defined by the path of their individual stream; delineated, bounded, and temporal. At the other extreme the subject dissolves into a larger substrate, an all-encompassing, atemporal ocean. These two terms for particular radically different states of consciousness are entailments of an extended metaphor in which the operation of the mind is compared to the behavior of a liquid.

The metaphor does not just allow for these two entailments, but structures a range of discourses related to consciousness from the fields of psychology, technology and phenomenology. These include Csikszentmihalyi’s notion of flow (1990; 1997) immersion (Grau 2004), thought ripples (Greenfield 2001), and absorption (Gurwitsch 1979).

This deployment of a liquid metaphor in talking of consciousness has a long history and extensive current (sic.) use. Water, particularly, features significantly in many of the world’s religions and in mythological texts as a medium for describing cognitive states or processes which would otherwise be inconceivable, the most familiar of these probably being the Greek legends surrounding Lethe and Mnemosyne, the rivers of forgetting and remembering. Drawing on the Conceptual Metaphor Theory of Lakoff and Johnson (1999) and others, this metaphor can be shown not to be arbitrary and contingent, but as providing a consistent, coherent structure whereby the abstract notion of consciousness is made conceivable and articulate.

Clement, C. (1994). Syncope: The Philosophy of Rapture. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow: the psychology of optimal experience. New York, Harper & Row.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1997). Creativity: flow and the psychology of discovery and invention. New York, HarperPerennial.

Freud, S. (1989). Formulations Regarding The Two Principles in Mental Functioning. The Freud Reader. P. Gay. New York, Norton: 301-306.

Grau, O. (2003). Virtual art: from illusion to immersion. Cambridge, Mass., MIT Press.

Greenfield, S. A. and T. F. T. Collins (2005). A Neuroscientific Approach to Consciousness. Amsterdam, Elsevier B.V.

Gurwitsch, A. (1979). Human Encounters in the Social World. Pittsburgh, PA, Duquesne University Press.

James, W. (1981). The Principles of Psychology. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press.

Posted in Clement, Catherine, Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Csikszentmihalyi, Mihalyi, Flow, Freud, Sigmund, Greenfield, Susan, Gurswitch, Aron, James, William, Liquid, Metaphor, Phenomenology, Psychology, Religion | No Comments »

Naive Theatre and Consciousness Research

May 7th, 2006 Fred McVittie

A number of significant explanations and criticisms of mind and consciousness use the metaphor of performance and theatre. Concepts such as ’scripts’ and ‘roles’ populate consciousness theory and psychology more widely, and of course the origin of the word ‘persona’ lies with the Greek word for theatrical mask. Bernard Baars particularly uses many of the entailments of this metaphor in his Global Workspace theory, including the ’spotlight’ of attention, the darkness in which the audience sits, and the unconscious mental systems that take place ‘behind the scenes’. The model of a theatrical consciousness is also deeply embedded in the popular imagination and in the principles of naive psychology. Even the elimination of the audience from this model, as argued effectively by Daniel Dennett, does not collapse the rest of the edifice.

An attractive aspect of this metaphor which may help to explain its resilience is that it seems to bring with it an explanation of consciousness which captures something of phenomenal experience. The ‘theatre of consciousness’ feels intuitively satisfying as an explanation for what it is like to be alive and awake, where other, perhaps more purely physical descriptions do not. This intuitive satisfaction however, comes at the cost of simplifying theatre to an extent which makes it unrecognizable to anyone with more than a passing familiarity with theatre itself. Modern performance theory demonstrates that the combination of components used within the metaphor; darkness and light, spotlights and scenery, active actors and passive (or unnecessary) audience is not how theatre works at all. As a source metaphor, it is as naive as some of the models of consciousness to which it is applied.
This paper will unpack the theatre metaphor in terms of contemporary performance studies, outlining the ways in which it departs significantly from actual theatre practice and theory, whilst acknowledging that the metaphor does correspond to a folk understanding of theatre.
Finally, consideration will be given to what significance there may be in the fact that both a naive understanding of theatre and an understanding of consciousness share a common conceptual structure.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Consciousness, Theatre | No Comments »

Overlapping concepts using the metaphor of light

May 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

It is proposed that a key metaphor linking consciousness, presence, creativity, and enlightenment is that of light. Metaphorically they concepts all draw upon the image of moving into the light and out of the darkness.

1. The ‘light’ of consciousness is contrasted with the eldritch (and possibly forbidding) darkness of the unconscious.
2. Illumination is the stage of a creative process when a breakthrough or solution emerges into the light of consciousness, often characterised as a ‘light bulb moment’, or a ‘flash’ of inspiration.
3. Presence is the theatrical phenomenon of being entirely there, in the light of the present moment, (and often in the literal spotlight), as opposed to being partially or entirely elsewhere; in the wings, in the dressing room, offstage.
4. Enlightenment is the state of being in which one can see clearly through the shadows of illusion and ego that make up the world and the self.

This overlap of conceptual structure will be discussed, particularly in relation to the well known metaphorical relationship between seeing and knowing.

Posted in Consciousness, Creativity, Enlightenment, Illumination, Knowledge, Light, Metaphor, Presence, Seeing, Theatre | No Comments »

Counting Clover

May 18th, 2006 Fred McVittie

I’ve been thinking about that Clover.

Maybe the reasons why the four-leafed clover is jumping out at me is that I am somehow non-consciously primed to look down at the clover and give it minimal attention, (even though I have no conscious awareness that I am doing this). This primed looking must somehow involve subitizing the number of leaves because if I was counting or estimating the number I would have to be conscious of the act. As far as I know the evidence is pretty conclusive that there are (at least) two ways of perceiving numbers (Kaufman, Pylyshyn, Trick, Dehaene, etc.) and subitizing, which is innate and immediate, is the only one that seems to be able to operate non-consciously.

Posted in Attention, Clover, Consciousness, Mathematics, Story | No Comments »

Creativity and Presence

July 13th, 2006 Fred McVittie

There seem to be two key strands of concern that I am developing an interest in, at least to the extent that I keep finding myself at presentations concerning these ideas; these are presence and creativy. I guess something I would like to do would be to find a way of thinking of them as part of the same gestalt, or having a similarity of structure. There does seem to be a relationship of shared metaphor, particularly in relation to the metaphor of light, which (sort of) figures in both concepts. For now, I am assuming there is a link between theatrical presence (i.e. an assessment of presence carried out be an outside observer or audience) and presence as signifying an individual, phenomenological feeling of being exactly here, precisely now.

In performances which have presence, the moment of continuous becoming which marks the ‘being in the moment’ of performance, can be considered as a constant ’stepping into the light’, a state of wakefulness and breaking consciousness.

In creative processes there is (usually) a moment in which connections are made, solutions are revealed, intuitive leaps are made, and this moment is often termed illumination. In this case the light is that of conscious awareness. There is a feeling that the creative process has been proceeding in the darkness of unconscious processing, and that the end result is forced up or brought forth into the light.

In terms of training, assuming that these metaphors have any validity, there is clearly a benefit to be gained by both performers seeking to improve their presence and others wishing to improve their creativity by working on this shared moment of enlightenment.

Posted in Consciousness, Creativity, Light, Performance, Presence, Story, Theatre, Walking | No Comments »

Consciousness - The Gap

July 20th, 2006 Fred McVittie

If our minds were simple enough for us to understand, we would be too simple to understand them.

A system cannot instantiate an entity more complex than itself, (although it might be able to produce one).

Posted in Consciousness, Knowledge, Mind | No Comments »

Everything is full of light

July 25th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Everything is full of light, and the objects are holes in the light.

The light of consciousness reflects off the objects of the world, leaving them empty and hollow. I call this reflection ’seeing’.

The sound of consciousness echoes off the objects of the world leaving them silent. I call this echo ‘hearing’.

Posted in Consciousness, Hearing, Light, Seeing | No Comments »

Space and the Now of Presence

July 28th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Our consciousness of the past, the present, and the future uses radically different cognitive correlates and processes, and this difference is tied up with the relationship between consciousness and space. Our consciousness uses imagination, in different ways, to access the past and the future, whereas our consciousness of the present has no need of imagination; perception and awareness are sufficient. This difference between being conscious of an imagined past or future, and being conscious within a non-imagined, experienced present is revealed in the different relationship to space (and time) that our consciousness of the present has when compared to our consciousness of memories or predictions.

When we share space and time with others we may not (cannot) share the same memory or imagined future; our bodies occupy the same small area of space but our memories and imaginings of the future are widely disparate and radically different. The present, however, is not disparate, and all our presents are very similar. The present is in the room with us; is the room with us. We are present together in space and time and have a shared experience of it (with only minor perspectival differences). Space, time, and consciousness of present experience, what might be called ‘awareness’ or ‘presence’ are therefore co-extensive, and in all likelihood, identical.

Posted in Consciousness, Presence, Space, Time | No Comments »

Even Atheists are scared of God

August 4th, 2006 Fred McVittie


Many optical illusions work by encouraging the visual system to make assumptions about what it is looking at which are incorrect. So the Muller-Lyer illusion, even though it consists only of abstract 2-dimensional geometrical shapes, tricks the visual system into behaving as if it is looking at a 3-dimensional scene. The brain then makes assumptions about the relative size of the objects in the scene which assumption includes a correction for distance. So some lines which are the same length appear to be of different lengths. Similarly, the geometry of the Ponzo illusion (above) bears enough similarity to the perspectival shortening of, for example, railway tracks, that our brains make the correction and produce an apparent size difference in shapes which are actually the same.

There are two interesting aspects to this illusion making process:

  • Firstly, the construction of a non-existent perspective is entirely unconscious. When we look at an optical illusion we rarely notice the resemblance between the abstract shape and the perspectival convergence of railway lines for example, or the similarity in geometry to the interior or exterior corners of rooms (Muller-Lyer).
  • Secondly, these illusions are unusually persistant, and cannot be willed away by the acquisition of conscious rational knowledge. We can measure lines that appear to be of different lengths, confirm to ourselves that they are, in fact, the same, but they still retain their appearance of difference.

This clearly demonstrates that our conscious and non-conscious experience of the world sometimes operate on different registers, and that rational conscious knowledge does not necessarily displace that acquired and through non-conscious means. Also, given that much of our behaviour, emotional response, conceptualisations etc are produced non-consciously it is likely that in situations where conscious knowledge is in conflict with non-conscious knowledge, even when that non-conscious knowledge is known to be the product of an illusion, it is the non-conscious knowledge which will guide the response.

Many of the illusions can be found on Richard Gregory’s home page at http://richardgregory.org/papers/brainmodels/illusions-and-brain-models_p1.htm

Posted in Atheism, Consciousness, Illusion, Seeing, Unconscious | No Comments »

Conscious Difference and Unconscious Universals

August 5th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Conscious processes (deduction, analysis, evaluation, etc) tend to address the needs of situations created through human differences; cultural, linguistic, moral, legal etc. Unconscious processes, or at least some of them, tend to address the needs of situations created by human universals; fight or flight responses, disgust, love, etc.

Posted in Consciousness, Unconscious, Universals | No Comments »

The boundaries of naivite

August 17th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The folk disciplines carve the world up at different joints than do the scientific disciplines. Rational physics, for example, has a relatively clear border between itself and the discipline of psychology. (In fact there is something of a demilitarized zone between these two, where only such interdisciplinary ephemera as ‘quantum psychology’ are found). Naive or Folk physics draws its (distinctly fussier) boundary differently, including within its remit the presence of consciousness and psychic effects. (Smith and Casati 1994)

Posted in Consciousness, Naive Physics, Physics, Science, Smith, B. & Casati, R. | No Comments »

Liquid and Crystalised Knowledge

August 20th, 2006 Fred McVittie

In the swirling currents of consciousness and cognition, knowledge forms icebergs.

Posted in Cognition, Consciousness, Liquid | No Comments »

The Development of Unconscious Physics

August 29th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Conscious perceptual processes lead to the formulation of conscious laws of physics, this through the rational, logical, and self-aware processes of observation, pattern recognition, hypothesis formation, and experimentation. It is highly unlikely that any such process is in operation at an unconcious level, where such rigour would be unnecessary and therefore non-adaptive in an evolutionary sense. Having said that, there is evidence to suggest that non-conscious knowledge of physical principles does exist, and whilst some of this knowledge may well be innate it must be true that much non-conscious information about the physics of the world is learned. Since conscious processes are utilised in the derivation of conscious laws of physics it seems inevitable that the body of knowledge we might think of as ‘unconscious physics’ is derived from unconscious perceptions.

Posted in Consciousness, Perception, Physics, Unconscious | No Comments »

Space and Buddhism

September 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

‘Space is the precondition of all that exists, be it material or immaterial form, because we can neither imagine an object nor a being without space. Space, therefore, is not only a conditio sine qua non of all existence, but a fundamental property of our consciousness.
Our consciousness determines the kind of space in which we live. The infinity of space and the infinity of consciousness are identical. In the moment in which a being becomes conscious of his consciousness, he becomes conscious of space. In the moment in which he becomes conscious of the infinity of space, he realises the infinity of consciousness.’ (1969)

Lama Anagarika Govinda, The Foundation of Tibetan Mysticism, 1969

Posted in Buddhism, Consciousness, Space | No Comments »

Everything is Illuminated

September 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The modern search for a state of being referred to as enlightenment is a hangover from another time. Enlightenment is more properly seen as simply another word for consciousness, the miraculous experience of being aware and awake, exactly here, precisely now. When additional enlightenment is sought, what is really being looked for, and occasionally found, is a renewed acquaintance with one’s already illuminated state.

Posted in Consciousness, Enlightenment, History | No Comments »

McGinn’s Space of the Mind

September 22nd, 2006 Fred McVittie

McGinn’s (1997) problems with relating an unextended consciousness to an extended physical world; res cogitans to res extensa, stem from an inherent dualism of his position, a dualism not of matter and mind but of a distinction between mind and the contents of mind. This dualism is, in turn, derived ultimately from the space metaphor which McGinn draws on to frame the concepts he uses. He interestingly uses the example of the mental image of a ‘yellow flash’ (presumably of light) to indicate that such thoughts do not have extension, and that therefore mind is similarly non-extended.

… it takes up no particular volume of space; it has no shape; it is not made up of spatially distributed parts; it has no spatial dimensionality; it is not solid.

However, this image, like all images of light, only makes sense within the context of a larger unspoken metaphor of space. In order for us to understand his reference to a yellow flash at all we have to conceive it as a spark of light, and like all such phenomena, real or imagined, light requires a source, a point in space from which to be emitted. It also usually requires an object on which to fall and most definately an empty space through which to radiate. Without the latter there simply is no light, the concept is incomplete and incoherent. In claiming that the image is unextended he is artificially limiting the parts of the metaphor which he claims as ‘mind’ to the yellow flash, ignoring the fact that the metaphor demands that the spatial entailments also must be considered as similarly constituting the mind. Not only the object at the centre of McGinn’s image, the yellow flash, is mind, but also the objects illuminated (the ‘contents of consciousness’) and the space within which light and objects exist.

McGinn, Colin.
1995. Consciousness and Space. Journal of Consciousness Studies 2: 220-30. Reprinted in Shear (1997).

Shear, Jonathan, ed.
1997. Explaining Consciousness. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.1

Posted in Consciousness, McGinn, Colin, Metaphor, Mind, Space | No Comments »

Central Source of Mind

September 22nd, 2006 Fred McVittie

The concept of mind structures consciousness in such a way as to allow us to experience it in a number of spatially extended ways, particulary as a point of source, a point of focus, and a space. A very common entailment of the point of source metaphor is one in which this source is taken to exist at the centre of the body or head. This imaginary location for the source of self (and the self as source) allows for a correspondence with related concepts such a Damasio’s ‘core self’ and essentialist intuitions about the ‘real self’ which is typically recorded as lying ‘deep inside’. The phenomenological fact that this association of source with centrality represents normal waking consciousness is evidenced through its variants, in which the source is felt to be located elsewhere other that the centre, away from the centre of the body or even outside of the body completely. Such experiences typically constitute unusual states of consciousness. We find this spatial relocating of the source of self and consciousness in a wide variety of contexts, from ‘astral travelling’ in which the sense of self is felt to roam away from the body to other ‘dimensions’, and more prosaically in video games, which often place the location/source of self and agency above and behind the avatar body (e.g. the Grand Theft Auto series). It is also felt in the everyday procedures of image management and the self-conscious sensations which accompany these procedures. This in no way supports the notion that such located consciousness has any physical reality, either inside the head or body, or outside it, but the consistency with which such spatial concepts appear suggests that they are part of the universal phenomenological condition of embodied embedded consciousness.

Posted in Consciousness, Damasio, Antonio, Mind, Space | No Comments »

Coherent metaphors and Efficacy

September 25th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The effectiveness with which we are able to deal with a situation or problem depends significantly on the the type of consciousness we bring to that situation or problem. Some situations require highly focussed, unselfconscious thought, others require a high level of self-monitoring, etc. In order to gain access to these different cognitive states, and benefit from their application, it is necessary to have a coherent and intelligible ‘map’ of the various states one might put oneself in, and how these states relate to each other and to external features of the world at large. Given the abstract nature of cognition and consciousness it is inevitable that such ‘maps’ are metaphorical (as indeed is this description, in its use of the term ‘maps’). One such ‘map’ of the various states of consciousness utilises the metaphor of space.

An important aspect of this metaphorical mapping is that the users of the metaphor function more effectively, i.e. are able to enter subtly different states of consciousness more readily, when they are presented with the entire map outlining all of the states, not when they are introduced to it piecemeal. It is more effective also when a consistent metaphor is used throughout. For example, to talk about one form of consciousness as if it were a substance (e.g. a flowing liquid) and another as a spatial location (e.g. being ‘centered’), clearly mixes the metaphors and does not provide a single coherent structure for the various concepts to inhabit.

Posted in Consciousness, Consilience, Metaphor, Performance, Space, Training | No Comments »

Performance Creativity Consciousness

October 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The metaphor of performance, including the various entailments of that metaphor concerning the production and evaluation of performance, provides a structure for understanding a wide range of individual and social processes. This metaphor, whilst not overt, seems to underpin (or at least revealingly correspond to) proposed structures for the workings of;

  • individual creativity
  • social creative processes
  • the scientific experimental method
  • the functioning of human consciousness

Each of these processes is imagined as consisting of a series of phases which show marked similarity overall, as well as in their all having a ‘performance’ moment, or moment of ‘liveness’, and the structure of each one can be mapped onto the others. To take one example, the Wallas model of individual creativity consists of four stages; preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification (sometimes referred to as ‘elaboration’).

The third stage of this process, the ‘Illumination’ stage, is when, after a period of quiet and forgetting, (the ‘preparation’ stage), the creative solution to the problem we are working on emerges suddenly into consciousness. This is the ‘Aha’ moment in which cartoon lightbulbs appear above our heads. We awake from the incubating sleep to the dawn of realisation. At its most dramatic, this is the moment spoken about by Kekule, Poincare, Einstein, and Coleridge; great architectures of thought springing up suddenly and unannounced. On a more modest scale, this is also the moment when we suddenly ‘get it’; when the solution to a much more modest problem presents itself fully dressed onto the stage of our consciousness.

As noted above, this stage is also represented in models of social creative processes; in the dynamic systems model of Czikszentmihalyi it is the moment in which a creative product enters the ‘domain’. In Robert Crease’s analysis of the scientific method it is the moment of the experiment (which, when carried out well, he refers to interestingly as ‘artistic’), and in the functioning of human consciousness it is the ongoing binding of sensory data that produces the constant performance of experiential awareness.

This understanding of performance presents it as a prototypical phase not only in the production of theatrical events, but also in cycles of creative production which include the individual psychology of creativity, the public processes of creative evaluation and legitimisation, the scientific method, and the emergence of consciousness.

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The Centre(s) of All Being

October 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Writing after the acceptance of the Newtonian conception of space as infinite and boundless, and the location of Earth and of Man as nowhere in particular, Pascal described the universe or Cosmos is ‘an infinite sphere of which the centre is everywhere and the circumference nowhere’. This image was not comforting and did not reflect a positive embrace of Newtonian cosmology, but was rather, as Borges wrote, a ‘fearful’ proposition. However, a more positive spin to be placed on this observation is that, whilst the universe may not have a physical centre in the usual sense that one visualises the Earth as having a centre, or of an apple having a centre; a single specific point separate from other points, it nevertheless contains the important sense of centrality. Each point in the cosmos has equal claim to be central, and that claim is accurate in every case; and since all points in space are also the central point in space then all points in space are, in this sense, the same point. There is only one centre and it is everywhere.

This interpretation can be extended to the centre of being that marks a particular way of looking at the notion of the ’self’ or ‘consciousness’. We may imagine ourselves to be, beneath all of the layers of socialisation and acculturation, of genetics and biology, an infinitely minute point at the centre of our being. With a little imagination we can visualise our ‘essential’ self as existing not as some kind of substance, or as any kind of object at all, but rather as a point in space at the core of all that we are and all that is. Once we have mastered the imaginative leap that allows us to see ourselves as fundementally a point at the centre of the cosmos (and that is, after all, what a naive interpretation of the evidence of our senses tells us), then it is a comparatively small step to recognising the centrality of others and the inevitable sharing of centrality that we have with those others. All centres of being are ultimately the same centre of being. At heart, there is only one of us and we are everywhere.

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Probability Gradients

November 1st, 2006 Fred McVittie

The threefold aspect of individual perceptions, as identified by Husserl, indicate that ‘now’ also contains the ‘not-now’, and the ‘not-yet-now’. Moments of perception have a janus-face quality in which the past and the future are, in some way contained in time present (c.f. T.S. Elliot). A consequence of this structure of the present is that, inevitably, that these corpuscles of ‘now’ have a direction or polarity, in which the not-now is singular and fixed, we can be absolutely certain what happened, while the not-yet-now is something of a blinding mirage, in which we cannot be certain which of the multitude of possible futures will actually materialise. This polarity suggests that ‘now’ contains what might be called a ‘probability gradient’ ranging from the singular and fixed past to the infinite and variable future. We live at a particular place (or within a range of points) on this gradient, and our consciousness is formed at the breaking point of the wave of probability.

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Silence - Silence

November 30th, 2006 Fred McVittie

SILENCE

/\/

WAAH!

/\/

OH!

/\/

HA HA!

/\/

AHA!

/\/

OM!

/\/

SILENCE

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Mini Aha

December 9th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Animations are constructed in which pictures, which begin as abstract mosaics, progressively resolve into recognisable images; faces, buildings, objects. The moment at which the image is recognised is accompanied by a feeling of heightened consciousness; a mini Aha! As the succession of animations, and the successions of Aha! continues, the time which the picture takes to resolve is reduced so that it becomes recognisable quicker and quicker. At a certain point there is no noticable period in which the image is unrecognisable, and at this point the Aha moment corresponds to normal waking consciousness.

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Waiting for AHA

December 10th, 2006 Fred McVittie

An experiment in which an abstract picture slowly resolves itself, producing an AHA! moment of raised consciousness, demonstrates the continuum which exists between this creatively illuminated moment of enhanced cognition and the constant ‘lights on’ feeling of normal waking consciousness. In addition, it also hints at the relationship between the type of cognition which exists just preceding the recognition of the image and the strength of the AHA! moment when recognition itself takes place. When there is no noticeable delay between the initial perception of the image and its recognition, (or rather when the time delay is set only by the organs of perception and visual processing), then the observation is characterised as being accompanied by standard consciousness. However, when recognition is delayed, the time delay, and the corresponding amount of anticipation and ‘waiting’ which occurs in the moments before the image resolves, seems to be in proportion to the strength of the AHA! which follows.

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Thinking from the Centre.

December 17th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Thinking from the centre.

  • Sit comfortably in a chair and close your eyes.
  • Imagine yourself sitting exactly as you are and where you are.
  • Breathe.
  • Place your consciousness at the front surface of your body.
  • Breathe
  • Place your consciousness at the back surface of your body.
  • Breathe
  • Place your consciousness at the left side of your body.
  • Breathe
  • Place your consciousness at the right side of your body.
  • Breathe
  • Be aware of the top of your head.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the soles of your feet.
  • Breathe.

You have identified the dimensionality of the body in space.

  • Be aware of the space in the room in front of your body.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space in the room behind your body.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space in the room to the left of your body.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space in the room the right of your body.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space in the room above your body, up to the ceiling.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the floor beneath your feet.\
  • Breathe.

You have identified the dimensionality of the room you are in, and made a connection between this space and that of your body.

  • Be aware of the space in front of your body that is beyond the room, all the way to the horizon.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space behind your body that is beyond the room, all the way to the horizon.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space to the left of your body that is beyond the room, all the way to the horizon.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space to the right of your body that is beyond the room, all the way to the horizon.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space above your body that is beyond the room, extending infinitely into space.
  • Breathe.
  • Be aware of the space beneath your body that is beyond the room, extending through the Earth, and infinitely into space.
  • Breathe.

You have identified the dimensionality of all space, and made a connection between that space and your self.

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Obviousness and Intuition

December 20th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Many of the actions we carry out are marked with a sense of ‘obviousness’. The placement of a chair in a room; the moment we step off a pavement to cross a road, avoiding oncoming cars. There is no need for much, if any, conscious deliberative thought when carrying out these actions, and often they do not appear in consciousness at all, being carried out on ‘autopilot’. The obviousness of the decisions involved in these actions is, in a sense, a strong form of the ‘intuition’ that we mobilise when making other, less commonplace, decisions. When we get a ‘bad feeling’ about a particular course of action we may be consciously aware of the feeling but reasoning is usually absent from consciousness. The actions steered or shaped by both intuition and obviousness are characterised by this lack of conscious, rational thought. In fact, to bring rational thought to bear on the kind of ‘problems’ usually solved by intuition and obviousness, crossing a road for example, actually makes the task much more difficult and hazardous. In both these forms of decision making, the decision is being made and the action shaped by non-conscious processes, and often the conscious mind is not given access to that process, or is incapable of understanding that process.

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Evolutionary Emotion

December 26th, 2006 Fred McVittie

In the evolutionary history of humanity, consciousness is a comparatively late arrival, appearing as a faculty only in the relatively recent phase of the evolution of life. Stuart Hameroff puts this date variously at between 1 and 200 million years ago (1). This suggests that, for the majority of the time that beings have been on Earth, they have relied on non-conscious mental processes for survival.

The development of the non-conscious mind, a mind we are still most certainly in possession of, therefore preceded the emergence of those conscious mental processes which are capable of self-reflection and reporting. It is likely that much of what we do is shaped by these adaptively established mechanisms of non-conscious thought. It is also likely that the motivation for much of what we do, which we experience as ‘feelings’, derives from this pre-conscious phase in the development of (human) life.

http://www.quantumconsciousness.org/penrose-hameroff/cambrian.html

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Embodied Cognition

January 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

The relationship between consciousness and the body is such that cognition is constrained by the nature of our embodiment, with the effect that we are only capable of thinking those thoughts which adopt the structure of the physical world apprehensible through the senses (e.g. via metaphor). Cognition is enabled and produced by the fact of our embodiment, and shaped by that fact.

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Performing in the Light

February 3rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The act of performance, standing in the light before a group of people sitting in the dark, is prototypical of a particular moment in the creative process of artists of all stripes, and indeed of all levels of creativity from enlightenment to normal waking consciousness.

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Bower Birds and the Cognitive Imperative

April 25th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The bower of the Bower Bird is an elaborate construction of twigs, leaves, and flowers, and is built by the males to act as an attractant for females. The action of constructing the bower is completely ‘instinctual’ in that bower birds raised without contact with other birds nevertheless adopt the behaviour without any sense of it being learned. If one were to ask a bower bird why it built the bower, or how it went about it, it wouldn’t know what you were talking about, and not only because it is a bird and has no language. It would not understand you because it would not be able to comprehend the distinction between itself and the action of building the bower. It would be the same as asking it how it went about growing feathers or pumping the blood around its body.

Clearly humans do not build bowers, or if we do it is a learned behaviour arising out of the social and cultural conditions of our individual development. Those rare individuals who have somehow missed the socialisation process, ‘feral’ children for example, show no signs of any complex architectural or sculptural instinct. However, humans do show an innate tendency toward the far more complex routines associated with cognitive behaviour. This has been identified by Newberg and D’Aquili and others, and sometimes referred to as the Cognitive Imperative.

The Cognitive Imperative, a ‘drive’ which impels us irresistably toward certain forms of thinking (both conscious and non-conscious) consists of a number of sub-routines which we apply to the stimuli provided by the senses. Again, pace Newberg and D’Aquili, we might refer to these sub-routines as ‘Cognitive Operators’ and they constitute the routine operations which transform multiform and discontinuous sense data into the coherent and unified experience of being and world. As with the bower bird, if we were to ask ourselves why or how we perform this amazing technical feat we would have great difficulty understanding the question, let alone framing an answer.

Posted in Cognition, Consciousness, Evolution | No Comments »

Under the Red Light

May 8th, 2007 Fred McVittie

I have spent some time in photographic darkrooms. Not a lot of time, and not recently, but enough to know what they feel like. One sense I often have is of looking around at the objects in the room, the tanks, bottles, furniture, all of it it various shades of red (like the world of Virtual Boy for those of you with a video gaming history), and sometimes an unfamiliar object catching my eye. Maybe the previous occupant of the room has left a coffee cup in there, one one occasion a small bunch of flowers. Looking at the object I find myself wondering ‘what colour is that cup really?’, ‘what colour are those flowers?’ I want to take the object out of the dark room and look at it in the light of day to experience its true colours, and in the case of the bunch of flowers I actually went through with that, and did take it out of the room. Outside of the dark room and its red monochrome light the flowers became their familiar white, green, purple, and red selves, and this was not too surprising. What I realise though, is that this experience I am now having of these variagated petals and contrasting leaves and stems is not their ‘real’ colour at all. This ‘real’ appearance of the flowers, or the cup, or everything else is determined by the different light outside the dark room every bit as much as their redness was determined by the light inside it. Familiarity of observing objects under the white light of my home planet has provided a default setting for my understanding of ‘real’ colours, but no such thing exists. My experience of the colour of the flowers is not emanating from the flowers themselves, disconnected to the environment but is produced simultaneous with it. Also, these colours are arising mutually with the instrumentation of my own seeing. If I look at the flowers indirectly, placing them near the periphery of my vision, they lose their colour completely, and of course, if I close my eyes the colours, and all the visual properties of the flowers becomes meaningless, together with the entire concept of ‘visual properties’ as a category of experience.

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Calibrating the Instrument

May 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Any careful examination of some phenomenal aspect of experience is preceded by the important task of checking and calibrating the instruments with which such examination will be made. Before a measurement of length is taken the ruler is checked against a standard: the telescope is checked before use such that its limits and its accuracy within those limits can be ascertained. When the readout of the instrument is in a different ‘language’ to that of the phenomenon to be measured (as when the pressure of the air is measured using an old-fashioned barometer and the readout is given in inches) the extent to which this translation hold true must be established.

The primary instrument which we use to access the data of the world is our own mind. Functioning through the somatosensory body this instrument, which was probably originally designed to take the measure of only those data sets appropriate to the maintenance of the body, is now the measure of all things. Before we use this instrument, and certainly before we give our complete trust to its readouts, it may be a useful to consider what calibrations may need to be made and what such calibrations imply about the mind and the world it occupies.

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Supervenience and Perception

May 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is axiomatic in the science of the mind that a changes in mental states, whether this be of mood, or of the contents of consciousness, corresponds to a change in the physical organisation of the brain. This change in organisation may be simply a small change in the operation of a neuronal network, or may be a wholesale shift if brain chemistry, as for example, when a surge of adrenaline accompanies the cognitive experience of fear or excitement. This relationship is often spoken of in terms of causality, that these changes in the brain ’cause’ the thoughts and feelings they correspond to. It is more accurate however only to to talk in terms of correlation, correspondence, or ’supervenience’.(1)

The mind and the contents of the mind (assuming such a distinction is meaningful) are ’supervenient’ on the the physical substrate within which the mind is lodged, and on which it depends. Obviously the most obvious physical substrate is the material substance of the brain, and it is clear that changes in, for example, brain chemistry correlate with changes in the state of mind. The mind is, therefore, supervenient on the brain. The supervenience does not stop at the level of the meninge however, it is self-evident that not only internal conditions of wetware of the brain correlate with cognition but also the sensory experiences of the world beyond the boundaries of the body. Changes in external temperature are supervenient with the phenomenological experience of feeling warm; the visual experience of seeing a tree is supervenient with the construction of the concept of that tree in our minds.

1. The physical need not be explanatorily prior to the psychological in the same way a lower-level F is explanatorily prior to a neighboring higher-level G when F and G are connected by an interlevel explanatory theory. Instead, physics can be explanatorily prior to psychology, and indeed to any other (distant) higher-level science, by way of lying at the end of a certain chain of sciences (or theories) between physics and the (distant) science, which sciences (or theories) are connected pairwise by explanatory interlevel theories. The point is not to infer from the chain of pairwise interlevel explanations that there is an interlevel explanation of the psychological by the physical (via some leapfrog physical psychology). This would violate the non-transitivity of the relevant notion(s) of explanation. Rather, given that each level in the chain is explanatorily prior to the next higher level, we infer that the lowest level (physics) is explanatorily prior to the highest. Explanatory priority is transitive even when explanation is not.

“Is Supervenience Asymmetric?” to appear in L. C. Pereira and M. Wrigley, eds., Festshcrift in Honor of Oswaldo Chateaubriand (Manuscrito, 1999)

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On the Evidence of the Senses Alone

May 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

One of the phrases that one finds frequently in the writing of D.E. Harding is ‘on the evidence of the senses alone’ When he uses this phrase he is making an appeal to the reader that there is benefit to be gained by giving close attention to the actual experiences provided by the sense, a benefit which is lost when such experience is ignored. The alternative to attending to the evidence of the senses alone is only pay conscious attention to the interpretation of those experiences, interpretations which are usually objective, 3rd person, and theoretical.

An example which Harding uses extensively, and which at first reading can seem absurd, is the suggestion that, experientially, we are all ‘headless’. On the evidence of our senses alone, particularly the sense of sight, he notes that whilst we can see the world around us and see our own bodies, we cannot see our own head. From an ultra-naive perspective, when we look down at ourselves we find that our bodies fade somewhere around the upper torso. The interesting, and illuminating observation (sic) that Harding makes, and encourages us to repeat, is that if we continue to look upwards from the blur of our upper bodies we find that this blur does not end in darkness and emptiness, but merges into the field of vision itself. Above the chest, on the evidence of the senses alone, we become the entirety of the world. This bizarre but transformative way of seeing oneself is rarely noted because, as noted above, we tend not to pay attention to the direct sensory evidence but only to its objective, 3rd person, theoretical interpretation. We other people around us, all of whom seem to have ‘fleshy protruberances’ on their shoulders and assume that we must have one also. Effectively, we view ourselves, and our relationship to the world, from outside of ourselves, giving ourselves a head we cannot see and denying, or at least diminishing in status, the view from within.

Given that we are social beings apparently with a cognitive imperative to create objective interpersonal facts, theories, and explanatory structures, it is perhaps unsurprising that we have this eccentric tendency to view the world from the place where we are not. However, there may also be advantages to taking the first person view and, as Michael Stipe puts it, ‘Stand in the place where you live’.

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Swing through the Forest of the Free Won’t

May 23rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The work of Libet et al (1979) shows that unconscious brain activity, referred to as the ‘readiness potential’ precedes conscious awareness when making decisions or initiating intentional actions. This seems to suggest that many of the decisions that we take, and that we seem to be making in the full light of consciousness, are actually a result of unconscious processes with the conscious mind only becoming aware of (and taking responsibility for) retrospectively. This has been used as a support for the piphenomenalist position on consciousness, that it is merely ‘the steam above the factory’, and not actually the integral part of cognition that it appears subjectively to be. This phenomenon shows itself in unusual pathological conditions such as Alien Hand Syndrome and Utilization Behaviour in which patients engage in unwilled actions spontaneously and uncontrollably, often rationalising their behaviour afterwards.

A significant implication of this finding is its apparent assault on the concept of ‘free will’; if we have no intentional control over our actions but are mere spectators of our own behaviour, confabulating a sense of agency post hoc, then we also have no ultimate moral or authorial responsibility for those actions. It has been suggested however, by Libet himself and others, that whilst we may not have free will as it is traditionally understood, we may have a ‘free won’t’. That is, that although we do not have total power to initiate action through intention and the will, we may have the right of veto, preventing the carrying out of certain unwilled actions and allowing other ‘willed’ actions to proceed.

A possible image of this would be to see the progress through our own experience as similar to a journey through a forest. Perhaps we are arboreal creatures in this forest and can move quickly through the densely packed trees by swinging from branch to branch. As we move we are constantly being presented with a multitude of possible alternative courses of action, this branch or that, and out of this range of options we must only select one. If we had free will we would carefully weigh up the alternatives and decide the ideal course, translating this choice into willed intention and finally action. Without free will, but with a fully functioning free won’t, we see the maze of branches as opportunities offered to us by the world and by the history of our passage so far. Presented with all of these possibilities we do not need to choose one, rather we reject most of these offers and accept only one, in all likelihood the one our momentum is carrying us toward. This process of winnowing out alternative actions in favour of a single one would, I assume, normally happen non-consciously. I am certainly not often aware of the decisions I am making every time I carry out an action. When I am walking my feet fall where they fall without any apparent decision on my part, I am typing these words without making any conscious decisions about which keys to press on the keyboard. At other times, however, I can feel the tug of these subjunctive behaviours; reaching into the fridge for a Coke I barely notice the can of Tango next to it yet I can feel my hand slow and waver slightly as the possibility of taking that one instead presents itself. When this happens I cannot say that I am really making a conscious decision and carefully selecting one alternative over another; it is more that I am witnessing the decision being made, and the process of this decision-making is a rejection of one alternative in favour of another. Free Won’t in action. At other times of course, I am presented with alternatives which require me to consider them consciously: which credit card to switch to, which mobile phone contract to opt for, which bike to buy. On these rare occasions I have the luxury of taking my time, weighing up the alternatives, and (apparently) making a decision in the full light of consciousness. I would like to think that at these times I am operating fully rationally and the decisions I make are carefully considered, although frankly I think this is doubtful. What is clear however, is that decision-making and the operation of the Free Won’t functions at a number of levels, from the totally non-conscious to the barely, or even completely conscious. When we swing through the trees of our experience sometimes we move quickly letting our hands fall where they will and without a second thought to why they choose this branch over that branch. At other times we may slow our progress and look around, assuring ourselves that we are heading in the right general direction. Sometimes we may feel clumsy and ungainly, not knowing which branch is the right one, changing our mind mid-flight, missing one branch and grabbing desperately for another and another, with none of them feeling right. At these times our progress is slow and our journey wandering and frustrating. At other times we fly quickly through the trees, following without conscious thought the path that meets the criteria set by our journey. The branch that falls most readily to hand is exactly the one we need and the possibility of grabbing at the alternatives never seems to come up. Everything is right and we feel an unproblematic sense of mastery. We are in the zone, we are flowing, we are going home.

Haggard, P. & Sukhvinder, S.O. Free Will and Free Won’t. American Scientist July-August 2004, p. 358-365 http://www.americanscientist.org/template/AssetDetail/assetid/34008/page/5

Libet (1979) -Libet B, Wright EW, Feinstein B, and Pearl DK: Subjective referral of the timing for a conscious sensory experience. Brain, 102 193-224.
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Posted in Consciousness, Free will, Haggard, P. & Sukhvinder, S.O., Libet, Benjamin | No Comments »

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May 23rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

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Now Triangle

May 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Posted in Consciousness, Crowley, Alasdair, Husserl, Edmund, Time | No Comments »

Centre and Periphery

May 28th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Centre and periphery are two aspects of the same reality. As one approaches the centre one finds oneself also embracing the totality. It is the point (sic) when the two ideas, that the self is in the world and the world is in the self, become synonymous. The separation necessitated by an image of one ‘containing’ the other, an image grounded in the logic of 3 dimensional space and the notion of containment which space articulates, disappears and when there is no separation there is no difference. A view of the essential self as a contentless empty point at the centre of experience, and a view of self as the greatest imaginable horizon of experience containing all, are unified. The snake devours its tail, the lights go on, and the waters break the walls of the dam.

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Solaris to Earth (over)

May 28th, 2007 Fred McVittie

It has been estimated that between 75 and 90% of spoken and written language in not literal and concrete, referring to primary experiences with the material substances of the world, but is ‘metaphorical’. It is further believed that this use of metaphor in language reflects a similar widespread use of metaphor in thought, and that most of the cognition we engage in, both conscious and non-conscious, is non-literal. Metaphor allows us to think about aspects of lived experience which would otherwise be unavailable to the senses and therefore unthinkable. These include entities and forces which are simply beyond the reach of the senses because they are too small, too fast, too large, too distant etc. but also includes the many abstract concepts that have been created by human culture and cognition including ‘justice’, ‘truth’, ‘romantic love’ etc. Even such apparently literal and concrete phenomena such as our understanding of numbers has been shown not to be direct (at least above very small numbers), but grounded in metaphor. This dominance of both conscious and non-conscious cognition by metaphor is so great that an entity, person, animal, or artificial intelligence which was only able to process information directly and had no means of embodying abstractions through metaphor would barely qualify as the possessor of a mind at all. It is almost true to say that our modern concept of mind itself is as a kind of metaphor machine.

Our relation to the metaphorising processes which constitute cognition and the formation of mind range from unquestioning acceptance to more self-conscious awareness that we are not thinking or speaking literally. When we speak about atoms we feel that the language is concrete (except to a physicist who knows the truth about atoms), whereas when we speak about God we are not quite so sure if we are talking literally or metaphorically. An uncertainty that will also vary depending on our religious preferences.

Given the ubiquitous concerns with abstractions that seems to characterise the being of human, it is fair to say that most of our phenomenology, and most personal thought and interpersonal discourse is metaphorical. For the most part we live cognitively in a world which is not directly available to the senses, which is beyond human bodily experience. Instead we live in a world of shifting metaphors in which abstract ideas mould themselves into shapes of objects, spaces, and forces that we can see with our minds eye, touch with the mental feelings, move through with the body in our minds. These transient thought forms dissolve and combine, blending and elaborating into complex architectures of thought as our attempts to grasp the ungraspable lead us to constantly build and rebuild these mental structures using the blueprints of embodied experience.

This shifting internal landscape of embodied metaphor, call it ‘imagination’, is the ground for what we experience daily as normal waking consciousness. Behind the clear and constant solidity of waking awareness there is this ongoing dream populated by shape-shifters and transformers. Our consciousness lives on Earth, our imagination lives on Solaris.

Posted in Cognition, Consciousness, Embodiment, Grasp, Imagination, Lem, Stanislaw, Metaphor | No Comments »

Velmans’ Reflexive Monism

May 31st, 2007 Fred McVittie

Max Velmans (2000) gives an account of perception and consciousness which he refers to as Reflexive Monism. In this account, an act of perception involves the subject ‘projecting’ an image of a perceived cat out into the world such that this perception exists not in their brain alone, but also in perceived space. This theory avoids the pitfalls found in representationalist views of conscious perception. In such views, a perception of a cat would consist of the duplication of the cat inside the mind of the perceiver and this mental representation of the cat would be the object of perception. Representationalist theories create problems in that, firstly they propose a kind of ‘theatre of the mind’ in which the objects of perception are cast, and no such facility has been located. Indeed, the concept of a theatrical mental space where perceptions come together has been robustly critiqued (Dennett). Secondly, if such internal representations were constructed and were posited as the real objects of perception (the cat I see is really inside my head) this would merely defer the problem, one would have to ask what mechanism was perceiving these internal objects. This leads to an infinite regress or to the creation of a humunculus that somehow does my seeing for me. Thirdly, representationalist accounts involving a duplication of the world outside and the formation of a world inside lack parsimony. Since there is already a perfectly well-formed set of objects and entities ‘out there’ why would the mind need to duplicate these in order to carry out its perceptual activities? Finally, representationist accounts ultimately lead to a solipsistic idealism in which the external world is merely the prompt for our own creation of the world inside the skull. If we are ultimately only perceiving some internal representation of reality, then there would be no real need for an external reality to exist at all. For all of these reasons many people find this representationalist approach unhelpful and indeed flawed as a model of perception and consciousness.

The theory proposed by Velmans replaces this internal representation with what he terms ‘Reflexive Monism’ in which the perceived object of vision (for example) is not represented inside the mind but constitutes its own representation out in the shared space of embodied experience. When I see a cat, my seeing of that cat takes place not only in my head but also out there in the room. Through the usual processes of vision, light bounces off the object and enters my eye, triggering signals which are processed by the fifty or so centres of perception in the brain. Rather than cohering into an internal representation which I can then ‘look at’ with som inner eye, this information instead allows me to ‘project’ my imagination of the cat onto the cluster of atoms hovering close to the mat in front of the fireplace. In effect, I am imagining the cat as it is, where it is. An interesting aspect of this model is that there is no radical separation between mental activity and the material world outside of the body. We are used to assuming that the mind is produced by the brain and somehow exists within that brain, but Velman’s model supports a concept of mind which, whilst it may originate in the brain, is better conceived of as existing as a kind of ‘field’ looping outside of the body to encompass the objects of perception and experience.

Velmans, M. (2000) Understanding Consciousness, London: Routledge/Psychology Press.

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Spirituality as a Relationship to the Immaterial

May 31st, 2007 Fred McVittie

The signs of spirituality vary in detail from one practice to another, but a general set of symptoms might include:

  • A sense of connection with something ‘larger’ than oneself
  • A sense of the existence of a ‘higher power’
  • (Occasionally) the presence of this ‘higher power’ in quasi-human form
  • The feeling that one’s understanding is somehow ‘deeper’ or conversely that one’s consciousness is ‘higher’
  • A feeling of meaningfulness: that one possesses a satisfactory answer to the fundamental questions of existence, even if one could not put that answer into words (unfortunately)
  • A dissolution of the ego, such that one feels the boundaries between self and world weakening or disappearing completely
  • etc
  • etc

Some, all, or more of these symptoms appear in testimony and creed of all the world’s major religions, as well as in the writings of individual mystics (and eccentrics) from Sri Aurobindo to David Icke. Many of the organised practices which religions offer seem to be designed to create the circumstances whereby such symptoms are created, enhanced, and supported.

An interesting feature of these spiritual feelings is that, whilst they tend to be similar across a wide range of belief systems, the actual object of this spirituality can vary enormously. Religious practices have worshipped the Sun, the Moon, one’s ancestors, the Earth, the Sky, the Ocean, a man (in the abstract, and written large), the Stars, etc. and all of these objects seem to invoke the same set of feelings and states. What this implies is that spirituality is best understood not as related to some particular belief or doctrine, but is a relatively specific state of mind, an altered state of consciousness that can be induced by a number of different means and originating in a number of different objects.

The range of possible objects assigned as catalysts for spiritual engagement is not infinite however, and there do seem to be certain criteria that such objects must fulfill before they can be used to invoke spiritual feelings. The primary and necessary criteria for such objects is that they be ultimately immaterial and unavailable to direct access by the senses. Religious and spiritual totems are all deeply abstract and can only be conceptualised through indirect means, primarily through the use of metaphor. Even such apparently concrete religious objects such as the Earth is not worshipped directly in its materiality but in the mental switch from the profane to the sacred is transformed into an essentialist abstraction. Earth worshippers do not worship the earth but ‘The Earth’, a abstract concept only apprehensible through metaphor. (It is paradoxical that in the case of Earth worship, since ‘The Earth’ is abstract and outside the realm of direct sensory embodiment, one must substitute a metaphor for this abstraction, and this metaphor is usually the actual material Earth itself. In this case, Earth effectively stands in for itself.)

Spirituality can therefore be seen as one possible felt relationship between consciousness and those aspects of cognition which are beyond direct experience. This particular felt relationship consists of a set of characteristic emotional and mental states, some of which are listed above.

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Body Mind Consciousness

June 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

We are used to considering the world of experience as intuitively divided into two parts. We are, as Paul Bloom notes, ‘natural born dualists’, an observation given some neurological support in the idea/mechanism of the ‘binary operator’ of Newberg and D’Aquili, one of the automatic world-ordering processes which are responsible for the cognitive sense we make of the world. In the case of the binary operator, the sense-making is that of a division into the various binaries of this/that, figure/ground, self/other etc. One of the primary divisions, perhaps the primary division, associated with Descartes is the binary distinction between matter and spirit, res extensa and res cogitans, which in more modern parlance we might express as a distinction between body and mind, or possibly even brain and mind, cognition and consciousness.

In many ways this distinction is institutionalised in the separation of science and religion, rational atheism and intuitive spirituality. These two areas of thought are often radically separate and often incompatible, an incompatibility which too often manifests as conflict, denial, or distancing, as in the conceiving of these realms as ‘non-overlapping magisteria’ (Gould, 1997). Even when the incompatability between science and religion is minimised, as in the moves by the Dalai Lama toward neuroscience and by the Templeton Foundation to support religiously oriented scientific research, there is always a sense that this hand-holding is tentative and could be withdrawn at any point.

One possible shift that has taken place recently is the construction of areas of knowledge which are as inaccessible to science as ’spiritual’ matters but do not have the religious trappings or the cultural and institutional baggage. Consciousness studies is probably the best example of this domain. Although some may deny it, Consciousness Studies contains at its heart a ‘hard problem’ (Chalmers) whcih is that we simply cannot imagine what a satisfactory explanation of consciousness might be. Whatever it is, a description of it will always fall short of our experience of it. Whilst it is clearly evident that the study of consciousness has relationships to material science, particularly neuroscience and psychology, there is no evidence that science will empty the concept and unweave that particular rainbow. The relationships between (some areas of) Consciousness Studies and the other physical sciences is multivalent and parallels those developed between religion and science. As with religion, some scientists would deny that consciousness exists at all, while others would deny that the ‘hard problem’ exists (which amounts to the same thing). Conversely, some who study consciousness would point to the role of cognition and awareness in the construction of reality, questioning the objectivity of the science. Still other go for the hand-holding approach and look to the fringes of science for areas o overlap: to quantum physics, chaos, complexity, feeling a similar sense of wierdness emanating from these theories as they feel when thinking about consciousness and assuming a connection where there is only correspondence. A kind of awe-struck doctrine of signatures.

The development of Consciousness Studies as a domain of the unknowable is an interesting and significant development. It may be the first area of study, outside of religious practices, in which the object of study is truly ineffable and is, by some at least, acknowledged to be ineffable from the outset. In breaking the binary of matter/spirit by introducing itself as a third term, consciousness opens up the possibility of other areas of the unknowable becoming available, and also of a redefinition of some existing areas of practice as unknowable but still credible areas of study. I anticipate that much contemporary science, political thought, linguistics, and philosophy could easily make this shift.

Posted in Bloom, Paul, Chalmers, David, Consciousness, D'Aquili, Eugene, Descartes, Rene, Neuroscience | No Comments »

Unweavable Rainbow

June 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

The poet John Keats, referring to the work of Isaac Newton, wrote about the dangers of ‘unweaving the rainbow’ in which, through the developments of optics and the scientific understanding of light, the mysteries of the rainbow were revealed. This rational revelation Keats interpreted as an evacuating of the power and sublime beauty of the rainbow. The rainbow itself does not disappear under the gaze of science of course; a full and complete explanation of the mechanisms by which a rainbow is produced, or of how one is perceived, or even a complete neuron-by-neuron account of the cerebral processes which correlate with one’s consciousness of the rainbow, do not remove the rainbow from the sky.

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What Time is Now?

June 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

The moment of perception that we experience as ‘now’ is not a dimensionless point, the cursor on the video timeline of our lives. If it were, then we would experience life as a series of individual frames disconnected from the successive moments of now which preceded and followed the moment we are in. Husserl noted this extension of the Now and suggested that a moment of perception also contains fragments of the immediate past and future: the no-longer-now and the not-yet-now. It is this bleeding together of past, present, and future which, he posited, allows the flow of perception to proceed unhaltingly, as for example when we listen to music. This temporal extension of the moment of Now has been given support in the work of Dan Zahavi and others, who estimate the length of this Now moment as somewhere between 0.25 and 0.3 seconds. This small slice of time (which can extend or contract under certain circumstances, causing time to be experienced as running slower or faster), is the temporal space in which our consciousness exists, paralleling the physical space that contains and locates the body.

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Eyes Open, Mind Shut

June 5th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Recent neurological studies of hospital patients who are in the Persistant Vegetative State (PVS), either as a result of brain injury or oxygen deprivation, has provided interesting information related to the study of consciousness (Laurys, 2007). In PVS and related states the patients are often apparently ‘awake’, with eyes open, yet do not show any signs of a conscious awareness of their surroundings. In other words, while there seems to be an ‘awareness’ present, this awareness does not have any contents; the consciousness of these people is illuminated but its light is not falling on anything, it is simply an empty light. This finding gives support to theories which propose a distinction between consciousness and the contents of that consciousness, contradicting models of the mind which propose that to be conscious is to be conscious of something. If these neurological studies are confirmed, then consciousness begins to acquire scientifically supported structure. It consists of at least two components, consciousness, which is the undirected metaphorical light, and what we might call awareness, which is the sense of that light falling on the objects of the world, or on the objects of thought. We might consider how these two components relate to various states of being when they are combined in different ways.


Laureys, Steven. (2007) Eyes Open, Brain Shut. Scientific American. May 2007 issue

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Now I am really Awake

June 6th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake
Now I am really awake

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Knowing/NOWing

June 7th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Of the millions of entities and information sources that surround me as I walk along this path with my dogs, only a limited number of them are available to my senses. Anything smaller than an ant or larger than a mountain is invisible to me, as is anything that moves too quickly or persists for too short a time. Say out of these millions of things I am theoretically capable of perceiving 10,000 of them. Obviously I am not really ’seeing’ these 10,000 things; the various unconscious processes which are operating in my brain as I walk are selecting a limited number of these things, presumably those things which are useful for some part of me to know. Presumably my unconscious is perceiving the path itself, otherwise I would not stay on it, but would find myself in the river. Since I have not bumped my head yet on the lower branches of trees, then these are also probably being perceived. So out of that 10,000 let’s say that my unconscious is perceiving 100 things. I am not conscious of most of these things however, most of my consciousness is most likely spent not taking in the objects around me at all, but is attending to memories or imagined events in the future. To the extent that my consciousness is extending toward the objects around me, it is limited to only a select few. I can realistically only attend to less than 7 objects at one time. In fact this number is probably an exaggeration, in terms of a holistic awareness of the things that surround me, in which I take in a number of objects simultaneously rather than serially, that number is probably less than four. So out of the millions of potential sources of experience that colonise my every moment, I am probably conscious of less than a handful, and it is this tiny knot of knowledge that forms the entirety of my waking awareness.

Also, since unconscious processing precedes conscious awareness, this clump of knowing that is all I know is produced by my unconscious. Effectively, my unconscious is winnowing out the data of the world and presenting me with the edited highlights. The real world is infinitely complex and multiple, and out of this confusion my unconscious constructs a toy world of simple shapes and forms, and it is this world that I am constantly stepping forward into.

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Computational Metaphors of Consciousness

June 9th, 2007 Fred McVittie

If the cognitive processes of the mind can be thought of as a kind of computer, then they would constitute a multi-tasking, holographic, qubit-wielding distributed array. If the conscious part of the mind were a monitor attached to this computer, it would be a 15″ black & white with a resolution of 480X640 (and with a dodgy lead).

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The Hard Problem and Metaphors of Mind

June 9th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The hard problem in consciousness studies is to construct a phenomenologically satisfying account of the relationship between the physical activity of the brain/body, and the subjective experience which corresponds to this activity. It is clear that all experience is supervenient on some physical action; there can be no change in the mind without some change taking place in the substrate of the brain, however, despite the robustness of this observed relationship, and its manifestation in research into the ‘neural correlates of consciousness’, many of us still think that this observation cannot lead to a conclusion which will ‘feel right’. The correlations, if they are found, seem to be different to other correlations that we do find ourselves happy with: the correlation between light and heat for example. This seems intuitively obvious and seems to require no further explanation. Similarly, the observed correlation between the size of an object and its weight, which even when proved incorrect, still appeals to our intuition in ways which seem satisfactory. The correlation between a change in some physical material and a change in our consciousness however, seems very difficult to grasp in this intuitive way, and the fact that this physical material is inside our head seems to make little difference to the difficulty.

One possible reason for the difficulty in forging such a felt connection may lie in the understandings that we have of consciousness, and the unconscious metaphors which are mobilised when we conceive of what a ‘mind’ is.

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Conscious Feelings as Cumulative Emotional Tags

June 14th, 2007 Fred McVittie

You are standing outside a football stadium while a match is being played. Inside, 90,000 people are involved, to varying degrees, in the match. Some are paying close attention to the movement of the ball, others watch the match officials, some see the shifting patterns made by the positions of the players and are quick to spot an offside infringement. Some of the match-goers are not directly observing the game at all at this moment; maybe they are talking to the person standing next to them, or standing in line at the snack bar, or queuing for the toilet. Each of these people, let’s say, is making a small noise, a hunger-fuelled rumble of the stomach from the man at the snack bar, a sigh of relief when another reaches the front of the toilet queue, the low murmur of conversation as one fan talks to another about the game. Perhaps the most common sound though is that which accompanies the ebb and flow of the game itself. As the fortunes of one side or another rise and fall, so the gasp, cries, and whoops of the individual spectators also rise and fall, shifting in lockstep with the perceptions of the game. From you position outside of the ground, you do not have access to these individual responses; what you experience is a low background roar which for most of the time stays at a fairly low level, definitely audible when you pay attention to it, but easily forgotten just like any other monotone. Punctuating this background sound however, is an occasional wave of increased intense expression. Sometimes this upwelling of sound is joyous, washing over you like a warm current of bliss and elevating you, buoying you up. At other times the sound drops away for a moment in agonising anticipation, then returns in an outpouring of ooooooooooooooooooh of grief and disappointment.

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Forming Consciousness

June 21st, 2007 Fred McVittie

Creativity, at all of the levels at which it operates, is marked by a particular state of mind in which new formations of knowledge are allowed to seep into consciousness. In terms of artistic or inventive creativity this seepage is variously referred to as ‘insight’, ‘intuition’, ‘illumination’ etc, and has a set of emotional and experiential properties attached to it which are familiar to anyone who has ever had an idea. These feelings are of relief and excitement, of strength and connectedness, almost akin to the feeling of love and sexual arousal. Having an idea, particularly a really really good idea, raises the heart rate, raises goosebumps on the skin (particularly the scalp, as if one’s hair is about to stand on end), dilates the pupils of the eyes, changes the skin’s conductivity, and affects muscle tone right across the body. At the level of biochemistry, there is an adrenalin rush which readies the body for a response and a wave of neurotransmitters across parts of the brain. It is significant that the formation of this emotionally-charged knowledge precedes consciousness, and that its emergence corresponds to a particularly intense conscious state. In fact it may be more accurate to consider that this knowledge does not emerge, or seep, into consciousness at all, but rather that it is itself constitutive of consciousness.

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Middling

June 25th, 2007 Fred McVittie

We live at the centre of our own experience. We are reminded of this fact every time we stand in a field or on a beach and look around. Surrounding us is a disc of land and sea, with ourselves as the axis of this disc. Our earliest conscious memories, or rather, the memories which became part of our consciousness, and our earliest experiences which have left no trace in consciousness but nevertheless live on in our unconscious, contain the image of this disc. And in the longer and more ancient narrative of the human species, this experience of finding ourselves standing at the centre of a circle with the world laid our around us, diminishing with distance, has been felt by every single one of our ancestors, and lies at the heart of our consciousness and of our selves.

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Listen to the Silence of the Long Now

July 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Husserl suggested that our experience of the present, the moment of ‘now’, contains fragments of the past and the future, and that it was this smearing of the present across the timeline which allows us to experience music in its continuity, rather than as a series of disconnected notes. Recent studies into consciousness and the experience of the present seem to confirm Husserl’s model and to suggest that the extent of this smearing tends to be around one third of a second. This small section of duration we experience all and once and could be said to constitute the fourth dimension of awareness. Although the sense of now is usually of about this duration certain circumstances can alter this figure such that the moment of now becomes longer or shorter. It has been shown, for example, that at moments of extreme stress the duration of these moments of perceptual unity, these quanta of time, are dramatically shortened. We experience this shortening as a heightened attention to detail and an apparent slowing down of time’s passing. This slowing is a product of our effectively fitting more subjective moments of now into the same period of clock time. Conversely to this shortening of the present caused by stress, we can also suggest that now can be extended such that, instead of having a duration of less than half a second, now might extend over several seconds, or possibly even longer. An extended period of now would, to pursue Husserl’s example, allow for one’s experience of music as a holistic continuous experience, to extend beyond the small gap between one not and the next and into the silence which follows the gradual decay of the final chord.

Close your eyes and listen a piece of music; Debussy perhaps, or Ravel, something in which the closing notes are widely separated and pregnant with significance. Let the music wash over you and through you permeate the space inside you and the space outside you. And when the music is finished open your eyes.

In all likelihood, if the music is well chosen, you will not open your eyes the moment the echoes of the last note drop below the range of human hearing, but will keep them closed for some seconds after. During those seconds, even though no sound is being made and no sound is about to be made, the music is still proceeding. Or more accurately your contribution to the music is still proceeding. You are sitting with eyes closed in an active state of listening when there is nothing to listen to, attentive to the sounds that are not being made.

This listening is not waiting; you are not impatient for the next note to be played and will not be disappointed or surprised when the silence continues. Quite the reverse, a pre-emptive interuption to this silence would intrusive and inappropriate.

As noted above, when the length of now is shortened it has the effect of allowing time to apparently pass more slowly and also to permit greater attention to detail. When the length of now is lengthened we might expect it to have complementary effects. As the duration of now is extended (and this can be achieved through meditation for example) there is not a sense of time speeding up but one does begin to experience the passage of time differently. Subjectively it does not feel as if time is ‘passing’ at all, the beats of each moment of now are too far apart to give this quality of time’s movement. Rather one feels that each moment of now is endless and eternal; one is immersed in the immensity of time. Along with this (admittedly paradoxical) feeling of timelessness there is a lessening of attention to detail and difference, and a greater awareness of pattern and unity. So one might experience the growth of a plant not as a series of detailed moments but as an entirety, the whole lifecycle becoming apprehensible simultaneously within a single present moment.

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The Feeling of Being

July 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Sitting here in this room I am also, it appears, resident in this body which sits at the computer. It may be, of course, that I am not really resident here, but that is certainly the over-riding impression I have. I am awake, alive, and present, and these qualities show themselves to me through this embodiment and the senses that connect me to the world.

This feeling of Being might be called consciousness, or possibly individual consciousness. There may be other terms also, but consciousness will do for now.

To demonstrate that you are consciousness, take a fork and press the prongs into your skin. Apply sufficient pressure to cause some degree of pain, and maintain this pressure for several seconds, minutes, or hours. The fact that you are enduring a pain which you could, with minimal effort, remove, shows that you are a conscious being and are at that moment using human consciousness to monitor and modify behaviour which would otherwise be beyond your control.

Conversely, one can demonstrate consciousness by indulging in some activity which gives one great please: eating, drinking, fucking, masturbation, etc. and then ‘consciously’ arresting that activity. Again, the fact that you are discontinuing an activity which you could, with no effort, carry on with and this stopping is not a result of any external pressure, negative stimuli, or coercion, demonstrates that consciousness is operating in you, or on you.

In both these experiments, pain and pleasure, every fibre of your body is telling you to do one thing, stop the pain, continue the pleasure, apart from your consciousness. No other animal, no matter how smart, would be able to repeat this experiment, and even if given the most rigorous conditioning programme, no animal would accept prolonged pain as a stimulus for any kind of reward. In this sense, consciousness is partly defined, or possibly even created, through an ability to not do what comes naturally. We are the only creature that is able to perform this trick of temporarily denying the demands of our body. An animal can only be prevented from continuing with a pleasurably activity if there are immediately obvious and severe negative consequences associated with that continuing: fucking in the path of an oncoming vehicle perhaps.

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Feeling Feeling

July 23rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we feel a surface and sense its texture, running our hands over a plank of wood, the tweed of a jacket, a peach, what is it that we are really feeling? The individual nerve endings on our finger tips are not sensitive to these sensation, they can only register the fact of stimulation and the intensity of that stimuli, so when we say ‘this wood is rough’ we cannot be referring to the information provided simply by the nerve endings. Rather we must be reacting to the pattern of activation of large numbers of nerve endings, the rhythm at which these populations of nerves send their signals and the area over which these signals are distributed. To feel this pattern is a kind of ‘interpretation’ carried out by the close synchronisation of brain and central nervous system, certainly pre-conscious and resulting in the conscious perception of tactile texture.

This interpretative process underpinning the perception of a felt surface may serve as an analogy for the process of those other ‘feelings’ which take place in the mind: sorrow, happiness, pain, pleasure, etc. Antonio Damasio and Joseph Ledoux both make the distinction between ‘feelings’, the conscious sense accompanying and colouring thought with significance, and ‘emotions’, which they regard as the unconscious tagging of cognitive processes with positive or negative value. So, for example, if I were to put my hand on a hotplate, the non-conscious processes which formed the perception of that physical act would be given an emotional tag which was negative. My conscious experience of this negative tagging would be the undeniably negative feeling of pain.

This separation of emotion and feeling, in which feeling becomes the (self)conscious awareness of emotion, allows for an understanding of various aspects of human and non-human response. For example, when I put my hand on a hotplate, like everyone else I begin to move my hand away before I begin to experience the negative feeling of pain. This instinctive reaction results from the equally negative non-conscious emotions accompanying the processing of the sensory information before it reaches conscious awareness.

To return to the analogy between the physical feeling of touch sensation and the ‘feelings’ of being, the relationship between these two phenomena may be of a similar order. Obviously, at any one time we are receiving a vast amount of data through our senses; tastes, smells, sights, sounds, kinesthetic information, and tactile sensations. Each of these elements of data, as part of their processing, is presumably being tagged for its emotional value, and these values may vary: the feeling of the sun on my face is given a positive value, the sun in my eyes is given a negative, the faint roaring sound I hear is vaguely threatening and is awarded a negative, whilst the sight of my partner is a source of a positive. Unless I choose to focus on one of these sensations however, my consciousness does not have a singular positive or negative reaction. Instead I am experiencing the totality of these non-conscious emotions as a single, largely coherent unity which I would call a ‘feeling’, and this feeling, rather like the physical feeling of tweed or wood, is not a result of any one emotionally tagged sense but an interpretation of the activation pattern of those sensations. Or to use another metaphor, whilst our emotions all sound their individual notes, our feelings are the single chord produced by these voices.

It may be significant to note that whilst we tend to categorise feelings relatively simplistically, particularly regarding the more dramatic manifestations of response noted above: anger, joy, etc. it is likely that there are much more subtle variations and modulations of feeling than is expressed by these and similar terms. It is likely that in addition to the rough tweed of emotional feeling there is also the smooth silk; in addition to the crashing Wagnerian operas there is also the quiet murmur of the river and the wind in the grass.

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Temptation

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

A being is never as fully conscious as when it it resisting temptation.

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Rivers and Dams

August 26th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The river of non-conscious (animal) cognition flows along the path of least resistance. The great trick of consciousness begins with an ability to temporarily arrest this flow and make a choice about whether we really want to follow the urging of the landscape and carry on in that direction, always downwards. We feel these moments of choice occasionally as build-ups of pressure or temptation, almost as if the waters of the river that is carrying us along have been dammed and that water is backing up behind us. This arrested flow causes the water behind the dam to form vortices and eddies, turning over itself and becoming chaotically complex loops of current before the ground offers a route that we agree to. Then we let ourselves go and follow the river downstream. A valley carved out not just by the yes of the river but also by the no of the dam.

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Thinking and Feeling

August 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

In ‘Descartes Error’ Antonio Damasio makes the point that the common separation we make between emotional ‘feelings’ and rational ‘thoughts’ does not stand up to close scrutiny. Damasio draws particularly on the case of railroad worker Henry Gage, who suffered severe damage to the brain in an explosion that blasted a six feet tamping iron through his head. The unfortunate Gage, whilst he did not suffer physically debilitating injury, was profoundly changed by the accident, and that change resulted from his ability to experience appropriate emotional responses. Although Gage was apparently able to use his full capacities for logical thought and reason, the damage to his emotional responses meant that the purpose or reason for such thought was absent or misplaced. Decisions which should have been easily made became impossible, and choices in which one option would be self-evidently the best were often made badly. The reason for this was that the emotional intelligence which gave the alternatives presented by such choices and decisions different felt values was missing. In the absence of the emotional weight which we normally feel is attached to the various possibilities offered by a choice of action, there is no guide to tell us which possibility is correct. After his accident, Henry Gage became a drifter and something of a delinquent. Being unable to plan his individual life or to function well in society he stumbled through the last of his days in a chaos of ill-judged and disengaged behaviour. The lack of a properly functioning set of emotions prevented his otherwise unimpaired brain from being rational.

An analogy to the unusual circumstances described above, this ability to use the felt sense of what happens, is routine in daily life and the consequences of its absence are easily imagined. When I accidentally put my hand on a hotplate the pain I receive is a highly effective cue to move my hand away and to ensure that I do not repeat the experience. The hard-wired intelligence of the body, in the form of the pain response, leads me to the rational act of moving my hand away from the source of that pain. If I were somehow unable to feel pain, this instinctively rational act of self-preservation would presumably still be a good idea but it is one that I would have to arrive at through a process of logical thought, weighing up the alternative possibilities to decide whether to move my now-smouldering hand from the source of heat. It may even be the case that, if I truly was devoid of any emotional relationship to the outcomes of any action, then even this weighing-up would not be possible. One outcome would not appear any more valuable than another: burning or not burning, surviving or not surviving: each possibility would be equally lacking in attractiveness or repulsion, and I would presumably have no reason not to leave my charred limb where it was until someone with a better functioning brain came along.

This literal sense of feeling, grounded in the ‘primitive’ pleasure/pain responses of the body and central nervous system, may be only tangentially related to the type of ‘feelings’ we usually talk about when we think of emotional intelligence (although Ledoux and others make greater claims). ‘Feelings’, as a synonym for ‘emotions’ usually refers to complex mental states rather than the apparently simple knee-jerk cognition of pain and pleasure. The analogy, if that is indeed what it is, is nevertheless telling, as evidenced by the case of Henry Gage noted above. Lack of an emotional component to cognition, whether this be the simple CNS action of withdrawing from a source of pain or the complex and powerful emotional responses which accompany difficult, fully conscious decisions (think ‘Sophie’s Choice’), leads to an inability to make good rational choices, or indeed any choices at all. In this sense, all intelligent rational thought and action is dependent upon the emotional weight we distribute throughout the structure of those thoughts and actions.

One implication that emerges from these findings relates to the making of decisions or the thinking of thoughts with which we do not, or cannot, have any emotional relationship. This might include decisions which affect others but not ourselves or close friends or family, and ideological or political philosophical thought in which there is an apparent need for the development of rational ideas uncoloured by partisan feeling. However, these seemingly detached thought processes are usually drawn within the orbit of emotional access by the application of some version of the Golden Rule. We generally make decisions which affect others by ‘putting ourselves into their shoes’ and imagining what positive or negative effect a particular decision would have on their well-being. This identification supplies the necessary emotional weight which makes rational thought and action, even at a distance, possible. (This does depend, of course, on our willingness to carry out such identification. History is littered with atrocities resulting from ‘rational’ decisions in which the emotional responses of millions carried no weight whatsoever).

This interpersonal, ‘EQ by proxy’ method of effective thinking is a standard part of moral philosophy, although it may not be phrased in quite this way. This aspect of feeling and thought is outside the aims of this writing however and will not be developed here. A more interesting problem from my point of view is a consideration of how effective thought and action can take place when the contents of that thought are not human, or even human-scale. We routinely think about concepts which are either too large, too small, to brief or too extended in duration, or simply too abstract to merit what we usually think of as an emotional component. We confront highly technical and often counter-intuitive ideas and find ourselves working with these ideas and making decisions in their light, yet these ideas concern entities, forces, or principles which are way beyond human embodiment and scarcely within the reach of human comprehension. How do we think about the origin of the Universe? What ‘emotional intelligence’ informs the way we conceive of a Higgs Boson or a Charmed Quark? Or regarding a possibly more pressing abstraction, how do we make good choices about climate change or foreign policy?

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The Feeling of Light

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Although enlightenment cannot be reduced to the feelings associated with it, feelings which might include awe, a sense of connectedness, a dissolution of the ego etc, such feelings can be considered as pointers, indications that we are on the right road. Provided one stays aware that these feelings can be a distraction, and that the path to enlightenment continues beyond them, one should welcome them as encouraging landmarks.

Although it is sometimes thought that these sensations are unique, emerging only from spiritual practice and having nothing in common with the more routine feelings experienced in everyday life, this is not the case. It is better to consider the sensation of enlightenment as an amplification of the sensations associated with other experiences and cognitive activities. In particular, it can be regarded that there is a set of experiences which constitute an increasing intensity of feelings culminating in this sense of enlightened ‘unity of being’. A provisional list of these sensations would include: perception, ‘noticing’, recognition, pattern recognition, problem solving, ‘realisation’ and the feeling of ‘getting’ a joke or solving a riddle, the generation of a theory, and the various reaches of artistic creativity. It will be noted that this list, which is not meant to be exhaustive, includes states of mind which are completely unremarkable, and which we would not usually draw our attention. In including perception, it also includes processes of mind which we are unavailable to conscious scrutiny but which perhaps underpin or give content to that consciousness.

These processes have a number of features in common, and which determine them as conceptually connected (remembering that such conceptualisation inevitably involves the use of metaphor). Two shared features are particularly significant for our purposes: these are that all of them involve the bringing together of disparate elements into a unity, and the second is that this unity is conceived of as existing in a single, brightly-lit space. As we will see, these two features are necessarily connected but it may be useful to consider them independently.

Unity
The first feature they share is that of Unification. All of these concepts depend upon the bringing together of disparate elements into a larger unified whole, a singularity or gestalt which is apprehended in its entirety. The difference between the concepts is the extent to which this unification takes place.

enlightenment
creativity
theory (and mythologisation)
realisation
recognition
noticing
perception

The higher up the list one goes, the greater the degree of singularity one is attributing to experience, with the ultimate goal of enlightenment as one in which one experiences the universe, including oneself as a single undivided whole. At that level everything is brought together and there is no distinction between self and other, mind and body, conscious and unconscious; all is seamlessly unified into the singularity of One. Starting at the bottom however this bringing together of individual elements is much more routine. Perception involves the compilation of sense data, the information about the world provided by the senses, into manageable and meaningful phenomena. When we look at a tree for example, we do not observe the individual elements that make up the tree: the branches, bark, leaves, the sound of the wind rustling those leaves etc, and then consciously assemble this data into a unified whole. Rather, it is the whole tree which presents itself to consciousness, the assembly having taken place in the interstices of the brain using the normal processes of perception. This compilation of sensory impressions into complex gestalts is entirely automatic and non-conscious. In fact it is only by an effort of conscious will that we are able to prevent ourselves from performing this routine act of creative construction. If we wish to see the elements which make up the tree, or make up whatever other gestalt is presenting itself, then we have to consciously shift our attention to those elements. (Actually, it may be inaccurate to say that this perception is ‘presented’ to consciousness as if consciousness is a kind of empty stage waiting for the performance of the world. It might be more accurate to see such a ‘performance’ as constituting consciousness.)

It might be a subject of interest why the routine unification of sense-data seems to operate at particular scales. When we look out into the world why do our non-conscious unifying processes stop at the place they do? Why, when we look at a tree do we see a tree first rather than the leaves or the forest? It seems likely that, since cognition derives from the adaptive processes of evolution, then the unifying processes of perception would tend to converge on scales which best served that end. When one is looking for somewhere to hide from a predator there is clearly an adaptive advantage to be gained from seeing tree rather than leaves or forest. Or to bring the example indoors, why, when we look at a chair do we initially and effortlessly see a chair rather than a composite of rectangular shapes or a general piece of furniture? For that matter, why do we not see fragmented patterns of light and shade or particles of matter. Normal waking awareness is partly a process in which the disparate sense data of the world is brought together by non-conscious operations into appropriately-sized gestalts, this ‘appropriateness’ being determined by the affordances offered by these gestalts.

(It should be noted that the scale at which this unconscious unification happens is not only a product of evolutionary determinism but is also partly determined by cultural circumstances; different circumstances suggest different affordances from the environment. So, for example, whilst I might take a trip to the coast and see the ocean, a surfer might look in the same direction and see the wave.)

Perception of the kind I am indicating here is entirely unconscious and requires no effort of will and need produce no sense of awareness. To experience the unification of the sense data of the world at this level would be totally unremarkable. This is the kind of perception we have when we are ‘doing something else’. When we drive down the motorway singing along to the radio, or daydream while we walk the dog in the park, this unifying of perception is what stops us crashing into the armco or stepping off the path, or bumping our head on the low-lying branches of the trees.

On a neurological level, this process is referred to as ‘perceptual binding’ and involves the synchronised firing of networks of neurons. These networks code for different sense data: vertical lines, particular colours, edges, certain shapes etc. and the synchronisation unifies these individual data items into a coherent mental ‘image’ such that we do not see these data elements but only the results of their synchronisation, a chair for example.

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Language and Objects - Location of Consciousness

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Even though a concept like consciousness has no location or extension in space (as Descartes famously noted) we nevertheless feel an almost irresistable urge to provide it with one. Just as the description of a solid object feels incomplete without a location for that object, and just as part of the ontology of a person’s body is whereabouts that body happens to be standing (hence the ASL convention in online communication), so the description of an abstract entity feels similarly incomplete until we can conceive of a location for it. This tendency to locate abstract entities in space usually happens non-consciously, but the fact that it is taking place is revealed in our language and gesture.

In filling in the location attribute for the particular ‘-ness’ of consciousness we adopt a number of strategies. We might point to the skull of people around us and say, perhaps a little unconvincingly, that it is in those bone boxes: unconvincing because we can never really know and have no sensory evidence that it exists in those places. Alternatively we might point to our own meat head, which feels more intuitively valid since there does seem to be a kind of ‘feeling of being’ at the end of our pointing finger. However, this can feel unsatisying in another way since we cannot help but notice that everyone around is pointing to totally different places, their own heads, and since they are clearly wrong, then maybe I am similarly deluded. If we are spiritually inclined, or if we are familiar with the reflexive monism of Max Velmans for example, we might make vague, hand-waving gestures in the air around us and make noise about consciousness ‘emerging’ in the interplay between subject and object, as if consciousness were a kind of invisible gas leaking from our sense organs and permeating the space around us. The really ambitious amongst us might even throw open their arms to their fullest extent, claiming that consciousness is everywhere and in everything within and without that embrace.

Usually we adopt a mixed strategy for the location of the weird ‘-ness’ of aware being, expanding and contracting it pretty much at will and as circumstances dictate. Sometimes it is contained within as the ‘I’ inside, and sometimes it is shared among family and friends as the royal ‘we’ of our interpersonal kingdom. Sometimes it is all there is. And at this ultimate point of extension, where, as Pascal said, the location of the centre is everywhere and periphery is nowhere, I personally would not be speaking of I personally at all. Here is the ground. Here is being.

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Harding’s OOBE

September 17th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The ‘Headless’ technique developed by Douglas Harding as a means of cultivating non-duality quite possibly works in similar ways as practices which produce ‘out of body experiences’. Such techniques, whether embedded in spiritual or religious practice, or discovered more informally in secular situations, (during pharmaceutical use, at times of great stress or danger, etc) give the impression that the material body can be separated from a seemingly non-physical mind, allowing this mind to function extra-corporeally. During an ‘OOBE’ one experiences oneself as existing not ‘within’ the body but as a detached, remote viewpoint outside of that body, thinking and being see to be taking place without the usual support apparatus of physical embodiment.

The significant difference that Harding brings to the effecting of this experience is that, instead of attempting the deeply counter-intuitive trick of ‘moving’ consciousness out of its apparent location in the head, he uses naïve self-observation strategies that allow one to disbelieve in the existence of one’s own head, the usual seat of consciousness. This results in a feeling that one’s consciousness is located in a space where not matter exists, a feeling of self-awareness which is experiences as hovering uncontained just above the torso. When the containing substantive entity, head or body to which consciousness is attached, is no longer present, the boundaries of the self become fuzzy, permeable, and extensible.

“The true getting up is not bodily but from the body; in any movement that takes the body with it there is no more than a passage from sleep to sleep, from bed to bed; the veritable waking is from corporeal things.”
Turnbull (ed) – The Essence of Plotinus. O.U.P. New York, 1948. in Harding 1961.

Posted in Boundary, Consciousness, Harding, Douglas, Non-duality, Out of body experience, Self, Turnbull, Grace H. | No Comments »

A Finger Pointing at the Moon

September 28th, 2007 Fred McVittie

‘Suppose a lecturer points his finger at an object, and tells the audience: “Look at this!” The audience will follow the pointing finger and look at the object….This directive, or vectorial way of attending to the pointing finger , I shall call our subsidiary awareness of the finger…A meaningful relation of the subsidiary to the focal is formed by the action of a person who integrates one to the other, and the relation persists by the fact that the person keeps up this integration. …[In] general terms, the triad of tacit knowing consists of subsidiary things (B) bearing on a focus (C) by virtue of an integration pereformed by a person (A). …we attend from one or more subsidiaries to a focus on which the subsidiaries are to bear.’(Polanyi, M. 1969 pp. 181/182)

Polanyi M. Sense-giving and sense-reading. In: Grene M, ed. Knowing and Being, Essays by Michael Polanyi. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1969.

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The Middle Way of Consciousness

September 30th, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is interesting that Buddhism refers to the ‘middle way’ as a route to the non-duality of undivided consciousness or non-being. This image seems to be drawn from the metaphor of lived experience as a kind of journey, perhaps along a road or down a river. On this cruise downstream we are constantly confronted with divergent paths; tributaries in the stream. At these moments of choice, which we may not consciously be aware of, we may feel the play of those cognitive operations which allow us the dubious luxury of such choices. The flow of our existence is momentarily arrested at such times (which are most of the time) as our brain loops around the possibilities, entering and re-entering the suspended moment in and endless series of yes and no. This yes/no interlude may be one of the defining characteristics of individual consciousness and its close association with the feeling of ‘free will’ (or ‘free won’t’ as Benjamin Libet rephrased it). In a quest for non-duality however, this suspension of the flow in which we are held behind the dam of our own free will is counter productive, and the desired state is one in which the mind is not divided up into personal consciousness through the apparent necessity of endless decision-making. The cultivation of an approach to the journey downstream which conceives of a third option: a way which is neither left or right, but which is simply straight ahead, may help to avoid the dams.

This is the middle way of Buddhism in which one (One) is carried downstream in the effortless action of the stream itself. More, one realises that one is the stream and that the stream is One.

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Evolution, Consciousness, Morality

October 19th, 2007 Fred McVittie

In an debate at Georgetown Univeristy, Christopher Hitchens refutes the claim that morality requires religious underpinnings to provide a basis for its authority by pointing to the possible evolutionary advantages of moral and altruistic behaviour and interpersonal cooperation. This refutation and alternative explanation has also been made by Dawkins and others. Whilst this explanation may be valid, it is unnecessary for a justification or explanation of moral action and leans toward a naturalistic interpretation (c.f. Naturalist Fallacy), which itself contains dangers. Elsewhere in the same debate Hitchens makes the important point that consciousness is humankind’s greatest gift, and it is this consciousness which allows the rational thought and coherent understanding which he rightly applauds. The fact that we are capable of conscious thought, a faculty extended and rendered material through spoken language and written text, allows us uniquely as a species to formulate concepts, including moral concepts, which do not rely solely on primate instincts. Steven Pinker makes a related point in ‘How the Mind Works’ where he notes that, whilst his genes may be coded for reproduction, if he should choose not to have children then his genes can ‘jump in the lake’. This refusal to follow the genetic script is a feature of consciousness and not only allows decisions to be made about reproduction but also to make moral and ethical choices. A morality grounded only in the body of our primate ancestors and not our own 21st Century conscious bodies forces us to support moral ‘realities’ such as the ‘hate your enemies’ script which Hitchens cites and appears to concur with.

This discontinuity between the lauding of rational conscious thought on the one hand and an appeal to a naturalistic, non-conscious, genetic account of morality on the other is problematic for two reasons. Firstly, it demonstrates an inconsistant approach to the treatment of complex human concepts, regarding conscious moral decisions as originating in the bronze-age body and equally complex conscious decisions, in logic for example, as a product of modern consciousness. Secondly, it denies the possibility of cultural moral development: that through education, learning, research, exchange, improved social conditions etc, we might work collectively to formulate codes of moral conduct that do not consign us to a life of primate politics and the naturalistic imperative of ‘hate your enemy’ and similar repulsive laws of nature. (Here I am reminded of the excellent talk by Andy Thompson at the AAI 2007 conference in Washington, D.C. in which he notes the phenomenon of the ‘lethal raid’ as a example of adaptive collective male violence, present in primates and in humans. The difference that makes a difference is that we have a choice whether to continue with this behaviour, and this choice is a consciously-made. Such a choice is an example of the conscious development of morality in spite of the genetic script, rather than as a consequence of it.)

As Pinker has pointed out elsewhere, whatever problems we face today, it is undeniable that from a moral perspective enormous strides have been taken in the last few centuries. Genocide, torture, and brutality have been part of the normal fabric of the human condition throughout most of history, and it is only recently that such things have caused any significant level of moral outrage. It is only just beyond the horizon of living memory that such sports as bear-baiting and cat-burning were completely normal, and today anyone engaged in these activities would suffer severe moral censure. We can only put these changes down to the operation of rational social processes engaged in by conscious agents, not by the functioning of any genetic script.

This is not to deny the calling of the voices from our primate past. We are all the children of violent, scared, painfully young ancestors, and this historical nature is undoubtedly imprinted in our genes. However, we do have the option to tell these genes also to jump in the lake, or at the very least to put them on hold until we really need them. I am reminded of the famous line from the film ‘The African Queen’ spoken by Katherine Hepburn to Humphrey Bogart. ‘Nature, Mr Allnut, is what we are put in the world to rise above.’

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OOBE Paradox

October 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

How can the apparently obvious dualism suggested by ‘out of body experiences’ (OOBEs), in which the res extensa seems at its most separate from res cogitans, nevertheless lead to the experience of a form of awareness characterised by a feeling of ‘non-duality’? A similar paradox appears in the exercises of Douglas Harding in which the sense of self or consciousness is not dissolved (or at least not initially) but is dissociated from its habitual site within the head.

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All in the Brain

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

For many of us, when we read about the neurological evidence for the existence of states of being that are experienced as transcendent, it is very tempting to interpret this correlation as a reduction in the status and value of the experience. The fact that the subjective feeling of enlightenment is accompanied by changes in the electro-chemical organisation of the brain, or of the patterns of activation across networks of neurons, seems to suggest that because such experiences are ‘all in the mind’ they are therefore delusional, having something of the status of hallucinations or tricks of the light. The probing of the fMRI scanner become the pin which bursts god’s bubble and inevitably we ourselves feel deflated as a result.

There are two aspects to this deflation which bear closer examination; there is the apparent explaining away of the experience itself such that it is no longer valid as a real event, then there is the biochemical rationalisation of our subjective responses to that experience, the feelings and emotions which we have at these times which often stay with us for years afterwards and significantly transform our lives.

The first of these effects, in which for example we come to realise that the god that we felt to be in the room with us is nothing but an overstimulation of the left temporal lobe, can, at first pass, seem to be incontrovertible evident for the god delusion, as Dawkins puts it. And places this delusion firmly in the fairyland of our own wacko imagination. After all, what kind of god turns up on demand in the laboratory every time a large magnet is waved near the side of a person’s head, and yet is conspicuously absent from those place that could really benefit from his presence: the cancer wards, AIDS clinics,and torture chambers of the world? What kind of omniscient, all-powerful superbeing can be turned on and off like a cheap flashlight?

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Theatre of the Mind

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Although consciousness is casually felt to be a single continuous state, it is more accurately described as as process. When it is conceived of as a state we tend to imagine it as a kind of space or stage into, or onto, which the contents of consciousness: sights, sounds, memories etc. are introduced. Those entities which strut their stuff on this stage are ‘in’ our consciousness and those that are offstage are outside. The common metaphor of the ‘light’ of conscious awareness overlaps with the space metaphor, also having similar entailments. In this we visualise mind as having some kind of ‘inner light’ which shines on those entities of which we are aware and leaves in the dark that which we are unconscious or unknowing of.

This image of a kind of ‘theatre of the mind’ has been widely criticised, particularly by Daniel Dennett, although the specific problem noted here is that in conceiving consciousness as separate from the contents of that consciousness it leaves unexplained (and inexplicable) what must happen to a concept for it to become conscious. We know it does not move into a special ‘conscious’ centre of the brain, which the logic of the metaphor seems to lead to, and it also implies a separation of identity of the person, the ‘I’ who is conscious, from both the process and the contents of that consciousness. In the theatre of the mind the ‘I’ is the watching audience, separate from the actor on the stage, and all of the paraphernalia of the staged production. Obviously no-one uses the theatre metaphor to the extent to which these features are really considered, but nevertheless, whenever we draw on the idea of consciousness as a space in this empty sense, or as a light (which implies space for the illumination to occupy) we are covertly mobilising all of these entailments and unconsciously creating the circumstances in which consciousness becomes an insuperably hard problem.

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Suppression of the senses (including language)

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

A significant part of conscious experience is provided by the senses, and much of the day to day work of the mind is concerned with the processing of the various impacts that are being made on our senses as we engage with the world around us. Consciousness can, or course, still operate when sensory awareness is lessened or removed, as for example, when we daydream. Total removal of all sensory input for protracted periods of time, a procedure referred to as sensory deprivation, forces consciousness to be constituted and structured solely from internal sources, and without ongoing continuous contact with the body’s sensorimotor system. Without the carrier frequency of bodily awareness, consciousness in S.D. Sometimes goes into free fall and can be psychically damaging. Limited forms of sensory removal however, have interesting and safe effects on consciousness, allowing for different forms of being to arise and potentially transform or otherwise positively affect the experiencer.

1.Visual Suppression – It is an often-quoted cliché that those who are unfortunately blind from birth develop ‘compensatory’ acuity in the other senses, a particularly discriminating sense of hearing for example. This effect, whilst not mitigating the inconvenience of blindness, is suggestive of a modification in consciousness. The ontology of hearing is not like that of sight, and a more discriminatory hearing sense is not an inferior replacement for seeing. A world which is predominantly auditory is significantly different from one which is mainly visual, and this difference, experienced as a shift in conscious awareness, is hinted at through the simple act of closing the eyes and keeping them closed.

2.Proprioceptive Suppression – Occasionally referred to as a ‘6th sense’, proprioception gives us information about the location of our body in space, the relationship between its parts, and information about motion, balance, stress etc. Partial suppression this channel of experience is as simple as sitting perfectly still in a comfortable, unstressed position. The effect of this simple technique are well known and are probably best described in the practices of ashkantaza, a zen mediation technique in which ’sitting zen’ with a stilled body results in a similar stillness of mind and a highly altered state of consciousness.

3.Suppression of Speech – Speech is not usually considered a sensory mode, however, it may be worth reflecting on this possibility for a moment. Although we tend to regard the senses as passive portals to the world, imagining that when we open our eyes and ears the world simply pours in, it has been shown conclusively that sensation is much more active and participatory than this. When we look out into the world we effectively probe for significance and stimulus, ignoring sights and sounds we judge to be irrelevant. Medieval philosophers regarded vision as a product of ’seeing rays’ which were emitted by the seer, rather like a spotlight, and whilst we now know that such rays are not actual, the spirit of these imaginary beams emitted by the eyes and contacting the material of the world is accurate. Seeing, like all of the senses, is active and participatory and ‘probing’. With this in mind, it may be useful to consider language use, speaking, as a type of sense. Using language we probe the world around us, asking questions, participating in conversations which elicit responses. Changes to the use of this language sense undoubtedly have a significant effect on consciousness. The total suppression of active language through simply declining so speak has a long tradition in religious and philosophical orders who use ‘vows of silence’ as part of their practice.

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Eyes Touching in the Light

October 30th, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we were a baby of only a few hours old, before any light of consciousness has been lit in that little box of bone, when our mother smiled at us, we smiled back at our mothers. Before we had any idea of what a smile means, or what a mother is, or what seeing is, or what a mouth is, before any of that and before any of anything, we smiled back. How did we achieve this miracle? Certainly not by any rational intention on our part. What we are told happens, and we have no reason to discount this explanation, is that some of the light bouncing around the delivery room reflected off the lips of the woman who had recently given birth. This light flew across the room at an incomprehensible speed and entered the eye of the baby, our selves, where it impacted on sensitive cells at the back of the eye. These impacts were then converted into electrochemical signals that travelled up the optic nerve to our baby brain where they exploded in a storm of frenetic activity. Some of this activity took place within special neurons in our tiny, barely-formed brains which somehow translated this maelstrom into instructions to the muscles of our baby face, particularly our mouth, and as if by magic, we smiled back. This neuronal mirroring, as it is called, caused us to reflect with our bodies what we had seen with our eyes, not by ‘copying’ what Mummy did, for such a sophisticated concept would have been way beyond us, but by the simple and direct touching of our eyes and minds across space and in light.

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Knowing One, Feeling Two

November 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is a fact of almost mundane obviousness that our bodies, including our brains, are made of the same basic materials as everything else in the universe. It is also routinely evident that our bodies are subject to the same forces and play of energy as the rest of creation. Lastly, it is no surprise that everthing we are and do is part of numerous chains of causality and parts of larger structures of material being. In short, no man is an island; we are all intimately connected to the overall fabric of the material world. As Fritjof Capra put it,
‘there is only one thing happening and we are all seamlessly welded into it.’

The incontrovertable truth of this statement does not necessarily reflect our phenomenological experience of the relationship between self and world however. On the contrary, we typically experience ourselves as somehow apart from the material world, as slightly removed or placed in the position of onlooker. We look out into the world from a consciousness which feels radically different to the phenomena we are looking at. There is a strong sense of separation and difference and this dualism seems to deny the unity and connectivity that is undoubtedly present. We may know that we are seamlessly welded into the world but our felt sense insists on breaking the weld and splitting the seam.

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Everything contains the idea of itself

November 2nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

Everything contains the idea of itself. One of the properties of a tree or a rock is the idea of ‘treeness’ or ‘rockness’ which it embodies. There can be no tree, or at least no tree that appears in consciousness, which does not have implicit within itself this idea of its own self. In fact it might be more accurate to say that such ideas do not so much ‘appear in consciousness’ (which suggests that they might possibly exist unseen in some other location), but rather than they constitute consciousness in much the same way that the pressure of the bark on the palm of the hand constitutes the ‘hardness’ of the tree.

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Emergence Metaphors of Consciousness

November 9th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The term ‘emergent’ is used extensively to describe the appearance of a property which is associated with a complex system but which is not easily described or predicted from an analysis of the individual components which make up that system. An oft-quoted example of an emergent entity is consciousness, (see Hameroff 1994, Diaz 2000, Jordan & Ghin 2006, Seager 2006)which seems inexplicable as a phenomenon from an examination of the substance or actions of neurons in the brain with which it is obviously associated. This is the so-called ‘hard problem’ identified by David Chalmers.

This ‘emergence’, it is worth noting, is obviously a metaphorical concept, mobilised to provide a framework for understanding something that would otherwise be incomprehensible (c.f. Lakoff and Johnson 1987). Given the metaphorical status of the concept, it is also significant that when the term is used to explain a phenomenon like consciousness only part of the metaphor is used. There are entailments to the metaphor (or more accurately ’schema’), that problematise the overall understanding of emergence, particularly its status as an alternative to the more metaphysical interpretations of consciousness implied by panpsychism.

The ‘emergence’ metaphor structures an understanding of consciousness using a variation of the widespread ‘containment’ schema described by Johnson which underpins much of our understanding of categories and the ‘movement’ of concepts into and out of those categories. So, for example, we talk of someone being ‘in the army’ in which ‘the army’ is considered as a kind of container with an interior, an exterior, and some kind of boundary separating these two regions, the ‘walls’ of the container. This metaphorical container also has a portal of some kind which allows for limited and controlled movement across the boundary from one region to the other. So in this example the interior and exterior regions are ‘army life’ and ‘civilian life’ and the portal is constituted of the various protocols which allow one to move from one to the other. To go from the outside to the inside is to ‘go into’ the army, and to move in the opposite direction is to ‘leave’ the army. The ‘emergence’ metaphor clearly relates to this overall schema in its mobilisation of our understanding of portals and containers. To ‘emerge’ is to move from an interior space to an exterior space (as a bear might emerge from a cave). It is also significant that this imaginary interior space is hidden from sight; whatever processes cause this emergence are invisible to us. So in the case of emergent phenomena, whatever interactions take place between the individual physical components, neurons in the case of consciousness, the particular processes which cause it to emerge are consigned to the interior space behind the boundary. The idea that consciousness ‘emerges’ therefore determines its apparently unknowable nature; there is no way within the schema activated by the ‘emergence’ metaphor that a satisfactory explanation of consciousness could be found, since the metaphor demands that such explanation lies in an inaccessible interior conceptual space.

A second aspect of ‘emergent’ consciousness which is usually overlooked when this particular metaphor is used is the requirement that there be an exterior space for the phenomenon to emerge into. In the example noted above, the person who is ‘in the army’, that is, who is categorised using the metaphor of containment, clearly emerges into civilian life when their time in the service is complete. The exterior of the ‘army’ container/category is well-defined and maps accurately onto the lived and embodied experience of the individual concerned. The emergence of consciousness, however, shows no such consistency. It is far from clear what aspect of lived experience maps onto the exterior region that consciousness emerges into.

Díaz, José-Luis (2000). Mind-body unity, dual aspect, and the emergence of consciousness. Philosophical Psychology 13 (3):393-403.

Hameroff, Stuart R. - Quantum coherence in microtubules: A neural basis for emergent consciousness? Journal of Consciousness Studies, Volume 1, Number 1, 1994 , pp. 91-118(28)

Jordan, J. Scott & Ghin, Marcello (2006). (Proto-) consciousness as a contextually emergent property of self-sustaining systems. Mind and Matter 4 (1):45-68.

Seager, William (2006). The emergence of consciousness. Philosophic Exchange 36:5-23.

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Now I Am Really Awake

November 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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The Order of Fear

November 17th, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we see something that scares us, and causes us to back away, intuition tells us that the order of events in this process is as follows;

  1. The information from the world, say the light reflected off the tiger, enters our eyes
  2. The information is processed by the visual centres of the brain, allowing us to consciously recognise the tiger
  3. Because we know that tigers are dangerous we are consciously fearful
  4. Also because of our knowledge of the dangers we decide to run away.

This order, whilst it seems logical, is inaccurate. A more likely chain of events is as follows;

  1. The information from the world, say the light reflected off the tiger, enters our eyes, along with a lot of other information-bearing light
  2. The pattern-seeking systems in the brain search the data for particularly salient features, particularly those offering opportunities and threats
  3. The salience is dependent upon the affordances offered by the pattern, so this affordance is what is searched for. In the case of the tiger it would be the potential for causing physical harm.
  4. A tiger-shaped pattern or ‘affordance structure’ is recognised.
  5. The recognition of this affordance structure causes an immediate physical response pattern, that off running away.
  6. Part of this response pattern is the release of chemicals into the body that facilitate prompt action.
  7. After the action has already been triggered the conscious parts of the mind note the physical and biochemical changes and experience these changes as ‘fear’.
  8. Alongside this feeling of fear there is conscious awareness and recognition of the tiger.
  9. This conscious recognition allows us, if we choose, to block the action of running which has been initiated, if we wish to protect our loved ones for example.

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In the Midst of Life

November 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Looking out of my eyes I know I am alive right now, and sometimes I am very aware of how alive I am, but a lot of the time I’m barely conscious, sometimes I’m not conscious at all, and even when I am conscious I’m not thinking about anything special, just kind of looking at things, touching things etc. So apart from a few moments of strange self-consciousness (when coincidentally I feel the least connected to the world around me) most of my ‘being’ is pretty much indistinguishable from the being of the inanimate stuff around me. In that sense I am already ‘dead’, at least to the extent that all the other ‘being’ stuff is dead. Of course I know that this feeling of personal consciousness, even to the fairly limited extent that I experience it, is temporary. I understand that one day I will go to sleep and not wake up, and from that moment on this ongoing state of inanimate being will be permanent and unrelieved by the occasional flare of ‘me-ness’. In this sense, the transformation that will take place in my being at this ‘point of death’ does not seem to be terribly dramatic. The lifting of the needle from the record.

I also understand that at some point in the future, either through accident or natural process, the biological systems that hold my body in homeostasis will cease operating, causing my body to begin to break down into smaller and simpler components. Presumably some of those components will ultimately find their way into all kinds of other bodies, objects, plants etc. but most will probably lie around in the ground somewhere, percolating into the ground water and passing through the colons of insects (do insects have colons?). Again no abrupt change in the fundamentals of my being will have taken place through this event; all the component parts of my body are in constant exchanges with the environment anyway, and apparently I am entirely composed of the food I have been eating for the last seven years, food which originated in other bodies, other ground. After my death this process will continue unabated.

At funerals they often say ‘In the midst of life we are in death’, and that rings true for me. Death, in my opinion, isn’t some place you go to, (and potentially return from), it is a perfectly normal state of inanimate being, the normal accompaniment to life and wonderful in its own way.

Now I am really awake. Now I am really awake. Now I am really awake.

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Before and After Physics

November 21st, 2007 Fred McVittie

Some of the ideas behind (and in front of, and to the side of, and pervading the space between and inside) this work concern consciousness, evolution, and the interplay of feeling and knowing and being. These are big ideas, and are worthy of the attention of brains bigger than the ones possessed by we humans; we ‘medium sized mammals moving at medium speed’, to paraphrase Richard Dawkins. Since these stone-age hunter-gatherer brains are all we have, and since we are bound by the Cognitive Imperative hard-coded into our DNA to restlessly pursue the thought fox, however elusive and imaginary it might be, so the lure of the big idea draws us impossibly beyond the physics of our embodiment. There before us is the light of the moon, and our studies points like a finger in its direction, and if we must mix metaphors to approach that light, then so be it. Here are some shadows; a tree, a rock, words fading on a wall. Some are almost realisable as objects and can be easily seen and touched, some seem objective but are really only collections of words. Other collections of words make no pretense of objectivity but flow between the fingers uncontained, and all around is the white space, glowing and vibrant and eyeless.

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The Brain as a Consciousness Collector

November 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

One understanding of the panpsychist viewpoint is that all phenomena of the world incorporate the property of consciousness, in the same way that they incorporate space and time. So, for example, a rock, in addition to having its incontrovertible extension into the three dimensions of space: height, width, and breadth, and in addition to its irrefutable persistence over time, also has a quality of consciousness as an aspect of its being. In fact, without this consciousness it could not be said to be engaged in the act of being at all. Alternatively, one might say that the dimensions of space and time, (which may not correspond with human understandings of three-dimensional spacetime,) are also dimensions of consciousness.

A possible product of this way of regarding the world is a redefinition of the brain not as the seat of consciousness as it is currently described, but rather as a kind of ‘collector’ of consciousness. Instead of mind emerging from the behaviour of neuronal networks as an entirely unique phenomenon, disconnected from the contents of that consciousness, as the emergentist viewpoint inevitably indicates, the brain concentrates and organises the consciousness of the universe like a vortex in water.

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Avatar Fovea Vision

November 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie

In the early days of video gaming, when the very first 3D games were coming onto the market, the processing power of the consoles was often not enough to allow fully real-time rendering of the scene. As one moved the avatar through the virtual environment walls would suddenly pop into existence as their encoded information was realised on the screen. Quick movements particularly were likely to leave one’s avatar in a surreal incomplete landscape of gravity-defying buildings, roofs hovering above non-existent walls, bodies without legs or other visible means of support, and pixelated trees that blossomed before one’s eyes as the resolution increased. Improvements in chip and circuit design has meant that the rendering speed within a modern video game can keep up with the speed of the game easily; dropping of frames and the weirdness of incomplete environments is largely a thing of the past. This is, of course, a good thing. However, this limitation on the construction of a realistic environment on the NES, the Megadrive and the PlayStation 1 offers an interesting metaphor on the sensory construction of reality outside of the world of gaming.

Imagine a video game, a first person shooter perhaps, in which we, the player, are operating the avatar from the traditional position in such games, which is slightly above and behind the in-game character. We can see their body from the back and can control the direction in which they travel, their speed, and also have some control over their gestures and use of objects (typically weapons, but we could extend that to tools of all kinds). Usually in games of this kind we can also see quite a large amount of the environment through which they are moving and, assuming this is a modern console, this environment is seamlessly rendered for us. However, this game is different from others in that the environment is not rendered in its totality. Like games of yore, parts of the scene are rendered in detail, some are partial, and some parts do not appear at all. In this game the extent to which a part of the scene is rendered and therefore visible to the player is equivalent to how it would be visible to the avatar. The resolution of the onscreen environment is mapped according to the resolution that the eyes of the avatar would achieve.

The human visual system, including the eye, does not simply resolve the visual world as a uniform, flat image. There is a large variation between the centre of the gaze, typically occupied by the focus of one’s conscious attention, and the periphery of the visual field, to which one is giving very different attention and may not even be conscious of at all. The centre of vision, or fovea, has a high resolution and good colour determination; the peripheral vision on the other hand has greater sensitivity to motion and to small variations in light and shade, as well as to the discrimination of very faint light sources (which is why astronomers traditionally located stars by looking not directly at them but slightly away from where they were suspected to be, such that their peripheral vision might pick up what their focal vision could not).

Returning to the video game, what the player sees is therefore dependent upon what the character is doing and where they are looking. Parts of the environment, that which corresponds to the focal point of avatar’s point of view, is rendered in high resolution and full colour. Other parts of the scene, which would appear only peripherally within the character’s field of vision, are in monochrome and lack detail. At the extreme edges of avatar vision there may be only a grey mist. Significantly, whilst the action at the centre of the point of focus is well resolved it may be relatively static, whilst the grey mist would be seething with potential. Shadows would form in the mist of the peripheral vision demanding that the avatar pay attention and move them more central by turning in their direction, almost like dreams and phantasms emerging from the subconscious.

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Adaptive Consciousness and Evolutionary Lag

December 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is a tenet of evolutionary psychology, and indeed of evolutionary processes more generally, that organisms acquire what characteristics they have through the slow machinations of natural selection. The form of an animal, mind and body, today is the result of the challenges its ancestors faced yesterday. Inevitably there will always be something of a lag in this process, evolution is slow and the relatively rapid changes which can take place in the environment can easily outstrip the rate of modification in the genome which equips organisms for success in that environment. Also, even if the rate of change within the environment was relatively slow it would always be the case that organisms were, in general, somewhat behind that rate of change. Evolutionary adaptation is inherently a conservative, parsimonious process, and adaptive pressure will not be exerted unless there is a compelling need since a perfect degree of fit between organism and environment is not necessary. Provided an organism is well-enough adapted such that it will outperform its competitors then it will survive. This is reminiscent of the old joke;

Two trappers are camping in the forest of the Canadian wilderness when suddenly they see a huge grizzly bear charging across the clearing toward them. One immediately gets up and starts to run; the other stoops down and puts on his trainers. “Don’t waste time putting your trainers on”, the first one shouts, “we’ll probably not outrun it anyway”. “I don’t have to outrun the bear”, the second one replies, “I just have to outrun you.”

This ‘good enough’ criteria which marks adaptive evolution is also demonstrated by the existence of physical and cognitive features which, whilst they may have served some useful function in the past, no longer do so. The human appendix, for example, or human toes, or the dewclaw of a dog, or the vestigial eyes of some cave-dwelling fish which live in the total absence of light. The parsimony of evolution means that such relics tend to persist despite their apparent uselessness simply because, since their continued existence does not decrease the organisms chances of survival, there is no adaptive pressure forcing their removal from the genome. Cognitive features which may parallel these (and the behaviour which stems from these features) include: the ‘lethal raid’, promiscuity amongst males, fear of snakes and spiders, and hostility to out-group individuals. Like the appendix or the toes, these instincts and behaviours likely served our ancestors well in the past, and aided in their chances of survival in the environmental conditions occupied by those ancestors (including the social and inter-species environment). In the modern world however, these traits, whilst rarely self-destructive, usually serve no useful function, and it is only evolutionary inertia and parsimony which allows them to persist at all.

The evolutionary lag which marks the passage of the genome through its changing embodiment in a changing environment, means that the body/mind is always one step behind the world in which it is embedded, and in all likelihood always has been. As we have the brains and bodies of stone-age hunter-gatherers, so presumably did our hominid ancestors live with the handicaps of pre-hominid brains, bodies, and behaviours. Our Neanderthal cousins had the body hair and sloping brow of their tree-dwelling forefathers, who in turn may have had some of the cold-blooded instincts passed down unwanted but uneradicated from their own reptilian kin.

It may even be the case that these traces of adaptive history persist beyond the range of such convenient paleontological divisions. This history may be more like a script which exists not in neat, hermetic chapters, but as a holistic narrative which is simultaneously active in the present. Or alternatively, we might regard this history as the laying down of innumerable layers of physical and cognitive organisation, all of which comprise our current sense of being, not only the last 100,000 years or so. The occasional claims of evolutionary psychology that our present behaviour, our sociobiology, is explainable in terms of stone-age beings in an information-age world, ignores the fact that we have been many other things before we were hunter-gatherers in the Great Rift Valley of present day Africa. Isolating that moment of our evolutionary history is certainly revealing and has useful explanatory power, but it also misses the bigger picture.

Also missing from this picture is any suggestion of ‘what next?’ Of course it is unscientific to speculate beyond the data and we cannot guess what the future holds with any degree of certainty. The future is, as Steven Vizinczey put it in The Rules of Chaos, ‘a blinding mirage’. Nevertheless, if we can at least tentatively accept that whatever our mind is like now it is probably slightly out of step with how it would be if it were somehow ideally wedded to the social and physical environment of today, then we should be able to consider what kind of mind we should have. Furthermore, to the extent that we are able to control our minds, if only to the minimal extent of deciding what to consciously put in through reading and other experiences, then we should be able to modify our consciousness to correspond better to the world around us.

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Adaptive Attention

December 4th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Studies by Spelke and Baillargeon have established that babies and very young children look longer at events and objects which are unusual than at those which are behaving ‘normally’. This finding is used extensively to investigate what expectations about the world are hard-wired into the human brain and which are the results of acculturation. It has been found, for example, that babies look longer at events which seem to contradict the permanence of material object (in contrast to earlier experiments by Piaget), implying that the basic heuristic ‘objects persist’ is present at birth. Other findings suggest that such elements of knowledge as (Newtonian) gravity, inertia, momentum, agency, and energy conservation also appear to be built into the repertoire of innate human understanding. (This particular cluster of ‘facts’ seems further to underpin the Innate, Naive, or Folk Physics described by Smith, Hayes, etc).

The success of this experimental method depends upon the fact that babies pay greater attention to events that seem to contradict such ‘facts’. This behaviour, in which the unusual and the unexpected is awarded greater attentional resources that the usual and the expected itself requires some explanation. From the perspective of evolutionary psychology it is perhaps inevitable that, given the existence of any kind of innate or default model of the world, then an animal which was able to quickly detect variations from this model would have greater survival potential. After all, it tends to be the unusual events of the world that kill you, or conversely, provide rare opportunities for enhanced survival possibilities.

This tendency to be attracted toward and to pay preferential attention to unusual stimuli not only plays out within the field of visual attention (although given the massive processing power awarded by the brain to the visual system it is undoubtedly dominant). Unusual sounds, or combinations of sounds, attract the attention of babies also, as do irregular and unpredictable patterns of touch, e.g. tickling. It may be that the ‘invisible’ or ‘default’ actions, sights and sounds, those rhythms and patterns which do not demand attention reflect some aspects of the natural environment which our ancestors recognised non-consciously as unthreatening; the low murmur of a calm sea, the regular creak of breeze-blown trees, the predictable movement of clouds across the sky. Events which varied from these patterns would indicate the presence of unpredictability and possible threat; the faster rhythms and discontinuities of storm-blown trees, the crashing of a high sea, the dysrhythmia that signals agency and human or animal intentionality.

It would seem logical that, in addition to attracting and holding the attention of the senses literally, through the extended capture of eye-gaze direction for example, unusual stimuli would attract and hold the attention of mind; a kind of metaphorical gaze in which cognition is ‘focussed’ or ‘concentrated’ upon some non-standard aspect of the environment. Difference, and what Bateson (1979) refers to as ‘news of difference’, should be one of the most long-standing occupants of mind and consciousness.

Posted in Attention, Baillergeon, Bateson, Gregory, Consciousness, Evolution, Naive Physics, Physics, Spelke, Elizabeth | No Comments »

The Dying of the Light: Hello Darkness

December 11th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Development in human medicine may one day delay the onset of senile dementia, Alzheimer’s disease, and the routine deterioration of memory and reasoning that accompanies old age. (Recent studies have linked these effects with loss of integrity in the white matter of the brain (1).) We may eventually see a time in which aging of the brain is halted and as one gets older there is no loss of mental function, one stays as sharp and alert as a 20 year old, right up to the point when one dies from some somatic breakdown or other. Is this really a good thing? I am not at all sure I want to go out like that, at the absolute height of my cognitive powers, fully wide-awake and fully aware that, if only my body would keep going, then my brain would continue to carry me forward. I suspect that such ‘improvement’ would only add to the fear of death and the impossibility of imagining it. There would be no gradual decline, no fading away, no seeping of consciousness into the fabric of the world, no emptying of the self until the body is a hollow shell. Instead the ghost would be perfectly trapped within the machine, watching the decay of its vessel with increasing frustration and anxiety. There would be no ‘dying of the light’ to rage against, only the solid black wall of terminal embodiment to which we would hurtle, wide-eyed and with our path toward it brightly lit with anachronistic mind.

Let me dissolve into the gathering dusk piece by piece. Take this part of mind, then this, then this. Let me gently forget my friends and family, my home, the books I’ve read and the television I’ve watched, my wife, my past, my name. Return these things from wherever they came, out there beyond the extent of skin and bone. Take my freedom, my independence, my dignity, my continence, my responsiveness, my mobility, my rights as a human being, my sense of self, and stick them where the light of my sun no longer shines. Here is the dark, and here is the whisperer in darkness.

Andrews-Hanna J.R., Snyder A.Z, Vincent J.L., Lustig C, Head D, Fox M.D., Raichle M.E., and R.L. Buckner. “Evidence for large-scale network disruption in advanced aging.” In Preparation. Reported in Scientific American, December 5th, 2007.

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Cartesian Dualism - A Good Thing

January 14th, 2008 Fred McVittie

The distinction of mind and body into these two separate entities and substances is usually associated with Descartes and his notion of ’substance dualism’. This proposes that it is unimaginable that the experience of conscious thought might emrge from mere meat. This discontinuity is widely assumed to be:

(a) Wrong
(b) A Bad Thing

The badness of this substantive apartheid will be addressed later, and indeed challenged, but we might first consider what is wrong about it and where this wrongness is assumed to come from. The wrongness of this Cartesian dualism is reckoned to lie in its misrecognition of the power of physical explanation and the relationship between knowledge and intuition. The apparent difficulty in understanding conscious experience in all its ephemerality and intangibility using mental tools which we associate with inert and inanimate matter. This difficulty is, most likely, only an apparent one however, not as actual as it appears, and is most likely a reflection of the limits of our ability to intuitively grasp ideas which are outside our usual range of operation. It is likely that, even if a complete and exhaustive physical description of mind was available we would still find it intuitively unsatisfactory for the same reason that we find many other ideas difficult. Eleven dimensional space, the non-locality of sub-atomic particles, the time-dilation effects of relativity, all ‘feel’ unsatisfactory, despite the robust nature of these concepts. This counter-intuitive and unsatisfying sense we experience is a result of the deep unfamiliarity of such idea; an ability to grasp such ideas easily would have served no useful purpose to our evolutionary ancestors so we have never developed an embodied emotional ‘felt’ relationship to them. They appear distant, abstract, and disembodied, even when their status as fact is well-established. So it is with mind and consciousness; the difficulty we may experience in imagining evanescent mind as a property of proface matter is an artefact of our developmental history, and does not reflect an actual ontological distinction.

The logic of evolutionary adaptation, driven by the quest for survival of genetic information, provides a good explanation of why we experience difficulty in resolving mind/body dualisms in a way which feels intuitively satisfying, but it does not explain how this apparent distinction arose in the first place. Nor does it explain how this distinction continues to arise every time we perform any act of introspection. Within the routine processes of lived experience it seems to be almost inevitable that this divide continues to reassert itself, often despite our best efforts to bring body and mind together. The existence of this divide within the traditions of most, if not all, cultures (where the mind might be variously represented as the ’soul’, the ’spirit’, the ‘ti bon ange’, the ‘ka’ etc) suggests that it has something of the quality of a Human Universal and the fact that it has been identified in infants and young children argues for this distinction being, if not innate, then as contributing to a way of being which is acquired at a very young age and without any obvious prompting. It is likely that this persistant illusion of substance dualism is a product of our particular embodiment; the contingent and ramshackle architecture of body, sensory organs, brain, and mental modules which comprise our thinking selves.

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Anything with Anything

January 25th, 2008 Fred McVittie

As Paul Bloom has noted, we all appear to be ‘natural born dualists’, experiencing ourselves as consisting of two mutually-exclusive although possibly connected entities. These two entities are our body and our mind, and form the binary components of the classical Cartesian Dualism from which Bloom takes the term. Is has been widely demonstrated that this dualism, however intuitively inevitable, is not an accurate reflection of our real nature as revealed through scientific enquiry. It is, rather, an artefact of the particularities of our embodiment and its presence within all cultures and as an innate principle in very young children is accounted for by the shared nature of this embodiment. The idea that such separate elements of being exist of course informs the religious and metaphysical traditions of many, if not most cultures. Concepts such as the ’soul’, ‘reincarnation’, ‘astral travelling’, ‘out of body experiences’, ‘remote viewing’ etc all rely upon the possibility of body and mind (or soul) taking different pathways and existing apart from one another, and the likelihood that these concepts are entirely fictitious or illusory does not reduce their status as evidence for a thoroughgoing dualism within normal folk-psychology.

Regardless of the contrafactual nature of this dualism, the undeniable fact of its presence within all of us does present opportunities for imagination and practice which would not be possible if we were not born with this divide at the heart of our being. Our apparent existence as an insubstantial self inhabiting a substantial body allows for these two components to be considered separately and also capable of separation. In a sense we carry out such separation and strategic use of this dualism every day. We routinely change the location and size of our ’self’ many times a day; sometimes associating it with our entire body, at other times with only part of our body, as for example when we have a pain, when we may begin to regard our arm or our leg not as part of our self but as a kind of possession; “I have a pain in my leg” we might say. This withdrawal of one’s self from a painful limb would be impossible if we were not intuitive dualists. As unified, monist beings we would be forced to say “I am hurting” with the sense of “I” as present in the aching limb as it is in every other cell in the body. Similarly, when we are in conversation and we want to stress that the ideas and opinions we are stating represent our true feelings we may gesture with the hand towards the centre of the chest or the heart region. This action seems to be indicating that we want to associate the most vital (and survival dependent) parts of our anatomy with our ephemeral self. “Ignore the possible inaccuracies of my extremities”, we seem to be claiming, “my true self is here and can be trusted”.

This movement and contraction of the self within the body represents an ability we seem to possess to make temporary and strategic alliances between our self-concept (or ego, or I), and parts of the material world, particularly those parts we feel most associated with which lie within the boundaries of our own skin. It is likely that this ability is also in operation when we occasionally find the ability to ally our self with material beyond the limits of our own embodiment. Again we do this quite routinely when we take on the responsibility and compassionate care of a lover or a family member. At times we can feel that our self no longer stops at our skin but merges with the flesh of the other person. Less romantically, the allegiance one might feel with a team, a group, or a country, seems also to be a mobilisation of this ability to transfer the association of ephemeral self away from its ‘natural’ place within the corpus of the body and into a larger and more disparate entity.

These perambulations of the soul, regardless of the fictional status of such a soul, nevertheless seem to confirm our intuitions as naturally dualistic beings. If we were truly monists, with body and mind firmly welded together then such mobility and extensibility would be incomprehensible. This is also the case if we lived in a permanent state of advaita, the sense of Absolute Unity of Being referred to in many mystical traditions in which one feels oneself to be ‘One with Everything’. However desirable such a state may be, it would not allow the variable and mercurial ability that we all possess to be anything with anything.

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Mind Brain Physics

February 16th, 2008 Fred McVittie

The account provided by neuroscience for how the brain performs the many functions it does are complex to an incredible degree. What’s more, many of the processes and mechanisms that are cited in these explanations are not only difficult to understand but are effectively impossible to understand in a literal embodied way. For example, it is distinctly possible that quantum mechanical processes are involved, if Penrose and Hammeroff are to be believed, in which case this part of the cognitive process is beyond our intuitive grasp.

The likelihood of the brain’s functioning being non-comprehensible in this literal way is not routinely regarded as a problem for science, as we have strategies for gaining knowledge about even the most non-intuitive systems. Confirmation of this can be found in the success of quantum physics more generally, which provides enormous explanatory power despite its reliance on mathematics for the conveyance of these explanations, rather than the flesh and blood language of intuitive common sense. Investigation of the brain therefore uses all of the tools of modern science, and is not restricted by the limitations of our embodied understanding.

Explanations of the mind, however, seem unable to transcend this limitation. All models of the mind seem locked into a requirement that explanations for mental function (as opposed to brain function) be intuitively evident and available to routine comprehension. This is perhaps inevitable since, given that the (conscious) mind is a product of evolutionary forces aimed at maximising the survival potential of medium-sized social mammals moving at medium speed (to paraphrase Dawkins), the ability of that mind to represent the world, including itself, would only need to address those concerns. Since our ability to intuitively apprehend anything is constrained by this precondition, any model of mind we feel intuitively satisfied with would be similarly constrained. We should expect that models of mind be easily visualisable, and probably follow laws of physics which correspond to Naive or Folk Physics or some version of the Newtonian. What’s more, it is likely that the mind itself, again for good evolutionary reasons, functions in a way which corresponds to this embodied paradigm. If the mind is an organ (or set of organs) produced by evolution which represents and allows for an effective engagement with a largely Newtonian world, then that mind, as part of the world, would need to be similarly Newtonian in structure.

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