How Science Lost its Body

April 13th, 2006 Fred McVittie

This paper will describe how scientific knowledge prior to the late 16th and early 17th centuries was constructed and authenticated primarily by practical experimental means, and that this practice-led knowledge gathering process led to a form of knowledge which was inherently human-centred, sensual, and embodied. In fact it could be said that up to this point in history, the project of science was the organised description of human experience. After this point it will be argued that the object of enquiry shifted away from the human being and toward a depersonalised objectivity, a shift facilitated by an increasing tendency for scientific knowledge production to become mathematised (as noted by Kline 1980). This mathematisation of science proceeding to the point where, in cases where mathematical formulation does not agree with experiment, it is considered most likely that the experimental method is at fault.

A corollary of this mathematisation process is that scientific knowledge becomes increasingly disembodied. The truths proposed by much scientific research are beyond the reach of the senses and beyond any imaginative engagement other than in the abstract language of mathematics. Again, in regarding such knowledge, when mathematics does not agree with human sensibility it is the human sensorium which is considered faulty or inadequate. This means that the subjective, embodied knowledge we gain through lived experience is increasingly at a remove from the objective disembodied knowledge described by science. This paper will discuss some of the implications of this division.

Kline, M. (1980). Mathematics: The Loss of Certainty. New York, New York University Press.

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On Having No Body

April 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

In 1961 Douglas Harding published ‘On Having No Head’, an essay bringing together elements of Buddhist and Zen teaching with certain observations about the nature of seeing. A key theme within the process of enlightenment described in the essay is the realisation that, in purely experiential terms, a human being (the self) does not have a head. Whilst we may look around and see other people with heads we do not experience our own self in that way. Rather, when we try to consider the form or nature of ‘the place we are looking from’ we are confronted with a void. Our bodies also may be ‘out there in the world’ but our heads, or more specifically our minds, are empty space. In Harding’s writing this apparently whimsical observation is developed into a comprehensive holistic metaphysics in which this void, this empty space, is ‘the void in which the world appears’.

A weakness in Harding’s analogy is that it relies very heavily on our apprehension of the world through our sense of sight. Vision is paralleled with being to an extent which some readers may find too much of a stretch, particularly when the visual sense, whilst clearly very important in organising our sense of reality, is not necessarily the strongest sense we possess which provides this orientation. This paper will attempt to reinforce this weakness in Harding’s analogy by considering the unusual case of Miss L. ; a young woman who, after recovering from a severe viral infection, lost her ability to access her proprioceptive sense, the sense that gives us information about where our bodies and limbs are in space. This woman, who prior to her disease had no religious or unusual philosophical interests, on losing her proprioception, reported regular feelings of satori or ‘divine illumination’ (sic) accompanied, or possibly produced by, a sense of her body being ’simultaneously everywhere and nowhere’, or ‘empty and full’. This presentation will be illustrated with writings and images produced by Miss L in her attempt to describe her experiences.

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Attention Physics

June 19th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Attracting attention is a physical response to an environmental or social situation. In certain situations it is necessary, if not evolutionarily adaptive, to be able to call attention to oneself; when drowning for example, or in an attempt to attract a sexual partner or advertise one’s prowess in a particular field. Whilst this might obviously entail gross motor actions in a deliberate attempt to attract attention (shouting, broad movements etc), it is inevitable that other, more subtle, behaviours also exist for the management of attention. These behaviours include such minimal and largely unconscious proprioceptive actions as eye gaze direction, length of pauses in speech, syncopation of physical and vocal patterns, etc. Given that such fine-grained behaviour is usually beyond the reach of conscious control, it is likely that these are better controlled through the adopting of an overall mental ‘attitude’, and using this attitude or mindset to organise proprioception. The succesful organisation of proprioception around an attitude of attractiveness results in the physical manifestation of ‘presence’.

In order to develop the ability to attract attention in this way, and to develop presence, it may be necessary to learn techniques for the subtle orientation of the physical body such that the necessary attitude is produced. It is likely that such techniques would take the form of holistic exercises intended to allow the embodiment of such an attitude and its realization through the control mechanisms of the proprioceptive senses.

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‘Perennial Philosophy’ and Embodiment

July 3rd, 2006 Fred McVittie

The universality of embodiment inevitably produces a similar universality of conceptual and cognitive structure, both in terms of the phylogeny of the human species, and the ontogeny of the individual human. Shared evolutionary history has given us all the same mental toolkit. Introspective and intuitive methods of developing knowledge; ways of thinking which draw only on this toolkit; also therefore inevitably produces similar models for the organisation of that knowledge. This is most evidently true when considering models of the psyche, and the relationship of psyche to the rest of existence.

Introspective methods for considering the organisation of the psyche, whether this introspection take place within a scientific, religious, or philosophical context, have tended to postulate very similar organisational structures. Pundit and founder of ‘integral philosophy’ Ken Wilbur has mapped and charted these correlations in great detail, referring to the general similarity in psychic structure which emerges as evidence for what he calls the ‘Perennial Philosophy’ (1). Wilbur goes on to suggest that the degree of similarity between the numerous different models of psyche and world is indicative of some kind of absolute or archetypal truth, that the psyche really is constructed in the way these models suggest. However, another way of looking at this correlation is to consider such overlap an inevitable consequence of embodiment. Such models inevitably draw on familiar structures of organisation mapped metaphorically from physical embodied experience, utilising such features as levels/hierarchies, part/whole distinctions, nested categories, chains, gradients, and spectra. These concrete features, experienced sensorially and kinesthetically by our bodies and those of our genetic ancestors, form the metaphorical features which shape our cognition.

Wilber,Ken - A theory of everything : an integral vision for business, politics, science and spirituality. Shambhala Publications. 2000

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Evolution, embodiment, mythology, philosophy

July 5th, 2006 Fred McVittie

These things we share:

  • shared evolutionary experience, which have given us all the same hands, eyes, and brains
  • shared ontogenic developmental experience, which has introduced us all to the same basic features of the world at the same rate
  • shared knowledge or propensities that we all seem to be born with
  • shared knowledge and practices we all seem to generate culturally, usually expressed as ‘human universals’
  • shared knowledge we all create about our experiences in the world, usually expressed as ‘folk science’
  • shared mythic structures, narratives, and archetypes
  • shared religious and philosophical frameworks, usually expressed as ‘ perennial philosophy’

It is quite likely that there is a relationship across these commonalities, that, for example, our ‘perennial philosophy’ is ultimately related to our shared evolutionary experience.

Posted in Embodiment, Evolution, Myth, Naive Physics, Perennialism | No Comments »

Space and Relation

July 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The family of concepts articulating how one entity is described in relation to another entity are generally known by the term ‘Relationship’. This term, and the concepts it covers, are inherently abstract, and is therefore understood through a metaphorical mapping from a concrete concept; one that can be directly experienced by the sensorimotor system of the human body. All relationships are understood through a conceptual mapping of the concrete concept of space. Different types of relationship are understood through mappings of the various dimensions of experiential space.

  • Status, amount, and quality use the vertical dimension (high status, high quality, high turnover)
  • Affection, necessity, and safety use the dimension of proximity (close friendship, distant possibility, near miss)
  • Mereology (part/whole relations) use the dimension of containment (”I am in the club”)
  • Temporal relations use the in front/behind schema (”the week ahead”, “the worst is behind us”)

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Universal Physics

July 17th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The development of the science of physics, particularly over the last 400 years, can be seen as the triumph of a particular approach to knowledge gathering. This approach disregards the position of the human being within the scientific process, and attempts to construct an objective position outside of incarnate humanity from which to regard the world. In order to achieve objectivity it is necessary to consciously abandon our embodiment as ‘medium sized objects moving at medium speed’ (Dawkins 2003), and embrace an organised scepticism toward the data of the senses and the common sense which these senses produce. This in turn has required an increasing reliance on the (apparently) disembodied language of mathematics . Alongside this evacuation of the human being from its privileged position at the heart of physics is the corresponding development of a set of protocols for the objective verification and falsification of knowledge, enshrined in the idealisations of the scientific method. This project, the construction of Rational Physics through mathematisation and scientification, has been astonishingly successful, and its creations and discoveries are truly awe inspiring. However, the creation of new conscious knowledge does not necessarily mean the erasure of the old, and even though the findings of physics are as close to factual as we are likely to get, they still may not get us ‘where we live’. Science may have abandoned the body at some point in the late 16th Century, but as functioning humans we still take it around with us everywhere we go. Also, whilst our consciousness may be able to engage with the mathematical abstractions of quantum theory and dark energy, our non-conscious cognition (and actually much of our conscious, in the form of covert metaphors) is still working with the tools provided by an embodied evolution.

Within the system of beliefs, biases, misconceptions, common sense, and generalisations that Brown (1991) identified as ‘Human Universals’ there are a subset which refer specifically to matter, energy, and their interactions. In any formal, rational system of knowledge constructed through the protocols of science, this subset of knowledge would be called ‘physics’. In the context of human universals, which operates without scientific protocols but only with the innate and accumulated knowledge that comes with embodiment, this subset could be referred to as ‘Universal Physics”, a set of general principles and theories about the way the world works that is held by all cultures, and that is a result of a common biology and a common evolutionary history. While Rational Physics is the physics of the disembodied universe of atoms, quarks, membranes, black holes, and quanta. Universal Physics (UP) is the physics of dreams, intuition, emotion, art, God, and human frailty.

(Note: The “Universal Physics” referred to here is in no way connected to that proposed by Ethan Skyler http://www.physicsnews1.com/ or of the ‘commonsense science’ of Barnes, Bergman, Collins and Lucas http://www.commonsensescience.org/ )

Brown, D. E. (1991). Human Universals. New York, McGraw-Hill.
Dawkins, R. and L. Menon (2003). A devil’s chaplain: selected essays. London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

Posted in Brown, D. E., Dawkins, Richard, Embodiment, Evolution, History, Mathematics, Metaphor, Physics, Universals | No Comments »

Evidence for Universal Physics

July 18th, 2006 Fred McVittie

If the theory of Universal Physics has any validity, we should see evidence of its existence across a range of disparate cultures. Given that all cultures are built upon the same basic template: an embodied evolutionary development and the day-to-day sharing of a common sensorimotor vehicle. Comparative anthropology and comparative religion has produced a body of data which suggests this is the case. Although these research domains have framed their observations differently, and may have focussed on different aspect of the data, there is a good match between the axioms of Universal Physics and some of the commonalities variously referred to as ‘perennial philosophy’, ‘archetypal myths’, ‘integral psychology’ etc.

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Examples of Universal Physics

July 26th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The concept of a ‘Universal People’ put forward by Brown is based on the notion that all human beings share a common core of behaviours, perceptions, and concepts. This notion is derived from a large number of cross-cultural and anthropological studies and is widely assumed to result from a common evolutionary history and a shared embodiment, this embodiment also incorporating the organs of sense and cognition. Part of this shared universal cognition concerns commonly held interpretations of the behaviour of matter and energy; what in rational scientific terms would be called ‘physics’. Given this commonality, we should expect to see a set of correspondences across cultures, and possibly across times, between the models that different peoples use for this ‘universal physics’, and indeed this is what we find when we compare:

  • The pre-Newtonian paradigm in Western hermetic science
  • The paradigm informing Chinese Traditional Medicine
  • The paradigm implied by ‘Naive Physics’

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How Science got it Body Back

July 29th, 2006 Fred McVittie

As has been described by Kline (1980), Davies (2005), and others, the history of scientifically verified truth took a particular turn around the 16th century. The mathematization of science in which validation processes from experimental hypotheses and procedures moved from being ’self-evident’ (i.e. evidenced by the sense of the embodied self), to being validated axiomatically using the language of mathematics. The authority of this mathematical truth is owing to its being underwritten by a transcendent logic, untainted by human frailty. Maths is/was considered a purely abstract structure of thought, separate from the messy subjectivity of the body, and therefore not only exact, but also disembodied. The 20th century, however, through the work of Godel and others, saw this transcendent logic and coherence of mathematics exposed as fundamentally untrue, which discovery resulted in a ‘loss of certainty’ (Kline: 1980) in maths and a corresponding loss of certainty in the sciences which rest rest on this mythic transcendent coherent logic. This could be interpreted as a crisis for maths and science, as these activities are revealed as ultimately groundless; not based on eternal transcendental, possibly God-given laws, but at best on heuristics which are merely ‘useful’ and ‘effective’. However, recent developments in cognitive linguistics and the development of theories of ‘embodied cognition’ offer a different interpretation. These emerging disciplines suggest that our ability to conceptualise and work with even the most abstract ideas of mathematics or science is throught the use of embodied metaphors, and that even the equations of pure maths, when analysed using the tools of cognitive linguistics, reveal the use of concepts and ideas which are mapped metaphorically from simple actions and responses of the somatosensory body, (Lakoff and Nunez 2000). This implies that ultimately, what logic and coherence maths may possess which allows it to be used to validate science, is due to the logic and coherence of the metaphors used to conceptualise that maths. These metaphors, while they may inevitably be partial, contradictory, and incompatible one with another, are themselves built from the experiential realism of embodiment. The ground of thought is not in the sky, but in ourselves, and the loss of certainty in maths is the regaining of the body in science

Davies, B. (2005). “Whither Mathematics?” Notices of the AMS 52(11): 1350 - 1356.

Kline, M. (1980). Mathematics: The Decline of Certainty. New York, Oxford University Press.

Posted in Cognitive Linguistics, Embodiment, History, Kline, Morris, Mathematics, Science | No Comments »

Levels of Metaphor

August 8th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Although all abstract concepts are rendered comprehensible through the use of embodied metaphor, there is no clear division between the concrete and the abstract. It is more useful to consider metaphor operating at various levels of remove.

  • Functional and operational actions performed by the body are clearly not metaphorical and are the most ‘concrete’
  • Gestures and words which ’stand in’ for these concrete actions are similarly concrete, although there may be an element of metonymy in their isolation of a particular element of a concrete action.
  • Words for concepts or entities which have no physically experienced properties can only be rendered linguistically by using reference to concrete actions/objects, i.e. metaphor.
  • Non-natural languages can be developed to discuss certain abstract concepts based on the systematisation of concrete embodied metaphors, e.g. Mathematics, poetry.

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Embodied Natural Language

August 9th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Natural language contains many terms for concepts which are inherently abstract; justice, love etc. It also contains terms for entities which are beyond the range of human sense; quarks, black holes etc. It also contains terms for entities which are purely theoretical and/or fictitious; ghosts, epicycles, souls, etc. Despite the discorporate nature of these entities, it is apparent that their appearance in language is not discorporate at all. All these concepts, when looked at in the context of their use in sentences and in their definitions expressed in natural language, is made readily embodiable through the application of concrete metaphor. In fact, it might be said that natural language, in its entirety, is a fully embodied system. This contrasts with, for example, the language of mathematics, which is not obviously embodied, (although is it clearly based ultimately on embodied ideas, after Lakoff and Nunez).

Posted in Abstract, Embodiment, Language, Mathematics, Nunez, Rafael | No Comments »

Embodied Meaning in a Neural Theory of Language.

September 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Feldman, J. and S. Narayanan (2004). “Embodied Meaning in a Neural Theory of Language.” Brain and Language(89): 385.

This paper puts forward a theory of cognitive meaning in which terms such as ‘grasp’ are understood through an activation of the same neural circuitry that would be employed in actually carrying out the action of grasping. These are the so-called ‘mirror neurons’ identified by Ramachandran and others. Narayanan and Feldman go on to suggest how these same circuits are used in the understanding of these same terms used metaphorically, as when we ‘grasp’ and idea etc. It is further suggested that this same system is in place with other modes of communication and comprehension, particularly the use of gesture.

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Metaphors for Change

September 30th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The particular metaphor one chooses to understand one’s own mind affects one’s phenomenological experience of that mind, and of aspects of the wider world. In other words, how you imagine yourself affects how you feel, and consequently how and at what level you are able to perform. In many ways, this is an obviousness; it has long been considered a fact that in order to do one’s best one should think ‘positively’, not have ‘low self esteem’, be ‘in the zone’, avoid ’self-consciousness’ etc. What is possibly not immediately obvious is that all these terms are metaphorical; there is no physical state which can be scientifically measured as ‘positive’ or ‘negative’, there is no real mental ‘zone’, self-esteem is not an object that might rise or fall in space, and there is no homuncular ’self’ outside of our normal consciousness which we might become literally aware of as a separate being. These terms, and the concepts and feelings they refer to, only make sense because of the use the mind makes of metaphor, using concrete physical experiences such as objects, height, space, amount etc to understand abstract entities like esteem. Furthermore, these metaphors, like all linguistic elements, do not make sense on their own, but because they are each part of coherent complex metaphorical models which structure a range of related concepts. For example, the low in low self esteem only makes sense because of a coherent set of understandings related to height including such elements as above, below, high, low, bottom, top, rise, fall, drop, float etc.

Once such a metaphor system is constructed, it becomes possible to discuss the otherwise abstract concepts referred to. It may also make available possible actions which affect one’s mental state and performance. For example, without the spatial metaphor implied by ‘low self-esteem’ there would not be the possibility of talking about ‘raising’ self-esteem or or any actions which might bring such ‘raising’ about. Part of the role of a trainer or counsellor is to assist in the construction of a form of understanding which is helpful in the optimisation of performance. A key way this might be achieved is through the sharing of a coherent metaphor for mental function which allows for the possibility of positive change.

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The Boundaries of Self

November 4th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The boundaries of the self are not given and may be placed at any possible location within a continuum stretching from a point of focus to an entirety of space. Within this continuum there are a number of ‘natural’ configurations which serve as default boundaries, the most significant of these probably being the body. We feel ourselves located within, or co-extensive with the body, and it is the body we point to when we indicate ourselves (interestingly, we usually point to the chest when indicating ourselves, rather than the head). The body acts as a liminal zone, rather like the tide-line on a beach, that the self routinely expands and contracts across according to the different states of mind we occupy and the different situations we find ourselves in.

Reduced ability to mobilise the extension/contraction of the self across the tide-line of the body may indicate less than optimal functioning, possibly even pathology. For example, we routinely extend our sense of self to include members of our immediate family, our local community, our country (patriotism), even the land itself; an inability to perform this extension is indicative, at the very least, of self-centredness or self-absorption.

Administration of the boundaries of the self may come from the conscious control of such extension by the mechanisms of mind, as when we consciously undertake procedures to expand our minds, or it may come from outside, in response to circumstance and context. Unwanted attention may cause our sense of self to contract, to retreat behind the barrier of the defensible body. Welcome attention may cause our sense of self to expand such as to include those around us.

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Physical centres

November 28th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Although the term ‘centre’ is used metaphorically to indicate a certain psychophysical state, (closely related to the concept of ‘essence’), it is only meaningful as a metaphor because of the fact that it is mapped from physical, embodied experience. The nature of the human physiology and sensorium creates an experience of centredness from which the more abstract uses of the term ‘centre’ take their meaning. This embodied experience of centre involves the following physical centres of experience:

  • Weight centre (in the abdomen/tan tien). This corresponds to the centre of gravity, the point of balance we routinely experiece (particularly as children) when moving, standing, sitting down, lying etc.
  • Base centre (in the feet). This is the feeling we have in our feet when we stand still, or almost still. Although this feeling is not usually brought to consciousness, it we attend to it we can feel the weight of our bodies registering as small shifts of weight around a central point beneath our feet.
  • Visual centre (look around. You are in the middle of the world. Where exactly is the centre of your visual world). The way the human visual system works orients each of us in such a way that, in whatever direction we look, we see the world as retreating from us. Distant objects are smaller than close objects and we are the centre of this retreat. Also, we often see a horizon line extending all the way around us, describing a circle with ourselves at the centre. We may even experience the sky above our heads as a bowl or sphere (as many cultures have in the past), and our self as occupying the exact centre of that sphere.
  • Auditory centre (close your eyes and listen. You are in the middle of what you can hear. Where exactly is the centre of your auditory world). As with the Visual Centre, we also experience the sounds we hear as being ‘around’ us, with the roundness having an axis in the centre of ourselves.

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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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Sacred and Profane

May 13th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The percentage of the material world that we can access directly with our senses is extremely small. Our eyes detect only those wavelengths of light which correspond to the visual spectrum, our ears only hear a narrow range of sounds, our hands can only discriminate the shape, size, and texture of objects within our reach, and then only within strict limits. In addition to these physical limitations of the senses, we are also out of direct contact with most of the things we think about and talk about. Not only can we not touch or taste atoms and galaxies, but we will also never have direct experience of such concepts as politics, God, justice, evil, and tomorrow. These familiar ideas have no sensory representatives and make no impact on our experiences, even love and the other emotions are outside the reach of our senses, (although their effects may not be.)

We are in the strange position therefore of having a constant waking awareness that most of what we think about, most of what we would regard as important to us, is not directly accessible and can only be spoken about using metaphors and analogies. So for example, as Samuel Beckett noted, we can only talk about God by talking about him as if he were a man (or a woman, or a light, or a force, etc.) In a sense we are still the prisoners shackled in Plato’s cave watching the dancing shadows on the wall, and whilst we may have full knowledge that these are merely shadows, we do not have the faculties to see the origins of these shadows, and in fact can only even think about our predicament by using terms such as ’seeing’, ‘in a sense’, and ‘full knowledge’. To paraphrase Beckett, we can only talk about knowing as if it was seeing, we can only think about knowledge by understanding it as a space which can be full.

There is, therefore, a vast netherworld of ideas and concepts which are beyond the horizon of our experience, and which we can never access literally. This is not to say that the land beyond this horizon does not exist, or that it is not real; we can be reasonably sure that there are such things as atoms even though no-one has ever seen one (the jury is still out on the existence of God). The reality of those phenomena which are outside sensory range may be confirmed by other means; through social processes of reality construction for example, or the formulation of theories, ideologies, religious beliefs, and cosmologies.

Our attitude toward these concepts varies enormously. To many people, scientific theories which posit the existence of entities outside of experience, whether this be superstrings, black holes, or dark energy, are approached with an attitude we might call ‘profane’ in the sense that, whilst these theories may be difficult or counter-intuitive, they are part of an approach to knowledge which is apparently materialistic and ‘of this world’. When extra-experiential concepts are referred to which are not framed scientifically, particularly religious or ’spiritual’ ideas, the attitude taken toward these concepts is not profane but is ’sacred’. These is a sense of reverence or even supplication toward the ideas. A distinction is felt between these two approaches, the sacred and the profane, in which the sacred attitude is reserved for certain concepts which lie outside of experience but not others. This is inconsistent, and in my opinion emerges from a false distinction between those aspects of the world we can access and those we cannot. If there was a clear correspondence between the profane and the accessible, and between the extrasensory and the spiritual this would at least be consistent, but no such correspondence exists. The sacred and profane do not map onto the literal and the metaphorical. In my opinion, both the literal and the metaphorical, the accessible and the inaccessible, are equally worthy of both sacred and profane regard.

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The Mind and the Printing Press

May 13th, 2007 Fred McVittie

David Hubel in ‘Mind, Brain and Vision’ remarks that the brain is a machine “that does tasks in a way that is consonant with the laws of physics, an object that we can understand in the same way that we understand a printing press”. This ambition for the understanding of the brain may be hubristic however. It is likely that the brain functions using processes which require forms of understanding which are radically different than those we use to understand the mechanical objects of the material world. A printing press is, as Dawkins might put it, a ‘medium sized object moving at medium speed’, its workings are entirely explicable in terms of Newtonian physics and basic mechanics (those workings which are significant to its major function at any rate). A brain on the other hand utilises electrochemical and biochemical, and possibly quantum mechanical processes which are completely beyond the reach of Newtonian physics and which can only be approached using very different mathematical and scientific models. This distinction is significant because, as medium sized object ourselves, we can think and talk about processes which operate on the Newtonian scale literally and directly, but when we think and talk about processes which lie outside of that scale we enter a world outside direct experience which we can only address metaphorically (including the ultimately metaphorical constructions of mathematics). This means that, whilst we might one day fully ‘understand’ the brain, we will never understand it in the way that we understand the printing press.

Paradoxically, there is also an implication that, since we have the minds of medium sized objects, built out of the need to solve the problems facing medium sized objects, those minds are themselves, in a sense, medium sized objects. Our minds intuitively understand something approximating Newtonian physics. There is therefore a grain of truth in what Hubel says although it is more appropriately aimed at the mind, not the brain. The mind does tasks in a way which is consonant with the laws of (folk) physics”.

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Proximity, Sense, and Knowledge

May 14th, 2007 Fred McVittie

According to embodied theories of cognition the dominant strategy for the apprehension of abstract concepts is through the widespread and largely unconscious application of metaphor, such that we understand abstract concepts in terms of more concrete concepts.

(W)e tend to structure the less concrete and inherently vaguer concepts (like those for emotions) in terms of more concrete concepts, which are more clearly delineated in our experience. {Lakoff, 1981. p. 112}

Lakoff and Johnson go on to argue that three natural kinds of experience, of the body, of the physical environment, and of the culture, are the basic source domains upon which metaphors draw. All of these source domains are apprehensible directly through the senses.

The concrete sensorial experience that we have of the world is therefore used metaphorically in the formation of concepts. However, the type of information we receive through the various sensory channels, eyes, ears, the surface of the skin, is not equal, and the use we make of this different information depends upon the sensory mode through which it is mediated.

The sensation of seeing is very different to that of hearing, and differs again from that of touching. It is inevitable then, that knowledge understood through the use of metaphors which derive from these different sensory origins will tend to exhibit differences, and also that these differences will be consistent. All concepts which derive from sight-based metaphors should have features in common which distinguish them from concepts formed from touch-based metaphors. I will show here that these consistent differences reveal themselves in language, in gesture, and in their status within interpersonal discourse.

In order to examine the ontology of the metaphors that we use to form abstract concepts, we need to clearly identify the nature of the sensory mode from which they originate. This means reminding ourselves of some obvious facts about the nature of experience as it is mediated by sight as opposed to its mediation by touch for example. Events which stimulate the visual sense, i.e. things that we see, are obviously outside of our body, possibly even a considerable distance from our body, and therefore do not have a direct ‘impact’ on our wellbeing. Visualised objects are also usually also visible to other people, existing in interpersonal shared space, which means that objects apprehended visually are likely to have similar significance for all viewers (seeing a tiger is likely to cause anyone in visible range to run away).

Objects and events which are apprehended through the sense of touch, on the other hand (sic) do, by definition, have a direct impact on the body doing the touching, they are in extreme proximity to that body, and are likely to have a much greater significance for the person touched than for someone else who is not in contact with the object, (touching a flame causes a significantly different response than seeing one).

These completely embodied ontological differences suggests that there is a structured and organised variation in experience depending upon which sense is primarily used to access that experience. The difference in sensory mode maps onto corresponding differences in the proximity of the stimulus to the body, and to the degree to which an experience is shared amongst a number of experiencers. Vision identifies objects which are at a remove from the body, and which are accessible to a number of viewers. Touch identifies phenomena which are up-close and personal.

Given that, as noted above, we draw substantially on embodied experience to organise and structure our knowledge of those aspects of the world which are abstract through the use of conceptual metaphor it is likely that abstract concepts will also be organised according to the various sensory modes. Even a cursory inspection reveals that we do indeed find this distinction, with concepts which we regard as ‘objective’ being referred to using visual metaphor, thus placing them in a shared conceptual space where they appear similar to all (metaphorical) viewers, much as we might place a physical object on public display. Conversely, those entities we regard as ’subjective’ are often referred to using tactile metaphors. These subjective entities are held metaphorically against the body where they are ‘felt’, an individual experience with an acknowledged difference in impact for the ‘feeler’ than for the objective ‘viewer’. Held at such close proximity, tactile concepts are not separated and distanced from the body of the person, they are almost part of that subjectivity, part of the subject.

Visual knowledge contains within its logic the binary opposition of self and other, subject and object, observer and observed. Tactile knowledge elides this distinction into a point of contact in which the space between these supposed binaries is collapsed. Indeed, with some constructions of knowledge, the metaphorical sensory impression that the concept makes on the body penetrates beneath the level of the skin and into the interior, where it engages not only sensorially, but sensually and sexually. This approach to knowledge is found in the ecriture feminine of Cixous and others, the goal of which is to create a language with an interior “to get inside of,” a place of feminine jouissance.

In making art we are constantly traversing the space between the objective and the subjective; stepping back from it so that we might get an ‘overview’ of it, then embracing it and letting ourselves feel it and feel with it. It is both outside us and inside us and the language we use reflect this oscillation, this switching of sensory channels.

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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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Physicalese for Beginners

May 22nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The mind of the machine speaks ultimately in zeroes and ones, whereas the body of the machine speaks in the physical language of input/output devices; printers, monitors, robotic arms, webcams etc. In humans, there is no such switch from concrete action to abstract symbols, the structure of the representation of experience that constitutes cognition remains embodied throughout. Human bodies, like the bodies of machines, are medium sized objects moving at medium speed, and the language of these bodies is constrained and constructed from the affordances they possess. It is a language of space, and motion, and gravity: of the swinging of an arm in a predictable arc when catching a ball and the rhythmic fall of a foot when walking. It is also the language of the senses: the flow of light across the retina when we pass a window and the feel of warmth on the back of the neck when we walk away from the sun. The body talks to the world, and listens to the worlds responses, in a kind of ‘physicalese’. The universal language of embodied human being.

The ‘mentalese’ spoken by our minds uses this same grammar and vocabulary, or more accurately, the body provides the grammar and vocabulary utilised by the mind. There is no need for translation into some kind of neurological Visual Basic or C++.

Posted in Computation, Embodiment, Seeing | No Comments »

Embodied Dreaming

May 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The conscious thoughts and experiences we have when waking are always accompanied by rich layers of non-concious cognitive activity. This ranges from simple monitoring and maintenance activities: keeping the heart pumping, regulating body temperature etc, to complex pre-conscious and unconscious mentation(in the psycho-analytic sense. These more complex layers of cognitive activity underpin the fully conscious and occasionally rational thoughts we equate with ‘awareness’ or ‘consciousness’, and without these supporting processes consciousness and awareness would not be possible. Normally these processes are not accessible to us, much as the beating of our heart is not normally something we can be aware of, however, there are times when the noises of the body and the world are muted or stilled, and the sound of our heart erupts into our consciousness; when we are afraid, or in love, or running. Similarly, there are times when the blaring of consciousness is turned off and the quiet running of the subterranean rivers of non-conscious cognition becomes audible. One of these times is in the dead of night and the stillness of REM sleep. When we dream we have direct access to the conceptual layer of our cognition. And what we find is that the language of this layer is not abstract, symbolic, and computational, but concrete, embodied, and metaphorical. Our dreams show us the mechanisms of our thoughts.

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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 »

The Newtonian Imagination

May 28th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The mechanistic paradigm devised by Newton and Descartes, and refined by Locke, Le Mettier etc. represents the final stage in the development of a truly ‘embodiable’ body of knowledge (sic). By virtue of the paradigm being limited to the the mechanical interactions of medium sized objects moving at medium speed, its area of of explanation corresponds to that which falls within the horizon of direct human experience. The fact that the model was used to explain phenomena which would later be more effectively explained by theories lying beyond the reach of human embodiment: electricity, chemistry, particle physics, astrophysics etc. does not diminish the achievements of scientists working in and advancing an understanding of the mechanistic paradigm. Rather it is more useful to recognise that one of the properties of the mechanistic paradigm is that it not only explains much of the workings of the human-sized world, but also that it describes what (metaphorical, imaginary) cognitive structures we need to create in order to think about elements of the cosmos which lie beyond the horizon of the senses. In other words, our minds are adapted to solve only those problems which apply to medium-sized objects moving at medium speed, and which are directly apprehensible to the senses. All of the problems that we are adaptively enable to detect and deal with fit within the mechanistic Newtonian/Cartesian paradigm. When we address problems or create theories which appear to lie outside of the mechanistic paradigm, we do to through the use of embodiable, Newtonian metaphor.

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Human Programming (top down approaches)

June 2nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

  • The language of ‘top-down’ programming (in the context of human action) is the language of embodied action, communicated through metaphor.
  • Top-down programmes may take the form of analogies, beliefs, theories, or imaginary structures.
  • Top-down programming may serve to organise a complex series of actions, such as performing a dance like the twist, or it may organise the nuances of an action such that the action is performed more optimally, or it may organise cognitive behaviour such that certain mental states are produced or optimised.

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Eyes of Meat

July 5th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Bettenson, in Early Christian Fathers (1969: pp.70-71), citing Irenaeus, cites the composition of humankind (man) as consisting of three elements. These are flesh, soul, and spirit. In this formulation, flesh is the material body, spirit is the ineffable unified absolute, possibly identified with God, and soul is the individualising entity placed midway between flesh and spirit. Soul is therefore connected to the Absolute Unity of Being represented by spirit, but is also connected to the earth-bound and limited vehicle of embodiment and the flesh.

A modern interpretation of this trinity might play out the various parts in terms of body, mind, and world. In this revisiting, the flesh of the body is acknowledged as possessing certain affordances, certain sensorimotor means of accessing, exploring, and processing the data of the world. This body (including the physical brain) is the product of an evolutionary history and of an ongoing imperative to operate as a ‘medium sized object moving at medium speed’, and as such it has developed a range of abilities appropriate to that imperative.

The world, to the extent that we are able to say anything at all about it, exists not only within the limits of the senses but also far outside of those limits. Whilst the comprehensible scale at which the body operates is medium sized, say within a scale that runs from ants to mountains, the scale of the world (or universe) stretches from the Planck length to the limits of cosmic expansion. Similar extensions of scale beyond the range of human ken exist in all dimensions of sensory experience, and indeed outside of sensory experience completely, and in many ways define the distinction between body and world. Also, the extent to which the body can know the world is not only limited by the affordances of the body, but is also partly constructed by those affordances. Kant claimed that space and time, for example, were not properties of the world at large, but were frameworks which were placed upon the world by our attempts to understand it. This idea of a negotiated relationship between self and world finds full fruition in the Copenhagen Interpretation of quantum physics. Whatever world is then, it is certain that only a tiny portion of it is directly available to human sensory engagement. We may no longer refer to the entirety of this great disembodied unknowable as God, but there is still a sense that the world is that which is beyond the boundaries of the self in every sense.

Lying between these two concepts, the materially limited instrumental body and incomprehensibly disembodied world, is the mind: an interface between the mechanism of knowing and the source of all knowledge. With one foot in the animal kingdom and the other in the plenum of angels, the mind stares into the ineffable void with eyes made of meat. The ideas and feelings which make humankind what it is, our lauded consciousness, must be a product of this confabulatory poise.

Bettenson, Henry. - Early Christian Fathers. Oxford University Press. 1969.

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Meat Knowing

July 5th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The body knows the world in its experiencing of that world. Knowledge, in embodied terms, is coexistent with experiencing and is therefore inevitably limited to the unalloyed affordances of the body. In this regard, ‘experiential knowledge’ refers to that subset of knowledge which is directly apprehensible to the senses and which is capable of being represented within the sensorimotor system of the body.

It could be argued that, since the mind is also ultimately embodied, in the sense that the conceptual mechanisms of thought are derived from the affordances of the body, then all knowledge is ‘experiential’, sharing a consilient body-based vocabulary of image schema and metaphor. However, there are significant differences between knowledge which is based on the language of experience, call it ‘embodied conceptualisation’, and knowledge which is embodied experience itself. One key difference lies in the necessary consistency which marks embodied experience and which is absent from embodied conceptualisation. Embodied experience involves the active engagement with the physical objects of the world; when learning to operate a lathe for example, one is actively connected to the material reality of the lathe and to the material one is working. The embodied experience or tacit knowledge which this activity produces is dependent upon, and constrained by, the necessary constancy of the lathe and the material. In simple terms, the lathe will not change into a container or into an animal half way through the process. The material one is working with will not usually transform into a liquid or volatalise away into gas the moment the chuck key is tightened on it. That is not the way the real world works, and the embodied knowledge of using a lathe is constrained by this reality.

Embodied conceptualisation, being a form of knowledge which uses the language of embodiment but does not operate in the real world, has no such constraints. When constructing knowledge or communicating knowledge which has no literal physical correlates, knowledge concerning some abstract entity such as justice for example, there is no demand for ontological consistency and no need for the constancy of material properties which mark the real world. When using embodied concepts, in metaphor for example, it is commonplace for the guiding metaphor to shift many times during the course of a single sentence. If we wish to create or share knowledge about justice we may find ourselves alluding to metaphorical swords, scales, blindfolds, etc, and moving between these allusions seamlessly and unproblematically. The ontology and materiality of such a concept is not constrained by the physics of the real world but rather has a fluidity which gives it its power. It has been suggested that the very act of mixing metaphors is a strategy for the advancement of conceptual knowledge, these mixings acting as ‘engines of organisational enquiry’(1).

(I am aware that even in talking about such conceptualisation I am making use of the very capacity under discussion. Most of the above paragraphs have been chains of shifting metaphors employed to organise the enquiry I am engaged in.)

1. Boland, Richard J. Jr. & Tenkasi, Ramkrishnan V.
Metaphor and the Embodied Mind: An Engine of Organizational Inquiry.
SPROUTS: Working Papers on Information Environments, Systems and Organizations
Volume 1 Issue 1 Article 2 – 2001

Posted in Affordance, Boland, Richard J. Jr. & Tenkasi, Ramkrishnan V., Embodiment, Metaphor, Schema | No Comments »

Emotional Maths

July 13th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Imagine you are standing on a tightrope, or if that is too difficult and precarious, imagine standing on a balance beam, four inches wide, three feet above the ground. You have your hands outstretched at each side and you are standing perfectly still. In this position you feel fine: poised, in control, focussed.

Now imagine someone comes along and places two books in the palm of your right hand. These books are not heavy but they do affect your posture and your ability to stand perfectly still. Now your feelings have changed and you no longer feel fine. You feel the precariousness of your position, you feel out of control and anxious. Your poise is under threat. Thankfully, at this moment someone else comes along and places another two books, first one, then another, on the palm of your left hand. Your equilibrium is restored and you feel a wave of positive emotion flowing through you as your control returns and your poise regained.

This type of experience, the fully embodied sensations associated with balance and loss of balance, may form the prototype from which more conceptual notions of balance and equilibrium are drawn. For example, the practice of mathematics, particularly in dealing with formulae and equations, involves a set of parallel operations and may be fueled by similar emotional and somatic responses.

When we are confronted by an equation of the type 1 = 1 we recognise it as ‘balanced’, and whilst we may not consciously feel the same degree of poise and control that we felt on the balance beam we can nevertheless sense the ‘rightness’ of it. We might say that this equation has inherited some of the emotional content of the physical experience it mirrors and we feel fine about it in some small way similar to how we felt as motionless acrobats. When the equation is changed to 1 = 3 however, the sense of rightness disappears and is replaced by the subtle, but nevertheless present, feelings of negativity and ‘wrongness’. Just as maintaining one’s position on the balance beam when one has an uneven distribution of weight is anxiety provoking, so this unbalanced equation conveys the same uneasiness. This felt sense of rightness and wrongness, emerging as it does from a metaphorical mapping of embodied experience onto the abstractions of mathematics, shows that maths, and indeed all abstractions, are rarely free of emotional content. Indeed it is this emotional engagement which is the difference between understanding mathematics and simply wielding symbols according to certain disembodied rules.

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Old Knowing

July 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Since human conceptualisation is constructed from the abilities and limitations of embodiment, it is inevitable that all systems of thought must also reflect this embodiment. These systems and structures must be ultimately metaphorical, limited to the affordances of the body. In this sense, the capacity for generating effective models of abstract concepts is not progressive in the way that, say, post-Newtonian science is progressive. We do not need to know quantum physics in order to think, since thinking uses the physics of medium sized objects moving at medium speed. Our cognition does not contain charmed quarks and Higgs bosons: nor does it work with black holes and dark energy. The physics of thinking is largely the same as the physics of our embodiment, it is that of the wheel, the lever, the printing press, the pendulum, the spring, and the pulley.

These constraints which organise our cognition along Newtonian lines locate the discourse around cognition within the range of all cultures, not only those with advanced technical knowledge. If our minds are made of levers, wheels, and pendulums then knowledge of these devices is sufficient to build a model of that mind. This means that if we are looking for models of thought, we need not restrict ourselves to only looking at the latest findings from techno-scientific practice. Since all peoples has equivalent access to the necessary knowledge, then the ideas formulated by many people across history is equally useful.

It should be remembered of course, that this Newtonian logic only applies to the mental operations of the mind, not to the functioning of the brain, or to an articulation of the relationship between brain, mind, and world (if indeed such distinctions can be made). The physical brain undoubtedly uses processes which are far beyond the range of Newtonian or Folk science, and probably outside the current reach of the most modern scientific theories. We may think in broadly Newtonian terms, but what we think with is likely to involve extremely esoteric physical principles.

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The Human Moment

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

There was a period of time of several decades in the 17th century which were unique in history. Say between the birth of Galileo and the death of Newton, maybe with a midpoint at around 1650. This time marks a special moment in ontological history, the end of magic and the beginning of science. The certainties and firm foundations offered by scripture were being swept away by observation and method, but this method had not yet been abstracted into mathematics or extended beyond the visible and the otherwise sensory. This brief period was science’s human moment, when it’s subject was the observation, organisation, and understanding of human experience.

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The Big Frame

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The contents of the visual field constantly change, with new perceptions entering this arena every second and the existing content departing at the same time. This sense of content entering and leaving, together with the movement that perceptions make across the visual field is integrated with the other senses, particularly the proprioceptive sense, and contribute significantly toward the construction of the world we occupy.

Taking the visual field on its own, and recognising the flux of the majority of its contents, there is nevertheless one constant item of content which changes hardly at all. This is the faint dark border which marks the edge of the field and which we may not even be routinely aware of. This border is the edge of the eye sockets and the smudge of the nose, possibly also the top of the cheeks. Whatever else changes inside this frame, the frame itself stays in place and is with us wherever we go.

If I pay attention to the frame I notice some details about it. Firstly, even though I have two eyes, I only experience a single frame (although since I wear glasses I also experience a frame within a frame, but this frame is also singular). Secondly, the frame is darker than the images of the world which it contains, it is a grey or possibly black boundary on the visual world. Thirdly, I can only see the frame and its internal contents, I can see nothing of what might lie ‘outside’ of the frame, or make any inference about the width of the frame. In fact, if I continue to attend to the frame and try to intuit what its width might be, or try to guess if there is a ‘beyond’ at all, I find that my understanding of this frame changes. To guess the extent of the frame, and to arrive at a guess which feels intuitively satisfying, I can only work on present evidence and the logical extrapolation of that evidence. Present evidence presents a dark border to the world which extends for some distance in all directions. No amount of careful scrutiny reveals an outer edge to that border; rather it seems to continue outwards to the edge of my ability to perceive at all.

Furthermore, I can detect no internal structure to that border, it seems homogeneous throughout. Nothing about this perceived border suggests that it will change in character, I see no evidence that it might suddenly change colour somewhere beyond my ability to see it for example, or somehow become a square border rather than a fuzzy oval, or break into multiple nested frames. Similarly I see no evidence that it will suddenly stop at an outer edge and have some other, possibly similar or possibly different ‘content’ (context?, extent?) beyond its outer edge. This is not to say that I cannot imagine such a possibility, but nothing from current evidence supports this kind of an imaginative act. Extrapolating from current perception, this frame continues uninterrupted as far as I wish to consider. It is also continuous on all sides, the extension seems to be in all directions, above, below, left and right.

As well as extending outwards in all directions, the frame seems to also extend in the front/back dimension. The front of the frame, which I feel as coterminous with the front of my face seems to extend backwards, with no sense that there is any gradation or dissolution. Again, I can easily imagine all kinds of ways in which the depth of this frame might terminate and of things that might exist behind this frame on ’this side’ of it, effectively what is happening behind me, however, on current evidence and by extrapolation from that evidence alone, I can detect no signs that such a thing exists or that the depth of the frame is limited in this way. By extrapolated intuition, the frame which extends outward without apparent end, also seems to extend backward without end.

Posted in Boundary, Embodiment, Imagination, Perception | No Comments »

The Big Frame

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The contents of the visual field constantly change, with new perceptions entering this arena every second and the existing content departing at the same time. This sense of content entering and leaving, together with the movement that perceptions make across the visual field is integrated with the other senses, particularly the proprioceptive sense, and contribute significantly toward the construction of the world we occupy.

Taking the visual field on its own, and recognising the flux of the majority of its contents, there is nevertheless one constant item of content which changes hardly at all. This is the faint dark border which marks the edge of the field and which we may not even be routinely aware of. This border is the edge of the eye sockets and the smudge of the nose, possibly also the top of the cheeks. Whatever else changes inside this frame, the frame itself stays in place and is with us wherever we go.

If I pay attention to the frame I notice some details about it. Firstly, even though I have two eyes, I only experience a single frame (although since I wear glasses I also experience a frame within a frame, but this frame is also singular). Secondly, the frame is darker than the images of the world which it contains, it is a grey or possibly black boundary on the visual world. Thirdly, I can only see the frame and its internal contents, I can see nothing of what might lie ‘outside’ of the frame, or make any inference about the width of the frame. In fact, if I continue to attend to the frame and try to intuit what its width might be, or try to guess if there is a ‘beyond’ at all, I find that my understanding of this frame changes. To guess the extent of the frame, and to arrive at a guess which feels intuitively satisfying, I can only work on present evidence and the logical extrapolation of that evidence. Present evidence presents a dark border to the world which extends for some distance in all directions. No amount of careful scrutiny reveals an outer edge to that border; rather it seems to continue outwards to the edge of my ability to perceive at all.

Furthermore, I can detect no internal structure to that border, it seems homogeneous throughout. Nothing about this perceived border suggests that it will change in character, I see no evidence that it might suddenly change colour somewhere beyond my ability to see it for example, or somehow become a square border rather than a fuzzy oval, or break into multiple nested frames. Similarly I see no evidence that it will suddenly stop at an outer edge and have some other, possibly similar or possibly different ‘content’ (context?, extent?) beyond its outer edge. This is not to say that I cannot imagine such a possibility, but nothing from current evidence supports this kind of an imaginative act. Extrapolating from current perception, this frame continues uninterrupted as far as I wish to consider. It is also continuous on all sides, the extension seems to be in all directions, above, below, left and right.

As well as extending outwards in all directions, the frame seems to also extend in the front/back dimension. The front of the frame, which I feel as coterminous with the front of my face seems to extend backwards, with no sense that there is any gradation or dissolution. Again, I can easily imagine all kinds of ways in which the depth of this frame might terminate and of things that might exist behind this frame on ’this side’ of it, effectively what is happening behind me, however, on current evidence and by extrapolation from that evidence alone, I can detect no signs that such a thing exists or that the depth of the frame is limited in this way. By extrapolated intuition, the frame which extends outward without apparent end, also seems to extend backward without end.

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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?

Posted in Consciousness, Damasio, Antonio, Embodiment, Emotion, Feeling | No Comments »

Tiny Screwdriver (exercise)

August 28th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Imagine you are holding a tiny screwdriver between the fingers of your right hand. It is the kind of tool you would use to mend an expensive watch. The blade is small enough to fit the tiniest screw holding the balance spring. Or it could be used to tighten the circuit board inside a small tactical nuclear weapon. Feel the subtle pressure between the pads of thumb and forefinger, maybe adding the side of the index finger to steady your grip. This is a precision instrument which cannot be handled roughly. Try to imagine yourself using this screwdriver to make an adjustment, hold out your hand and mime the action of tightening the minute screw, barely visible to the naked eye, into place. Take care not to let the screwdriver head slip out of the slot in the screw and be sensitive to the resistance of the screw as it beds into the hole; you don’t want to over-tighten it and strip the threads. When the screw is fully in place hold the screwdriver still and steady, feeling the precise point in space where the work is taking place. Really, really, feel it.

Now look at what the rest of your body is doing. See the way you are holding your left hand; feel the tension in your shoulders, the poised stillness of your head and neck. Notice the way the muscles in your chest and abdomen are braced to support the tiny action, and how your legs are held steady, feet gripping the floor. Check your breathing and find how measured and shallow it is, and how your tongue is placed in a certain way. Your entire somatic system, from the muscles around your eyes to the last joints of your toes, has wrapped itself around this miniscule activity taking place at a contentless point just in front of the still fingers of your right hand. An entire integrated choreography of muscle, bone, breath, and mind.

Posted in Embodiment, Exercises, Training | No Comments »

The Big Black Wall

August 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The frame around our vision that is formed by the eye-sockets was identified by J.J. Gibson as a significant element in our self-identification. Whilst the view we have of our own embodiment, our body itself, changes as we move about, legs and arms shifting and turning, torso appearing and disappearing with every nod of the head, this frame for vision that borders our perception of the world is constantly present and relatively stable. It is one way that ‘I’ can be sure of itself in a world that constantly changes (to paraphrase David Cassidy). The frame, an I around the eye, visible as a dark grey or black border: a letter of condolence sent by infinity and eternity to locality and temporality.

The black border to perception, as noted elsewhere, is seen to extend outward and backward without any visible sign of an outer or rear limit. It is almost as if our eye (which we subjectively experience not as two but as one) was fixed half in and half out of the surface of an infinitely massive black wall, or more accurately a vast black mass that is always behind us. We seem to peep out of this dark immensity into the brightly lit room of the world before us. Moreover, the wall moves forward as we move, and as it moves it swallows up the furniture of the room into itself, and when we move backward so the wall also moves back, releasing the world into the light.

We might also notice that as the objects of the world approach us on their way to being consumed they increase in size. The tree in the distance, which I could cover with a fingernail, is now the size of my hand, and is now so close that only part of it is visible. As the tree passes the edge of my vision and is swallowed whole by the void it is the largest thing in my universe, blocking out every other entity, including the Sun itself. And then the tree is gone: vanished into the blackness, but I have no right to assume that it has stopped its manic exponential growth. If my growing relationship with the tree has taught me anything it is that the movement of myself and my wall in that certain direction causes the tree to increase in size. What evidence do I have that such growth will stop simply because the tree is no longer in the tiny frame of my eye? The answer is no evidence at all, I have to think that as I move the tree grows ever larger and that such growth is, in principle if not in practice, unstoppable. The vastness behind me is larger enough for infinity to enter and has plenty of room for all the forests of the world and more besides. The dark room at my back is all, and it is from this all that I am constantly developed.

If forward motion consumes the world and turns brightly-lit motes of dust into shadowy galaxies, then backward motion has the opposite effect. As the wall of my vision moves back so the tree reappears, newly formed from the coalescence of the darkness into clear bright light. And as this formation proceeds and the tree contracts to a harder and more coherent entity out there in the frame of sight, so it shrinks in size: hand, fingernail, grain of sand, until it winks out of visibility at the event horizon of my ability to make it out, and I am left looking at an infinitely small, infinitely dense, infinitely distant point, totally devoid of tree, branch, leaf, bark, or any substance at all. The immense size of that which was behind me is now balanced by the immense distance of that which is in front of me.

Sit on a train facing the engine.
Watch the world disappear behind the big black wall.
Swap seats so that you are facing the rear.
Watch the world shrink into being in front of you.

Posted in Embodiment, Perception, Self | No Comments »

The Logic of Front and Back

September 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is a fact of our incorporation into these particular bodies that we see the world is specific ways.

One of the inevitables presented by the specifics of our embodiment is that our world is divided into two parts: a part in front that we are aware of visually, and a part behind us which we are not. Standing still with eyes open the world in front of us presents itself to us in a way which is radically different to what exists at our rear. The space in front of us appears brightly-lit whereas the space behind us is in darkness (an unusual kind of darkness, but darkness nonetheless). Before us all is visual clarity and objective reality. Behind us all is slightly mysterious, the subject of guesswork, subjective responses, fallible memory, and unknown fears. Before us is the path and we feel the choices we make with each step. These steps are ours and we can see where we are going. The path behind us is beyond our control and anyone or anything may be following us. Monsters and murderers attack from behind. In front of us is the future and when we move of our own volition it is into that bright space of the future that we take a step. Behind us is the past, another country and they do things differently there. Retreat is always a bad idea and no-one likes to be backed into a corner.

Posted in Cognition, Embodiment, Space | No Comments »

Defending Descartes

September 7th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The philosopher Descartes is credited (or blamed) for introducing the concept of dualism to mainstream Western thought. His identification of the Res Cogitans and the Res Extensa, usually thought of as Mind and Body, is often considered to be one of the big mistakes in the history of ideas. This division, it is held, creates an artificial division in our understanding of ourselves and our relationship to the environment. Descartes ‘artificial’ cleaving of soma from psyche apparently allowed for the development of other dualities, which were given an organisational logic by association with one or the other of this binary pair. A small selection of these might include:

Body Mind
Emotional Rational
Evil Good
Low High
Primitive Civilised
Subjective Objective
Female Male

It is passingly interesting to note that these binaries have been revisited more recently by feminist writer Helene Cixous, with the top terms of Body and Mind being replaced by Male and Female. She claims that the various divisions which we construct to divide experience in two are always associated, often unconsciously, with one or the other gender. So far, so stereotypically sexist, but Cixous goes on to note that the gender binary, like Cartesian dualism, is not neutral, and that invariably one side of the divide is awarded positive value and the other negative. In the gender binary the male side is good and the female side is bad. It has been argued that Cartesian dualism, at least as it has been used in the West, regards Mind as the positive term and Body as negative. An alternative take on the creation of difference produced by dualist logic is that one of the two terms comes to be regarded as the norm, and virtually invisible, and the other terms is seen as aberrant and is visibly ‘marked’ by this difference. So, for example, we hear about the achievement of artists and of female artists, the fact that we need to state the gender of the female artist indicates that we regard the norm as male. In this case, the male term in the binary is ‘unmarked’ and the female is ‘marked’.

This dualism, for which Descartes is somewhat unfairly blamed, is held by many as not only incorrect, but also destructive. Such division causes rifts in the smooth surface of an otherwise holistic universe, and whilst it may have the intention of explaining the ontology of being, it actually has the effect of rending the fabric of being beyond repair. If only Descartes had not invented dualism, we might cry in a wail of oversimplification, the world would be a much better place. Such is the accusation laid at the door of dualism, and particularly at the porte of Descartes.

Of course this is a gross injustice, and poor Descartes cannot be blamed for what might have been done in his name. If men have oppressed women, or ‘civilised’ societies have trod roughshod over ‘primitive’ societies, and if arguments which make appeals to the mind have won out over those which engage the body, then responsibility for any damage done lies with the actors in these two-handed dramas, not with some French guy who’s been dead for four hundred years.

It is also more realistic to regards Descartes, not as the creator of dualism, but rather as the first to give it clear shape, to hold up to the light the duality which was always there. It is evident from the most cursory glance over the history of philosophy (East and West) that the notion of dividing experience into two parts was around long before the act of naming which Descartes took on. In fact, so prevalent is this basic act of subdividing the One into the Two is that it may be a universal human tendency. Experiments carried out on children support this notion, and this seems to be the case regardless of their cultural background or age (so no possibility of evil Western reductionist brainwashing). The ubiquity and the acultural nature of dualist thinking also gains some neuroscientific support in the work of Newberg and D’Aquili, who propose the existence of a ‘binary operator’ in the brain: a mechanism instantiated in neurons which carries out such elementary division as part of the routine cognitive processes of conscious and unconscious thought. As Paul Bloom puts it in ‘Descartes Baby’, part of the human condition is to be a ‘natural born dualist’, and in light of this dualistic inevitability, perhaps a better interpretation to give to the Cartesian project is not as the building of a wall across the world, but as the identification of (part of) the taxonomy of being. Whether we like it or not, the world really does fall apart before our eyes (although this need not mean that the centre cannot hold, or that mere chaos is loosed upon the world).

Posted in Dualism, Embodiment, History | No Comments »

Body in the Mind: Centre and Periphery

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

We habitually identify ourselves with the body, presumably as part of an adaptive strategy within the evolutionary development of consciousness. The way we conceptualise that body may be in a number of different ways: as a machinic entity with a number of moving parts, as a kind of ‘node’ in a network of relations, as a container for the ‘self’ etc. Given that our cognition is structured according to the affordances of the body, these different body concepts will each facilitate a slightly different form of cognition. Furthermore, the transformations that different body concepts allow may suggest parallel transformations in the corresponding cognition.

One way that we may understand our bodies is as an entity having a centre and a periphery. We routinely understand our bodies this way, as revealed in essentialist folk theories, in the almost unavoidable sense that our ‘self’ stops at the skin, at the way we gesture toward the centre of our bodies when we indicate ourself, and in the host of philosophical, spiritual, and poetic metaphors which draw upon this understanding. We experience our bodies as having a boundary, the skin, and also having a region at its core, call it ‘the heart’.

In terms of simple human survival, the ontology of the centre and the periphery, heart and skin, are very different, and are also very different from other regions of the body. This ontological difference may provide an evolutionary account of the development of an embodied consciousness which understands itself in terms of a centre and a periphery.

The skin is the interface of the organism and the environment, and any physical exchange that takes places between these two domains happens across this interface. Since the environment is partly a source of threat, the skin is necessarily a protective layer and a vital organ of self-maintenance. Conversely, the environment is also a source of sustenance, so the boundary of the body, represented physically as the skin, must act not only as a barrier but also as a conduit for this sustenance. Lastly, it is through the outer layer of the body that new life is allowed to emerge, so the skin interface must also serve this vital end without compromising its other functions and the integrity of the organism which it sustains. In short, the transmission of objects or fluids through the surface of the skin is of extreme importance. In evolutionary terms, an organism which was equipped with particular sensitivity to events that took place on the skin would have a distinct survival advantage, and it is little wonder that most life-forms have some equivalent of pain and pleasure sensors, nerve endings, within this surface layer. This evolutionary history and the embodied advantage it confers persists in today’s complex social environment, and is culturally and psychologically represented in the way that traffic across the interface of the skin, the penetrations, transmissions, and emissions that punctuate our lives, are marked with particular attention and given a kind of ritualistic significance. The skin is also a surface on which we project the image that we wish to share with others, it is where we wear our public face.

The other component in this self-concept is the centre, possibly identified with, or referred to as, the heart. Again, in terms of simple biological survival, the centre of our body has particular significance. Whilst other parts of the body are often expendable, when the inner core of the body suffers harm it usually means the death of the organism. We see this in our instinctive behaviour when under threat, which is to curl into a ball, effectively wrapping ourselves around our core to protect it from harm. It is also evidenced in the autonomic processes of the body which privilege the core, and the core functions, over the more peripheral functions of those body parts which lie on or near the surface. In conditions of extreme cold the energy resources of the body are diverted to the core in order to maintain optimal functioning, even if this means depriving fingers and toes of blood supply and consequently allowing frostbite to develop. The logic of the body requires that fingers can be sacrificed in order for the heart to live. Again, both the physical and the cultural significance of the body’s centre can be, at least partially, ascribed to the logic of evolutionary processes; an organism (possibly even a single celled organism) which had some strategy for protecting its nucleus, through avoidance behaviour, through adopting a particular shape, through stiffening itself etc. would be more likely to survive and reproduce/divide that an organism who had no interest in what happened to its centre. Bringing the narrative up to date, in addition to the autonomic responses noted above that remind us of our instinctive regard for the inner core of our bodies, we also express our recognition of its significance culturally and psychologically, in our use of heart motifs etc.

These two components then, the heart and the skin, centre and periphery, are inordinately important in terms of self-preservation, with the regions of the body between these zones appearing far less critical as sites of possible threat or opportunity. The simple heuristic ‘watch the centre, watch the periphery’ has likely served as a survival strategy for much of our evolutionary history, and continues to feature significantly in the rituals, taboos, and cultural practices of the most ‘advanced’ human society. Whilst we know intellectually that our bodies are the complex meat machines described by anatomical science, we often behave as if they had only these two elements. In short, this purely functional reduction of the body to the two most mission-critical areas, a central heart and a peripheral skin, is a key way in which the body is understood and makes a major contribution to our body concept.

Given the close relationship between our concept of the body and our concept of ‘self’, it is likely that we will find this simplified map of the body duplicated in our understanding of our selves. We should find ourselves thinking and talking about our self (which we might call consciousness, mind, identity etc.) as if that self was structured in such a way that it consisted primarily of a centre and a periphery. We would think of our self as having a boundary at which our self stops, and a core, which is maximally distant from all points on that boundary. We might recognise the different components of this simplified body concept as different components of the self, mapping our self onto the centre and periphery and finding distinctions within our self that correspond to the differences in skin and heart. When we look at the evidence this does indeed seem to be what we find. Most models of the self, from the most vernacular and folk-psychological to those constructed by philosophy and the mind sciences, tend to appeal to this intuitive understanding of self in terms of centre and periphery. (A significant exception to this is literature which describes non-standard concepts of self, particularly metaphysical and transpersonal accounts. This will be picked up below).

Posted in Boundary, Centre, Embodiment, Self, Symbol | No Comments »

Childhood Identification with the Body

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Identification takes place when we experience a felt connection between our cognitive awareness and some phenomenal entity. Individual cognitive awareness initially identifies with whatever entity is most ubiquitous in the environment, like a baby chicken forming a bond with the boots of the farmer. The most commonly ubiquitous entity in the environment of a baby and young child is the physical body through (in) which the sense of awareness is realised.
Therefore at the dawn of our individual consciousness we routinely identify ourselves with our own physical bodies. To this extent our ontogeny recapitulates (possibly) phylogeny, since presumably in evolutionary history there must have been a moment when such self-awareness as an adaptive trait, and this must have been within the context of embodiment.

We are also capable of identifying strongly with other bodies.
We can also identify with groups.
We can also identify with large entities such as nations or teams.
We can also identify with the planet
We can also identify with everything.

Posted in Dualism, Embodiment, Identification | No Comments »

Metaphor and Copenhagen Interpretation

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The mathematician JBS Haldane famously observed that ‘the universe may not only be queerer than we think but queerer than we can think’. He intended this observation to apply specifically to the more esoteric aspects of the universe encountered mainly by astronomers and particle physicists, whose equations do indeed describe a world which is inconceivable in any literal sense, and which makes no intuitive appeal to the senses of even the most highly trained. As Richard Feynman put it, ‘if you think you understand quantum mechanics, then you don’t understand quantum mechanics.’

Haldane’s comment finds theoretical support and application within the so-called ‘Copenhagen Interpretation’ of quantum theory introduced by Bohr and Heisenberg. Part of the application of this principle requires an attitude towards that application which recognises the distinctly partial ontological status of such theories. As Robert Anton Wilson colloquially put it, ‘the equations of quantum mechanics do not describe what is happening in the quantum world, but what structures of thought we need to create in order to think about that world’. Recent work done in the field of cognitive linguistics and cognate fields suggests that these ’structures of thought’ are largely built out of embodied metaphors, and it is these metaphors, grounded in concrete sensibilities of the body and the sensorimotor system, which give accessible form and order to the queerest aspect of the universe.

The attitude one must bring to the Copenhagen Interpretation has occasionally been referred to as ‘model agnosticism’: an approach to abstract theoretical constructs such as equations, models, structures etc, which recognises their usefulness whilst simultaneously also recognising their status as ‘man-made’ artifacts, rather than as material facts

Posted in Cognitive Linguistics, Copenhagen Interpretation, Embodiment, Haldane, J.B.S., Metaphor, Science, Wilson, Robert Anton | No Comments »

No I in Vacuum

September 17th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The I of the self cannot exist in vacuo, but only emerges in relation to an environment and the objects, including other selfs, that make up that environment. One can sense this by imagining oneself bereft of any of the sensory stimuli which constantly emerge from that environment; blindfold, silent, no taste in the mouth or smell in the nostrils, no texture or temperature registering on the surface of the skin. Even the senses that we would normally be unconscious of are absent; the constant but invisible pull downward of the limbs under the force of gravity has to disappear, as it is a telltale sign of the presence of an Earth beneath our feet. Any movement of our bodies would also have to stop, as the inertia and momentum of all movement gives information about the laws of a universe we are trying to forget. Even the sounds and turning of the interior of our bodies would need to be quelled, as the also are felt as other than our self, easily confirmed by listening to our breathing for a moment. When we do this we find that in addition to this internal sound there is also a listener, and if we want to keep only the listening I we must mute such interior sounds and the felt sense that accompanies them: breathing, heartbeat, digestion, creaking of joints and stretch of muscle.When everything is still and dark, and there is only the chatter of our own thoughts to keep us company, still we are not alone, still we are still here, because we are re-minded by this chatter. The motion of the mind, presumably echoing unlawful chemical movement in our brain, is as much an environment as the world we have banished. We have set ourselves the task of isolating the self, and to do this, all the psychaic objects of the mind must also be cast aside. In order to isolate the thinker, we must strip it of all the thoughts which obscure it, like clouds over the moon.

If we have followed this prescription scrupulously, (and if we are meditation adepts we may have gone some way down this road), then we will have felt the self slipping away with the disappearance of the world. Without the containing pressure of the environment, the I boils away into space and leaves no trace of itself behind. When everything is gone then the I is gone also.

Posted in Embodiment, Self, Space | No Comments »

Knowing and the Body

September 22nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

All of our ideas about everything (including Everything) come from the facts of our embodiment. The shape and size of our bodies determine the mechanics of our thoughts, the sensitivity of our eyes give colour and perspective to our viewpoint, the subtlety of our hearing allows our ideas to resonate with those of others with whom we are the same wavelength, and the densely-packed nerve endings in our fingertips give form to our feelings. The most sublime of our experiences passes through the realm of the senses and all knowing speaks the language of the body.

Posted in Embodiment, Knowledge, Sense, thesis | No Comments »

Evolution, Embodiment, Perennialism

September 25th, 2007 Fred McVittie

  1. All humanity has a common evolutionary history, facing largely the same challenges and finding the same opportunities.
  2. Our common evolutionary history is expressed in the genome.
  3. Our evolutionary history, and the genomic record of this ancestry, is echoed in our common embodiment.
  4. Our common embodiment includes all of the mechanisms of sensation and of mind
  5. The commonality of our physical and cognitive embodiment is echoed in the wide range of identical features found in all human cultures, the ‘human universals’.
  6. The commonality of cultural, embodied, genomic, and evolutionary experience is echoed in the common philosophies and mysticisms of Folk Science and Perennialism.

For example, the universal cognitive process which allows us to conceive of categories, based on the common embodied conceptual metaphor of the container, leads inexorably to the idea of a universal category. The universal category, the conceptual vessel in which everything is contained, is one possible formulation of a monotheistic deity, as is found in Plato and the neo-Platonist philosophers of the early Christian church.

Posted in Category, Embodiment, Evolution, Naive Physics, Perennialism, Science, Universals | No Comments »

This Side of the Light

October 2nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The space in front of us is (usually) saturated with light and is the place of vision. It is also where we meet the gaze of others and triangulate the objects of the world in this shared vision of objectivity. Furthermore, it is also the place we feel we are moving forward into, as well as the time we are moving into. As Polanyi suggests, the space in front of us is the location of the ‘to’ within the binary of the ‘from-to’ that characterises perception. In looking permanently forward into the light we leave our selves behind in the dark. The intentionality of vision, the dominant sense, proceeds from where we are to where we will be, and we, that is our selves, are left behind in this onrush. The appearance of the brightly-lit world of objects in front of us is at the cost of the disappearance of the body.

This disappearance of the body, or more accurately of the sensate or exstatic body, is not total however. When we look down we see our own bodies falling away beneath us, we routinely see our hands projecting into the visible space before us. There is a sense then in which parts of our bodies precede other parts into the illuminated future. Our extremities are at the vanguard of this forward march, reaching and stepping constantly out of the dazzling dark of the recent past. Our arms and hands seem to be following the from-to line of intentionality to stretch toward the objects of the world, and in stretching, become objects themselves. Our touch is that of Midas in reverse and everything we touch objectifies us. Looking down, our feet and legs extend to touch the object of the Earth, the pedestal on which we stand and the future into which we perpetually fall. Again, we may feel intentionality streaming Earthwards catching and objectifying those legs and feet in the hard light that is always in front of our eyes.

And what about these eyes? They are the last to go, if indeed they ever go at all. We may detect the shadows of eye-sockets or nose, the rapid grey blur of a cheek at the boundary of our vision, maybe the frame of our glasses if we wear them. These are liminal, partly formed objects of uncertain status that we are, perhaps, not fully qualified to quantify objectively. Do these glasses suit me? Should I pluck my eyebrows? Do these coloured contact lenses (that I cannot see) match my jacket (that I can)?

The source of the intentional gaze that grazes these uncertain framing entities is absent. It has disappeared from objective surveillance by its being located behind the apparent transparent lens. Wherever we are, it is on this side of the light and a moment behind a present into which we are always appearing.

Posted in Embodiment, Light, Perception, Polanyi, Michael, Self, Time | No Comments »

The Substance of Knowledge

October 12th, 2007 Fred McVittie

One of the ways in which we conceptualise different types (or strengths) of knowing is through mapping apparent differences in forms of knowledge onto our embodied experience with different types (or strengths) of substance. In this, knowledge which is felt and which we conceive as proximal to the body is also conceptualised as solid. When we are describing this knowledge we may use terms like ‘hard’, ‘concrete’, ‘firm’, etc. words which indicate that it is close enough to us that we can touch and hold it, and assess its strength using the sense of touch. As knowledge becomes less closely held, and as it moves through other sensory modes, it loses this felt solidity and becomes, initially, more malleable or fluid, then it acquires something of the properties of a gas, or even of light, such that we might feel that we have only the most remote and barely tangible evidence of its existence, like the shadows cast by knowledge that we find in experimental data for example.

As this knowledge is disappearing from the radar of the senses, losing its ability to be described metaphorically by touch, then by smell, taste, sound, and finally by sight, its substantive quality becomes less and less available to sense until it slips away entirely, and even our most potent metaphors are incapable of containing it or bringing it home. At this point, when the object (sic) of our knowing is infinitely remote from us and is outside the range of all sensation, then we cannot conceive it as solid, liquid, or gas. If we give it substantial existence at all, which metaphorically we almost invariably do, we must conceive it as a substance which lies outside this material trinity in some fourth state of imaginary matter, a kind of ‘quadressence’: a possibly volatile ’spirit’.

Posted in Embodiment, Feeling, Knowledge, Sense, Substance | No Comments »

God of the Gaps (in embodied knowledge)

October 22nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The ‘God of the Gaps’ argument critiques certain approaches to theism on the grounds that, if we use God as an explanation for all those phenomena that we do not understand, then as our understanding increases, inevitably God decreases. Presumably then, the hypothetical end point to such inevitable progression of knowledge would be an epistemological universe in which no space was left in which God might hide. Even if knowledge is never total, as it surely will never be, this understanding of God is still problematic as it presents an image of a deity which is in a state of progressive decline. Every new article of information, from the most robust and powerful scientific theory to the simplest new fact acquired through routine acts of perception constitutes an amputation of the limb of God. For this reason the ‘God of the Gaps’ description of a deity has been roundly criticised as both a failure of the scientific imagination and an insult to the Almighty.

Having said that, a case could be made for a different kind of God of the Gaps, if we understand these gaps not to be in knowledge, but in our ability to conceptualise this knowledge in a way that was directly embodied.

The extensive work done in the field of Conceptual Metaphor Theory and Embodied Cognition points to the importance of our embodiment in our ability to make sense of ideas and to structure concepts. The outcome of such research suggests that whilst we are easily able to conceptualise concepts which have direct sensory impact (medium sized objects, forces, substances, schema etc), when we wish to think about anything which is beyond the horizon of our bodily experience we have to use indirect methods. Chief among these methods is the systematic and consistent use of metaphor, such that we think of concepts which are abstract in terms of others which are concrete. We commonly think of love for example, as a journey, or of anger as heat in a sealed container. (These examples are from Lakoff and Johnson’s excellent introduction to these ideas ‘Metaphors We Live By’). Outside the relatively narrow domain of direct embodied experience is all the really interesting stuff of science, philosophy, politics, culture, and religion. Most of these practices, it can be demonstrated, are concerned with abstractions, and therefore the currency of their debates is metaphor and imagination.

In terms of science, As Stephen Jones points out in ‘Physics and Metaphor’, many of the most robust and elegant theories of science are understood only through acts of imagination. The concept of the origin of the universe in a Big Bang is one such example of this. Whatever event took place that triggered the subsequent creation of all that we see around us today clearly was not Big and did not go Bang. Yet this image of a kind of explosion is a useful image around which to structure our understanding of something that we simply are not adaptively equipped to understand literally. This does not mean that something that we call the Big Bang didn’t happen, it simply means that we are too stupid to understand it without drawing a picture of it, rather like the scene in Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome, where a group of post-apocalyptic children try to recreate television using using only cargo-cult materials of sticks and leaves. The big difference that makes a difference between the children in Mad Max and Georges Lemaître (an early proponent of the Big Bang Theory) is that Lemaitre tested his imaginary explosion against the data of other ideas and theories. As Richard Dawkins might put it, the image of the Big Bang is the beginning of a knowledge-gathering process whereas the TV made of sticks is the end.

This example, of the organised application of imagination to fill a significant gap in embodied knowledge, is typical of the way that science works, and indeed is also typical of the way that non-scientific gaps are filled. When I talk to my children about what they will do in the future, the question of a career often comes up, but if I am honest I have absolutely no idea what a career is. It has no smell, taste, or visible substance, and I can’t hear it or touch it. In fact I have to admit that there is a huge gap in my ability to think literally about their career. This doesn’t seem to stop me thinking about it though, and the way I do it is through the (largely unconscious) use of metaphor. If I look closely at how I am thinking I would say that I imagine their careers as something like the flight of an arrow, launched upwards and curving gently to arrive at a desired target, and I try not to imagine them as careering out of control like a driverless vehicle, a danger to themselves and passers-by alike. Without some kind of image like this I don’t see how I could conceive of something like ‘a career’ at all.

Which brings me, finally, to the God of the Gaps. Given that much of what we say and think is outside embodiable range, and is therefore in this realm of the metaphorical and the imaginary (up to 90% by some estimates), this means that our thoughts are entirely dominated by the imagination and it is not some freaky little playground in the corner of our brains where only fairies and artists hang out. It also means, at noted earlier, that any idea which is even remotely interesting is probably suffused with imagination, if not constructed of it entirely. If I was a theist, which I am not thank Richard, I would definitely want my God to be at least as wild as the Big Bang, if not more so, which would definitely put it in imagination territory.

The bottom line with any conceptual metaphor and any imaginary entity yielded by that metaphor is how well it functions. The Big Bang metaphor works really well to cohere data and observations into a single big picture. The flight path of the arrow that (I hope) traces my kids’ career also helps them organise and plan their actions. I am quite happy to believe in an imaginary God; at least to the extent that I believe in the Big Bang or a Career Plan. I can see some potential value in this kind of God of the Gaps, a complex, coherent anthropomorphic metaphor which helps to give form to certain aspects of the universe that are beyond my embodiment. If someone can show me what the function of this particular imaginary entity is, ideally someone who does not misunderstand science and the imagination to such an extent that they insist that God is real, I’d be happy to consider believing in it, (although I would probably draw the line at worship).

Posted in Embodiment, God, Imagination, Metaphor, Science, Universe | No Comments »

Blind Spot

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Imagine a creature which has an eyeball similar to a human being’s, but an extremely tiny body. The point of the creature’s retina from which its body extends corresponds to the human ‘blind spot’, an area of the retina which contains no receptor cells. As in human beings, the creature is not aware of their blind spot; there is no patch of darkness or empty space in the visual field where this absence of vision is noticed. Instead, these is the persistent and irresistible illusion of continuity across this ‘gap’ in vision. Mechanisms in the visual processing centres in the creature’s brain extrapolate the likely contents of this blind area and patch the break with this extrapolated information. Again, this is exactly as in the human visual system, which provides the necessary filler for our seeing, putting colour where there is no colour and pattern where there is no pattern.

A hugely significant difference between this creature and ourselves is that, because its body is small, and because of its location within the blind spot, the creature cannot see its body wherever it looks. What’s more, it cannot even see the place where its body is; when we look up we cannot see our bodies either, but we are aware of a dark area, bordered in black, at the edge of our vision that we know contains our body. With this creature however, there is no border to its vision like that provided by our eye-sockets, there is simply a continuous field of vision in all directions, with the tiny area at the back of the eye where it joins the body patched over invisibly by the magic of the blind spot mechanism.

Posted in Boundary, Embodiment, Perception, Seeing | No Comments »

Free Floating Metaphors

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

It has been conclusively demonstrated that much of the language that we speak is metaphorical, these metaphors not only being linguistic turns of phrase but echoing the widespread use of such metaphors as a cognitive strategy allowing us to think the otherwise unthinkable. A tenet within the various disciplines of conceptual metaphor theory, embodied cognition, cognitive linguistics and experiential philosophy is that the mind can only think in terms of the affordances of a (evolutionarily constructed) body and sensorimotor system. Cognition uses the totally familiar and concrete experiences of pulling, pushing, containment, direction, substances, entities, directions etc as the basic vocabulary from which all thoughts, however apparently abstract, are contructed. The use of conceptual metaphor within cognition allows us to conceive of entities and phenomena which would otherwise be inconceivable, these entities being outside the range of the senses.

Most of the work in this area has been concerned with the excavation of such metaphors and the mapping of key metaphor groups across specific areas of experience. What has not been systematically identified and analysed is the wide range of metaphors in common daily use which refer to entities which are not only abstract but which are, in all likelihood, non-existent. We may be familiar with (and perhaps condescending toward) the use of such fictions in the past, totally unaware that we are maintaining similar fictions in the present through the repeated positing of such ideas in language and thought.

Some entities which figure extensively in our language and cognition seem to exist purely in metaphorical form; they have well-articulated sources for the metaphorical mapping but no evidence exists at all for the target of such mapping. These are concepts without referents: free-floating figures of speech and thought that occupy our minds and feature extensively in social discourse. Their only life is in language and mentation and perhaps the most two prevalent of these are the concept of mind and the concept of God.

Posted in Cognitive Linguistics, Embodiment, God, Imagination, Language, Metaphor | No Comments »

Belief and Embodiment

November 2nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

Realist interpretations of physical experience and the material world entail the assigning of what appear to be direct sensory data to the category of the real and all else to some other category, that of the imaginary for example. This ‘real’ experience is so intuitively obvious that to claim not to believe in it would seem perverse, even nonsensical. How could we claim not to believe in the hardness of a rock as evidenced by our hands as we hold it, or disbelieve the opaque solidity of an object in front of our eyes. It would be a brave and stupid man who did not believe in the pull of gravity, even as it carried him toward the ground. In these embodied experiences grounds for doubt are not only insufficient but totally absent, and since doubt is a necessary corollary to belief it seems absurd to use the term believe to refer to such material certainties.

This self-evident obviousness of embodied experience provides the template for our relationship with other concepts which are not quite so evident, in which cases the term ‘belief’ seems more appropriate. We have a tendency to express our confidence in entities, concepts, and theories which are unavailable to the senses by normal perceptual means as if they had the same status as the incontrovertible verities of sensate being. By indicating that we believe in, for example, the invisible hand of the free market, the spectre of communism that haunts Europe, the one true god, or the invisible pink unicorn, we are staking a claim for the manifest existence of such entities which is equivalent to those embodied experiences which we cannot fail to have faith in. In other words, we are employing a metaphor which encourages us to understand one form of knowing (speculation, theory, confabulation) in which the object of that knowing is inevitably abstract, in terms of another form of knowing, direct sensory experience, in which the knowledge is concrete and part of the embodiment of our being, and indeed the embedding of that being within a wider material world.

Posted in Belief, Embodiment, Imagination, Knowledge, Rock, Sense | No Comments »

Ego vs. Gene - An Evolutionary Account of the Divided Self

November 22nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The struggle between the ego and the ‘authentic self’ is equivalent to the competing demands of the gene and the (social) organism. The gene has an existence which is extended over the lifetime of many generations of organisms and its survival is tied to this multi-generational existence. It is therefore concerned with its replication in the next generation of organisms, and exerts its influence through desires and repulsions experienced by those organisms. The organism itself, existing within not only an environmental but also a social context, has a lifetime only of its own biological embodiment. Its concern is therefore tied to this life and this body, and the preservation of life and body in the face of threats and opportunities. Face must be preserved, identity must be maintained, consciousness must be applauded.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Embodiment, Evolution, Self | 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.

Posted in Brain, Cognition, Consciousness, Darkness, Death, Embodiment, Life, Light | No Comments »

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.

Posted in Consciousness, Dualism, Embodiment, Self | No Comments »

Artworks as the result of Epistemic Actions

January 24th, 2008 Fred McVittie

I propose here a novel way of considering a range of artworks that constitutes an analysis of their function which does not rely on art history, aesthetics, or market value. For this I will draw on the distinction between Pragmatic and Epistemic Actions, as identified by Kirsh and Maglio (1994)

David Kirsh and Paul Maglio distinguish between two types of action; what they refer to as ‘pragmatic actions’ which are goal-oriented and fulfil an immediate practical function, and ‘epistemic actions’ which, as they put it, ‘use the world to improve cognition’. In other words, these epistemic actions are those which represent a kind of ‘outsourcing’ of cognitive behaviour to the actions of the body. Simple examples of these include the use of the fingers in carrying out mental arithmetic such that numbers are remembered by the use of the fingers, relieving the resource use of the brain, or the physical rotation of a puzzle piece prior to its placement, which is the main example used by Kirsh and Maglio (the video game ‘Tetris’ is extensively covered). This use of action to assist thought can also be observed in chess players who, when considering possible moves, often temporarily move a piece to a number of different positions first as this seems to facilitate an easier imagining of what the consequences of each move might be. There is no obvious way to explain why this physically moving of the piece is more effective than simply going through it in one’s mind, but nevertheless this action does seem to serve the epistemic function of optimising the particular cognitive task of making a good move in chess.

All artworks are characterised by the fact that they serve no immediately useful purpose (at least to the extent that they are artworks; they may have an additional function beyond their status as art but this status is not dependent upon it and may indeed by compromised by it). To this extent therefore, artworks are not the result of pragmatic action and are not, one might say, ‘pragmatic objects’. Kirsh and Maglio provide an additional option for how these actions and objects might be considered, which is that they might result from ‘ epistemic actions’ and constitute ‘epistemic objects’. This paper will consider this way of interpreting the function of some art objects and the actions which lead to their creation.

Kirsh, D., & Maglio, P. (1994). On distinguishing epistemic from pragmatic action. Cognitive Science, 18, 513-549.

Posted in Art, Cognition, Conference Abstract, Embodiment | No Comments »

Modes of Sensory Knowing

January 28th, 2008 Fred McVittie

Knowledge (or knowing) is not a singular type of entity with clearly-defined parameters, rather the objects or entities of knowledge are conceptualised as existing along a continuum from ‘objective’ at one end to ’subjective’ at the other. This paper will propose that this distinction, and the continuum which it articulates, is derived from a single metaphorical schema through which the abstract notion of ‘knowing’ is grounded in the sensory experiences of the body.

The guiding metaphor for human knowing is derived from the experience of human sensing. The structure and details of our sensory embodiment provides the schema with which the abstractions of cognitive meaning-making is rendered comprehensible and conscious. The overall schema has particular entailments which carry over into our organisation of knowledge such that different types of knowing are associated with differences in the organisation of human sensory awareness. The visual sense has characteristics which distinguish it from the sense of touch, and both these sensory modes have differences from the sense of taste, and the differences in these characteristics provide a metaphorical template for differences in knowledge. Some of the differences in these modes, and which carry over into their metaphorical application to the structure of our concept of knowledge, include:

  • Distance/Proximity - The different senses are able to operate at different distances from the body. (Allied to this is the feature of Salience, in which proximity to the body indicates increasing salience; it is a necessary feature of human cognition that objects or events which occur close to, or at the surface of the body should have a high level of relevance)..
  • Intersubjectivity - Some sensory modes operate in shared public space (seeing being the paradigmatic public form), whilst others operate purely in relation to a single individual (as exemplified by taste).
  • Substantiality - Some sensory modes provide information which appears clearly bounded (as with a visualised object) whilst that provided by other modes is blended, suffuse, or indistinct (sounds or smells for example).
  • Vectoriality - The information provided by some sense seems to offer a direction from which it arises (or a vector for the intentionality which locates it) whereas that provided by other senses seems not to offer this extension.
  • Spatial Orientation - Related to Vectoriality, some senses suggest a particular alignment or spatialisation in which some information is more available than others. This is particularly evident with vision which only operates in a forward direction. (The detailed particularities of visual awareness suggests a number of other particularities which we do not have space to discuss here).

These characteristics, which mark the differences between the different sensory modes, can be shown to map onto the metaphorical schema that we use to understand and structure our concept of ‘knowledge’.

Posted in Abstract, Embodiment, Knowledge, Metaphor, Perception, Sense, Space, thesis | No Comments »

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.

Posted in Brain, Cognition, Consciousness, Embodiment, Evolution, Mind, Naive Physics, Neuroscience | No Comments »

Knowing is Sensing: Aural and Olfactory Modes of Knowing

February 24th, 2008 Fred McVittie

Sight and touch make an appearance on the sense which is coterminous with the origins of those sights and touchings. The object and the sight of that object are simultaneous. See a tree on the horizon, hold a rock in your hand, the rock and the feel of that rock are inseparable. The sight of a tree on the horizon does not signal the impending presence of a tree at some point in the future. The tree that we see is present at the moment of our seeing it. Similarly, the feel of a rock in one’s hand is not an indication that we may be in the presence of a rock at some undisclosed time, or have been in its presence in the past. The rock is here, now. The tree is there, now.

This immanence afforded by sight and touch is not shared by other sensory modes, particularly hearing and olfaction. Typically we hear the impending emergence of an entity prior to its physical manifestation. The crashing in the trees precedes the arrival of the bear into the clearing where we have pitched out tent. The sound may also persist after its departure as we hear its retreat. The ‘beingness’ of the bear which is indicated by the sounds we hear is smudged across a patch of time which extends some way in the future and the past. The scent of a bear, if we had the olfactory abilities of a dog, would show an even greater smearing of being. The lingering scent would not only spread the bear across space but across days of time. The bear would, in this sense, extend into the past, parts of itself clinging to trees and tentpoles and torn canvas and broken crockery, and the long trail of paw-shaped patches of ground that lead through the forest to the here and now of the visible touchable bear.

Applying this logic to the use of sensory modes as metaphors for knowledge there is a logical difference between phenomena which are sensed aurally or through smell than that which is accessed through sight and touch. Whereas seeing and touching refer to the now, hearing and smell also refer to the then of past and future. This difference in the way sensory modes operate should show up in the specifics of their application to the metaphor. It is well established that we use the concepts of felt and seen knowledge to specify that which is evidentially immanent; we say ‘I see what you mean’ and the time of that seeing is assumed to be immediate. We say ‘I feel bad about this’ and again the bad feeling is assumed to be taking place in the moment. When we use words which connect to olfactory or sound metaphors there is not the same self-evident immediacy. If we say ’something smells funny about this plan’ we are not making a claim that something is clearly (sic) amiss that anybody should be able to ’see’. Rather we are claiming some kind of intuitive knowledge about the status of the plan; we are indicating that we have sensed something about it which, although not presently obvious, will make itself obvious later, as the bear crashing through the woods eventually appears in the clearing. We cannot point to the source of our knowing such that it might appear in the senses of others because it is not visualisable in this way. We might say that we ‘just got wind of it’, or it is just ’something in the air’. Olfactory and auditory metaphors tend therefore, to be applied to knowledge which is outside of the subjective/objective dimension and is displaced in time. This is the sort of knowledge which is prescient, which speaks of premonitions, intuition, and ghosts from the past.

Posted in Embodiment, Hearing, Metaphor, Presence, Rock, Sense, Smell | No Comments »

Knowledge and Knowing

March 16th, 2008 Fred McVittie

When we want to introduce or discuss some item of knowledge; a perception, theory, or some expression of personal experience or belief, we use either this word ‘knowledge’, or we use the verb form ‘knowing’. This difference is significant and draws attention to different aspect of the overall metaphorical schema that structures our understanding.

As noted elsewhere, the organisational logic for our understanding of different forms of knowledge is drawn from our embodied experience as spatially-located entities, and the differences in knowledge types is mapped from the differences in spatial and sensory awareness produced by that embodiment. The use of these terms ‘knowledge’ and ‘knowing’ can be identified with reference to this organisational schema.

When we use the word ‘knowledge’ we are implicitly conferring upon the ‘object’ of knowledge some of the properties associated with objects in the physical world of our embodiment. Objects tend to be clearly bounded, be (visually) available to more than one individual at once, to persist over time and, crucially, to continue to exist in our absence. This last property is particularly interesting as the notion that objects exist even when we are not looking at them, an apparently trivial observation, is problematic when applied metaphorically to knowledge. It is clear that the tree that I look at (and photograph) each day when I walk my dogs does not disappear when I walk past it, (at least to the extent that it continues to be visible from the satellites accessed by Google Earth), however my active knowledge of the tree, as present in my visual perception of it, undoubtedly does. As the physicist Percy Bridgman, put it:

Since an object never occurs naked but always in conjunction with an instrument of measurement or the means whereby we obtain knowledge of it, the concept of ‘object’ as something in and of itself, is an illegitimate one.

This is also a question which exercised Albert Einstein, particularly in relation to status of the moon as ontological/epistemological object of realist knowledge. For a good discussion of this see http://www.eequalsmcsquared.auckland.ac.nz/sites/emc2/tl/philosophy/moon.cfm

This use of the term ‘knowledge’ places our attention on the apparently naked object, and distracts us from the presence of the instument of our own processes of knowledge production. The body is rendered absent and ecstatic in this flight away from the source of such ‘measurement’ toward its destination in the perceived/conceived, and theoretically ‘possessed’ object.

The term ‘knowing’ has a very different function within the overall schema, and it is revealing that certain writers, Mark Johnson for example, make explicit and insistant use of ‘knowing’ as a preferential term. Knowing, as a verb, demands the acknowledgement of a subject engaged in the act indicated; there is no escape or flight from the body of the knower as seems to be implied by ‘knowledge’. In using the term ‘knowing’ the focus is shifted away from the destination of the knowledge production process and widened to include something of the source and the path. There is also a sense, in this use of the verb, that the object of such knowing is not complete and permanent, existing like a rock on the riverbed, but rather is open to the pressings of engagement. There is something of the disposition of the knower present in this knowing, what Perkins might refer to as the dispositional quality of ‘pro-active’ knowledge, and also, critically, the hands-on immediacy of the performative.

Posted in Cognition, Embodiment, Knowledge, Language, Metaphor, Objectivity, Performance, Subjective | No Comments »

What is ‘Knowledge’?

March 20th, 2008 Fred McVittie

The concept of ‘knowledge’ covers a wide variety of different expressions, with a correspondingly wide range of applications, values, and inclusions. A small sample of these might include: objective, subjective, tacit, explicit, declarative, propositional, carnal, occult, procedural, possessive, performative, proactive, and situated. Whilst some of these terms come in pairs, the tacit/explicit binary for example, most of them appear unconnected one to another and their coexistence within an overall category that one might call ‘knowledge’ seems a matter of convenience rather than structure. The diversity in these terms appears to offer no overall epistemological picture which we might use to relate the different terms, and likewise the objects and events to which these terms are applied, the contents of all these different types of knowing, can also appear unconnected. And to the extent that such contents of knowing are related, in dewey decimal system of libraries, encyclopedia, school and university prospectuses, and in the various ‘trees’ of knowledge that have been produced, such relationship smacks of the arbitrary. A good example of such trees include that centerpiece of Enlightenment thought, the Encyclopédie, ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers of Diderot and D’Alembert, with its exhaustive arboreal analysis of not only rational knowledge but also poetics, metaphysics, and Black Magic. Whilst such a mapping may give the appearance of connectedness and ultimately of coherence, this is ultimately an exercise in taxonomy rather than structure, of categorization rather than consilience.

We might be tempted to say that knowledge organization has moved on considerably since the 18th century when the Encyclopédie was written, and it is certainly true that few modern encyclopedias would give the same page space to divination as to the dressing of chamois leather which one finds in Diderot and D’Alembert. However, in terms of the development of a coherent image of how the different forms of knowing operate little has changed, and improvements have largely consisted of the cultivation of those branches of the tree which support the weight of scientific progress, and the vigorous pruning of those limbs which do not.

Taxonomic strategies of knowledge organization do not reveal the inner working of the great body of knowledge, rather they place the bones here, the viscera there, substituting the living pattern that connects with the geometrical placing of body parts in neatly labeled amphora.

What I will be arguing here is that knowledge in all of its forms does have coherence, and that this coherence comes from the way our minds and our bodies work in relation to that knowledge.

Posted in Embodiment, Knowledge, Metaphor, thesis | No Comments »