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.

Posted in Buddhism, Conference Abstract, Embodiment, Enlightenment, Harding, Douglas, Sense | No Comments »

Atheist seeks Enlightenment

April 17th, 2006 Fred McVittie

I seem to have been hearing quite a bit about ‘enlightenment’ over the last few days, which is a little alien to me since I am a confirmed atheist. The difficulty I am having is that without a religious framework to my understanding I don’t really know what the term means. The only context I have for understanding it as an idea is theological, and as an atheist I can’t buy into that at all.

The nearest I can get, in terms of an analogy at least, it BBC2. That TV channel was launched in Britain in 1964, but my family didn’t own a TV set capable of receiving BBC2 until some time in 1972, so for those 8 years I only knew about its programming through rumour and cultural osmosis; The Goodies, Playschool, Match of the Day (first broadcast game, Liverpool v. Arsenal. Liverpool won 3:2 at home). All the time though, I knew it was there, that there was this other channel, its signals beaming through my front room and passing unheeded through the television. Is this what enlightenment is like? Am I just not receiving it? (Answer: No)

An interesting footnote to the BBC2 launch that I found is that there was a massive power outage on the opening night, and most of the programming was scrapped. An iconic image for this event is a picture of a darkened TV studio with the only illumination being a single candle.

Anyway, I am going to avoid papers that concern themselves with BBC2 type material for a few days.

Posted in Atheism, Enlightenment, Story | 1 Comment »

Hints and Allegations (Hallelujah)

May 1st, 2006 Fred McVittie

This presentation will report on a trial looking at the functionality of ‘hints’ or clues in the solving of certain logical problems associated with creativity. It will be demonstrated that, in problems which require remote associations between widely different and non-obvious data sources to be forged in order for a solution to be found, the giving of a hint allows the solution to be found by a greater number of subjects than when no hint is provided, although the actual content of the hint is not necessarily significant.

Problems were given which did not respond well to deductive logical methods of solving, but rather needed a more lateral or intuitive response. An example of such a problem is as follows:

Mary and Marjory were born to the same mother and the same father on the same day of the same month of the same year, yet they are not twins. Explain.

Typically, subjects either solved the problem almost immediately, experiencing a ‘moment of illumination’, or did not solve it at all. When presented with a hint, however, many of the subjects who had previously been unable to solve the problem spontaneously came up with the solution, again experiencing the sudden flash of ‘illumination’, or even ‘enlightenment’.

A particularly interesting aspect of this research was that the actual hint itself did not need to relate to the problem at all, and a random set of prompt words, when offered as hints, had an equal level of success in prompting a successful solving of the problem. This phenomenon will be discussed and various hypotheses offered to account for this.

Posted in Creativity, Enlightenment, Illumination, Problem | No Comments »

Language and Being: Centred

May 10th, 2006 Fred McVittie

An aim of much artistic, performative practice, as well as spiritual practices which promise ‘enlightenment’, is to go beyond (or before) conceptualisation and fully experience what the senses offer, with minimum filtration and organisation by the rational mind. Artists know this principle in the maxim ‘draw what you see, not what you know’, and in the field of theology, Rahner refers to this as ‘unthematic experience’ and associates it with a non-objective contact with the divine. An important aspect of realising this aim is to fully occupy the space and time that one is in; avoiding distributing one’s consciousness by thinking of the past or the future, or smearing that consciousness across space by imagining oneself to be anywhere else but exactly here, precisely now. The common term for this full occupation of personal space and time is presence, or being centred.

A significant obstacle to overcome in any attempt to be centred is the inevitable decentering of oneself that happens in much language use. We refer to ‘ourselves’, as if those ’selves’ were some object that we possessed and that was in some way outside of us. We nominate ourselves as an object in our sentences, even when we use ‘I’. This usage, and the conception that goes along with it, inevitably places us at a remove from the centre of our own experience. We talk, and think, of ourselves from a position that is eccentric. If our aim is to claim the centre with all of the sensual subjective power that comes with that claim, then we need to watch our language.

The following exercises are highly recommended.

  • Exercise One: Avoid using the following words. I, me, myself.
  • Exercise Two: Shut the fuck up.

Posted in Centre, Enlightenment, Exercises, Performance, Presence, Rahner, Karl, Spirituality, Training | No Comments »

Overlapping concepts using the metaphor of light

May 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

Folk Science and Enlightenment

May 21st, 2006 Fred McVittie

One of the traditional paths to ‘enlightenment’, the gaining of what might be termed spiritual knowledge, is through extreme scepticism. Even though this path has gained bad press through an association with materialism and anti-religious sentiment, it has a long history including such luminaries as Descartes, Kant, and Alastair Crowley. A feature of the techniques employed by this tradition is the cultivation of a viewpoint in which any faith in conceptual knowledge is ceded in favour of a knowledge grounded in the senses. It will be shown that this sensuous knowledge bears striking resemblance to some of the principles of innate and folk science.

Posted in Enlightenment, Knowledge, Naive Physics, Sense | No Comments »

The Extended Space of the Illuminated Mind

September 7th, 2006 Fred McVittie

One of the most common experiences of the mind is that it is an object, like other objects in the real world, located in space, and existing at, or centred on a particular point. We routinely intuit our consciousness and cognition to be located in this single place, exactly here, precisely now. This point is also usually felt to be located at the centre of lived experience; we are the centre of our little worlds. However, there is another conceptual understanding of the mind which uses a very different spatial metaphor, this understanding relating to a correspondingly different form of consciousness to that of the little world and the central point. This formulation does not imagine the mind located within space, or even as somehow expanding, contracting, or moving through space, but rather that space and mind are, in some way, co-terminous. Space, in this model, is not an inert, unstructured void in which the mind occupies a distinct bounded region, but space is mind. Most commonly found in developed metaphysical systems, this metaphor reverses the Kantian proposition that space is a function of mind. The notion of an identification of mind with space as opposed to mind existing at a singular point in space correlates with states of consciousness often referred to as ‘enlightenment’ (which is itself a metaphor for the existence of a brightly lit space in which knowledge is visible). This enlightened space/mind features in a range of metaphysical practices and religious traditions including ‘divine union’, ‘advaita’, and which Newberg (1999) generalised as a sense of ‘Absolute Unitary Being’ (AUB). It may be said to be part of the perennial philosophy indicated by Huxley and others. Neurological evidence for this relationship between space, mind, and a sense of AUB comes from the work carried out by Michael Persinger who used ‘Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation’ (TCS) to affect part of the brain which contribute to our sense of physical location in space. When subjects were affected in this way their subjective experience was of feeling a sense of unity with the world.

Posted in Enlightenment, Huxley, Aldous, Kant, Immanuel, Light, Newberg, Andrew, Persinger, Michael, Space, Unity | No Comments »

Mind and Space

September 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

“Space is all one space and thought is all one thought, but my mind divides its spaces into spaces into spaces and thoughts into thoughts into thoughts. Like a large condominium. Occasionally I think about the one Space and the one Thought, but usually I don’t. Usually I think about my condominium.” - Andy Warhol, In Perspective

The spatial model of the mind in which mind and space are coterminous is found is (primarily non-scientific) discourses such as the writings Genpo Roshi (Big Mind), a concept adopted by Ken Wilbur and others, and reflected in some of the writing of Alan Watts, ‘I have no other self than the totality of things of which I am aware’. Here other concepts of mind which utilise spatial metaphors, central point, focal point, ectoplasm, are ignored or suppressed in favour of the MIND IS SPACE metaphor, with its consequent entailments. The prioritisation of this metaphor is associated with the condition of enlightenment.

Posted in Enlightenment, Mind, Space, Warhol,Andy, Watts, Alan, Wilbur, Ken | No Comments »

Everything is Illuminated

September 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

Posted in Consciousness, Enlightenment, History | No Comments »

Objective Subjective Enlightenment

September 17th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Kant’s Was ist Aufklarung was a call for an enlightenment in which knowledge is separated from power and superstition. It is knowledge which is democratically available and publically verifiable. This contrasts with the subjective forms of knowledge typically offered by the modern enlightenment industries, as exemplified between the pages of the unintentionally ironic What is Enlightenment magazine. This ‘knowledge’ is often re-united with superstition (and occasionally with power in cultic situations), and in which the techniques for objective validation, exemplified in the scientific method, are ignored or derided. This enlightnment often substitutes the feeling of knowing for knowing itself. Objective and subjective knowing probably feels the same - the extended eureka which accompanies the finding of a new unity in the world, but feelings aren’t facts. Some scientists (seem to) have tried to combine both elements, honouring the feelings of subjective enlightenment whilst also striving for objective scientific validity; David Bohm and David Peat may be examples; but for the most part this attempt at combining Auflarung with New Age Enlightenment is a diminution of the illuminated space of knowledge, not an expansion.

Posted in Enlightenment, Kant, Immanuel, Knowledge | No Comments »

Enlightenment every Morning

September 20th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Many Zen Buddhist texts, as well as those from widely different metaphysical traditions, stress that enlightenment is not some otherworldly, spiritual state of grace removed from everyday existence, (as if is often framed by the modern enlightenment industries), but rather is a simple realisation of everyday awareness; a ‘waking up’ to the life we are actually living. The Buddha is known as ‘the awakened one’, and this association of enlightenment with the passage from sleep to wakefulness is telling. The most phenomenal and phenomenologically evident example of the illuminated state of consciousness is the everyday act of waking up. In a few moments every day, to the accompaniment of alarm clock ring, birdsong, or traffic noise, each of us breaks the surface of sleep. This transition from ‘not-being’ to being, from unconscious to conscious, from endarkened to enlightened is more ontologically remarkable than the most affecting ’spiritual’ moment can ever be. This moment, together with its complementary transition in which we slip between the folds of consciousness and pass from wakefulness to sleep, is surpassed in its significance only by the birth and death of the organism, and whatever cognitive experience accompanies that process, (which may turn out to be very anticlimactic).

Posted in Buddhism, Enlightenment, Sleep, Spirituality | No Comments »

Why ‘Enlightenment’? Seeing the Big Picture

October 13th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The term ‘Enlightenment’ refers to both a particular period of European history in which rational enquiry and the concept of a human-centred approach to knowledge became privileged, and also to the individual experience of ‘awakening’ that is found in many spiritual and religious traditions including Buddhism, Hinduism, and Christianity.

This term, Enlightenment, is part of a complex set of metaphors which structure our relationship to knowledge. In this structure, light is associated with knowing, and darkness with not-knowing, hence the period preceding the historical Enlightenment is sometimes referred to as ‘The Dark Ages’. This association of light and knowledge may be because the presence of light allows one to be able to see, and in the absence of light one is effectively blind; this then correlates with a related metaphor, KNOWING IS SEEING, in which the abstract concept of knowing is comprehended by a mapping from the visual sense. So when we wish to indicate that we understand something we say ‘I see’, and when we do not understand we say ‘I just don’t see it’. In such circumstances we may even say we are ‘in the dark’.

What the light allows us to see, presumably, is ‘the big picture’; as the parable of the four blind men feeling their way around an elephant, all of whom take away different impressions, suggests, the visual sense confers a unity on experience which is absent from other senses. To ’see’ means not only to experience more but also to experience a unity.

In terms of personal Enlightenment experience, the darkness that one is assumed to be emerging from represents an inability see a unity of self and other, an inability which is resolved by the turning on of the light which allows the unity of all things to be percieved, just as one sees the unity of the world using the visual sense. The Enlightenment process allows this unity to be metaphorically ’seen’, resolving the apparent differences to produce the state of ‘non-duality’ or advaita, or divine union spoken of in scriptures.

Posted in Binding, Elephant, Enlightenment, History, Light | No Comments »

Enlightenment is not magic.

October 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie

It will not make you a better person.
It will not allow you to walk through walls.
It will not cure you of diseases.
It will not make you immortal.
It will not give you access to other worlds where the sky is bluer and everyone is happy all the time.
It will not make you more attractive to other humans.
It will not change anything at all.

Posted in Death, Enlightenment, Happiness | No Comments »

Knowing Enlightenment - Book Launch

November 23rd, 2006 Fred McVittie

From the book jacket:

This book is concerned with knowing enlightenment. Not knowing ‘about’ enlightenment, which suggests a standing apart or outside of the experience, but knowing enlightenment from within. It is not concerned with ‘achieving’ enlightenment, which suggests some goal. Nor does it refer to ‘gaining’, which suggests profit and loss. It is not ‘becoming’, which suggests a wholesale transformation of self. It is simply ‘knowing’, in which that knowing is sensed, felt, and understood.

Posted in Enlightenment, Knowledge, Sense | No Comments »

Silence - Silence

November 30th, 2006 Fred McVittie

SILENCE

/\/

WAAH!

/\/

OH!

/\/

HA HA!

/\/

AHA!

/\/

OM!

/\/

SILENCE

Posted in Consciousness, Creativity, Enlightenment, Illumination, Pain, Silence | No Comments »

A Course in Enlightenment: Feelings aren’t Facts.

December 8th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The techniques which lead to enlightenment may produce certain feelings, emotions, or bodily responses. This is inevitable; all thoughts are connected to shifts in the responses of the body, and the thoughts associated with enlightenment are no different to any other thoughts.
These feelings may include, awe, love, empathy, a sense of clarity, compassion; we may feel tearful, joyful, or as if we are about to burst with the power of our feelings. But these feelings are not enlightenment, they are just feelings. They tell us no more about enlightenment than the pain which accompanies falling tells us about gravity. The truth of enlightenment is itself, not the responses our body makes to that truth.
So does this mean we should ignore these feelings? Of course not, for just as the pain of falling gives us information about the fall and about our relationship to it, motivating us to produce actions and behaviour appropriate to our needs, so the emotions we feel when using the techniques of enlightenment give us similar information. We should observe these emotions, maybe even enjoy them, but we should not confuse them with the enlightenment itself.

Posted in Emotion, Enlightenment, Feeling, Pain | No Comments »

Enlightenment - Line and Point

December 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Enlightenment is not a ’state’, it is a ‘way’. Both these terms use spatial metaphors to organise experience. It is tempting to think of enlightenment as a ’state’ in the geographical sense; a special place we can move ourselves metaphorically into which is radically different from the state we are in at present. It is tempting to think that if we were in this place or state then we can simply stay there, permanently and completely enlightened, and from the vantage point of this mythical, brightly illuminated place, we can look back at the place we left and at the unenlightened people who are still standing in that place, and we can feel secure that we have not only seen the light, but we now live permanently in that light. Citizens of that special place.

This is all wrong. If we are to use a spatial metaphor to talk about enlightenment then we have to use one which reflects its status as a process, not as a fixed way of being. We need to see it not as a place but as a journey. Not as a place to hang our hat and relax, but as a road that we might walk down. This journey has no destination (although it probably ends at our death) but a journey in which the walking itself is the reason. Constant moving is both the way and the point of enlightenment. Walking and waking, walking and waking.

Posted in Enlightenment, Walking | No Comments »

Enlightenment - No Golden Tickets

December 13th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Enlightenment is not a ticket to a better world. We might imagine that knowing enlightenment, or ‘becoming enlightened’, is a little like a good kind of dying. That when we see the light we are somehow magically transported from this fallen, dangerous world to a better place; a place without war, or fear, or hatred. A place where everyone thinks pretty much the same as we do, and where the grass is greener, the sky is bluer etc etc.

This can’t be right.

Posted in Death, Enlightenment | No Comments »

The Magical Power of Enlightenment

December 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Sometimes, people seeking ‘enlightenment’ are responding to a sense of loss in their lives; a feeling of being marginalised, unimportant, not part of the great plan. They feel that gaining enlightenment will change all this and put them back in the picture. This is fine. These people are usually right. Having a sense of loss is right because we have lost something. To not feel part of the great plan is right, because we don’t really have a conception of what a great plan might be. Feeling marginalised is right if you really are on the margins. And sure, enlightenment can help to put these things in order and in perspective; give you a sense of what a plan might look like, and what your part in it might be. But some people have greater expectations than this. They believe that enlightenment will not only give them knowledge and wisdom, but will also give them limitless control; control over their own lives, control over their own passions and desires, even control over other people. They see themselves as like the Human Torch from the comic ‘The X-Men’, flaming with the power of their own illuminated consciousness, able to walk through wall and see into the heart of all things. These people are confusing self with ego.

Posted in Centre, Enlightenment, Self | No Comments »

Performing in the Light

February 3rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

Posted in Consciousness, Creativity, Enlightenment, Light, Performance | No Comments »

Anti-Epiphany

May 30th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The shifting internal landscape of metaphors and representations that we might call ‘imagination’ includes not only the extensive covert metaphors underpinning routine language and thought as described by Lakoff et al, but also the heightened and more recognisable metaphors found in poetic flourishes, scientific theories, political models, and theological beliefs and cosmologies. All of these constructs are beyond literal embodiment so are fabricated in our imaginations from the building materials of embodied experience. Some might argue that such entities as God, Quarks, and the Invisible Hand of the Free Market are objectively verifiable facts about the world, but such claims, however valid, does not alter the status of these entities as ultimately imaginary and metaphorical. Whilst these overt or ‘heightened’ metaphors actually have the same ontological status as the more routine metaphors, we tend regard these abstractions as deserving of special treatment. We treat poetic metaphor with an aesthetic appreciation that is largely absent from our experience of routine embodied metaphor. We approach political metaphor with revolutionary zeal or protectionist paranoia, and we treat theological metaphor with the reverence and awe we call ’spirituality’.

This ’spiritualisation’ of the imagination, in which we associate a particular attitude and mental state with a certain set of abstraction, amongst the sea of abstractions that surrounds us, is slightly odd. The oddness is that we spend most of our lives in the close embrace of one metaphor or another, completely immersed in the spirit world of embodied abstractions and yet we choose this particular subset of metaphors to have a ‘religious’ relationship with. It would perhaps be more consistent to develop this special kind of relationship with those parts of experience which are unlike the others, and which are distinguished by their rarity and ontological distinction. What is exceedingly rare as a category of human conceptualisation, and which in some ways makes more sense as a location for religious experience, is the unalloyed engagement with the material world, a direct experience of physical material, accessed via the senses. Given the human predeliction for metaphorical thought, such moments of engagement with the raw material of metaphor, physical experience itself, are inordinately difficult to sustain. Listening without putting a name or an interpretation on what is heard. Seeing and trusting the evidences of one’s eye. Feeling the texture of the paper under one’s fingertips. These things are not the epiphanies of spiritual experience but the anti-epiphanies of embodiment, which are far less commonplace.

It is perhaps significant that some practical philosophical traditions stress the importance of this kind of concrete experience; these moments of anti-epiphany are islands of holy materialism in an ocean of tumbling tumultuous metaphors, gleaming crystals of divine contact in a volatile and wholly spiritual world.

Posted in Cognition, Enlightenment, Metaphor, Science, Spirituality | No Comments »

Listen with you Eyes

July 22nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

Achieving mindfulness through an attention to the visual or the tactile sense can be difficult. Both of these senses rely o difference to operate, the saccading of the eye picks up difference (the difference that makes a difference) and without finding any such differences the eyes would effectively cease to see anything at all. In order for the fingertips to feel anything they must be constantly on the move. Neither sense provided the stillness and quietude which mindfulness desires. Also, both of these senses require active content in order for them to come into being. If we close our eyes it is impossible to imagine a kind of contentless ’seeing’, a visual attentiveness without anything to be attentive to. Similarly, it is hard to imagine what it might mean to ‘feel’ something when there is nothing to feel. Non-specific, contentless feeling seems to be an incoherent concept. As with seeing, it seems that our intuitions tell us that feeling and the thing felt arise mutually and the feeling sense cannot exist as a free-floating independent sense.

It is, however, comparatively easy to use the sense of hearing without having any specific aural stimulus to listen to. We seem to be able to allocate attentional resources to the act of listening even when there is little or nothing audible to capture that attention. We can, as Krishnamurti put it, ‘listen to the silence’. Listen, in this sense, connotes a kind of mental state; an attentiveness and readiness in which we might listen for something or may simple remain poised and empty, waiting for nothing.

Posted in Enlightenment, Krishnamurti, Siddu, Mind, Seeing | No Comments »

Moderation and Consciousness

August 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

One understanding of enlightenment is the pursuit of a state of being in which individual consciousness is minimised and a ‘larger’ or more totalising consciousness is accepted. Individual consciousness involves a close identification with the personal thoughts, opinions, desires, attitudes, and feelings of the individuated self, and this usually involves the establishing of a distinction between these entities, which we consider ‘the self’, and the rest of experience which we might consider ‘non self’. This differentiation is the duality which many spiritual and religious tradition attempt to dissolve.

Those aspects of experience which tend to draw us toward individual consciousness are recognisable by the fact that they are value-laden, by which is meant that they have a positive or negative emotional component. When I put my hand on a hotplate for example, the experience gives me an unpleasant feeling which I will most likely try to minimise by moving my hand away as quickly as possible. I can make a conscious decision to leave my hand where it is and continue to feel the sensation, prolonging the pain, but the extent to which I do this, resisting the urge to move my hand, is also the extent to which I am identifying with my individual consciousness. Or more accurately, this experience would constitute my individual consciousness. Individual consciousness is not the pain, or the sensation of pain, but rather it is my identification with the pain and my resistance to the urgings of my body to move away from that pain.

We know from neurological experiments that in an episode like this, the order in which stimuli, response, feeling, and consciousness emerge is not intuitively obvious. One might imagine that the natural order of events would be that the sensation of heat on the hand caused certain neural activity in the brain, which then coalesced into a conscious experience of pain, followed by a quick decision to move the hand away from the source of pain, and lastly the action itself. In actuality the order of events is that the sensation of heat does cause stimulation of the nerve endings, which does cause neural activity, but this is followed immediately by a decision to move and the beginnings of the movement itself in the form of the ‘readiness potential’. At this crucial stage between the rising of the readiness potential and the carrying out of the action itself consciousness inserts itself as a sluice gate which allows for the possibility that the action be not carried out. We could choose at this point to override the urgings of the emotionally tagged cognitive processes preparing the arm to withdraw, and decide consciously to leave the hand where it is. It is only at this stage that there is an experience of pain, the consciousness of that pain, and its accompanying and following thoughts, feelings and attitudes. In other words, individual consciousness is not present in the action of the hand and the hotplate until after the responsive action had been prepared for and the possibility of not carrying out that action has arisen. It is, to paraphrase Damasio, the feeling of what may or may not happen. The possibility of this choice is the source of identification.

It might be assumed that prior to the moment at which consciousness became identified with this action and pain it had been identified with something else. Individual consciousness simply had another focus, another set of contents, although possibly less laden with emotional value and the urgency which accompanies it. If this is the case, then this consciousness would be constituted through the successive feelings of whatever has happened, arising in response to the hailing of emotionally tagged stimuli. Just as my momentary consciousness (of pain) is individuated as a response to the hotplate, allowing me the option to maintain that sensation, so my apparently continuous individual consciousness arises as a neverending succession of such individuations.

One conclusion we may draw from this is that, if one is trying to minimize individual consciousness in order to enter some kind of enlightened state, then one should avoid situations in which such decision-making must take place.

Posted in Damasio, Antonio, Emotion, Enlightenment, Feeling | No Comments »

Seeing Double

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The concept of ‘dualism’ involves an experience of being in which the world is separated into two parts or materials. These are variously designated as ’self and other’, ‘body and soul’, ‘body and mind’ and ’subject and object’. The normal experience of the act of seeing gives strong reinforcement to such dualism because of its structure. From a naïve standpoint, vision seems to involve the operation of two major component parts: the seer and the seen, together with conditional components which support the act, most notably the space which lies between seer and seen and across which seeing operates, and the light which must be present if seeing is to happen at all. The self-evident obviousness of such a structure, combined with the aid to this kind of thinking that some scientific support for its validity provides, inevitably forces one to conclude that the location of ’self’ within this system is with the ’seer’ and that everything else that is ’seen’ is ‘other’: that ‘mind’ only exists at the location in space occupied by this seer and the rest is inert matter, including the ‘body’ one sees when one looks down or indeed the body of another person. Here is the subject, there is the object. Vision, as described here, is the objectifying sense par excellence, and remembering that up to 40% of brain activity is comprised of the visual processing of information it is not surprising that, as Paul Bloom puts it, we are ‘natural born dualists’. Since so much of our brain activity is taken up with visual processing, a fact observable by noting how much of our cognition and language relies on visual metaphors, we have an inbuilt tendency to constantly reproduce the conditions under which dualism thrives.

Any move toward achieving non-duality must inevitably confront this difficulty or find ways to minimise its effects. Clearly one way is to develop a set of techniques which privilege non-visual ways of being in the world and which do not have this this tendency to spatialise and objectify. However, many traditions do attempt to offer ways of finding non-duality which rely on the concept of ’seeing’, or which make extensive use of visual and spatial metaphors despite the inherent difficulties. Such methods work because of a number of strategies which have been found which circumvent the duality-producing tendency of vision.

One way this has been achieved is through the building up of an identification or association not with the ’seer’ in the structure of vision but with some aspect of the conditions in which seeing operates, usually light or space. We intuitively associate ourselves with the position of seer, feeling our self as existing at the place where the looking is taking place or coming from. This intuition can be broken down however, allowing us to change the location of such identification, at least partially. In fact we routinely modify the location of our identification, extending it to cover our family, team, country, or species, swelling with pride when ‘we’ have taken our first step, scored a goal, turned green and pleasant as an English springtime, or evolved an opposable thumb. Alternatively we may shrink our identification to include only our head, our brain, our consciousness, placing the I deep inside and casting everything else out into the over-there-ness of objective space. We also habitually and non-mystically move ourselves away from ourselves whenever we see someone in pain; we wince in empathy, placing part of ourselves momentarily in their shoes and neuronally mirroring their being. It is a comparatively small step from these everyday resizings and relocations of the self to an identification with the non-self components of vision mentioned above. When we feel ourselves to be, not the subject or object in the visual equation, but the space in which these entities appear, we are adopting the space as ourselves and feeling the singularity and non-duality which comes with that territory. This is particularly potent if we have an understanding of space not as the emptiness which lies between the stuff of the world but as a continuous substrate which permeates every-thing and (so physicists would attest) at the deepest level comprises everything. Similarly, the development of a close association with light, the other great condition for the functioning of vision, can also allow one to avoid objectifying dualism which still utilising the power of visuality.

Some practices, particularly activity-based ones, find a non-local location for self in an identification with the affordance connection between ‘here’ and ‘there’, between this thing here called ‘I’ and that thing there called ‘it’ (or ‘you’). An affordance connection draws on that faculty of our minds which synchronises our perceptions with the actions required of the object of those perceptions. So, for example, when we see a chair we do not simply see a collection of wooden geometrical shapes assembled in a particular way, we ’see’ the sitting opportunities offered by this object. Similarly, when we see a tool with a handle we ’see’ its graspability. According to Gibson, this recognition of affordance is not some rational act carried out by the conscious mind once visual perception has taken place, rather it is completely embedded within the perceptual act, preceding such analysis as geometry or the recognition of a particular material. When we see something, the first thing we see it how we should interact with it, and this seeing is an unconscious, embodied, felt sense. The other more formal aspects of objects relating to their shape, size, colour, etc follow this primary active perceptual response, and it is these secondary perceptions which most clearly separate seer from seen, subject from object, self from other. A form of ’seeing’ or ‘being’ which foregrounds these primary affordance relations between perceiver and perceived may reduce the dualism which normal seeing tends to promote. So Herriman, writing about Zen and Archery, can claim that non-duality is achieved when the archer ceases to exist as an individual separated from the bow, arrow, and target, and begins to exist as the action which coheres these disparate elements into a unity. This singularity is a result of an identification by the archer not with his self as distinct from the activity, but with the affordance structure which makes these elements one.

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Atheist Awe

August 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Who among us has stood on a beach beside a vast raging ocean and not been affected by the sheer power and majesty of the sight. Or scooping up a handful of sand grains, a tiny sample of an incomprehensibly large quantity, has not been at least a little devastated by the numbers involved. Look up and see the stars and then tell me how big you are. These are just some of the times and places when our experience takes us beyond our selves and puts us in a place where medium sized creatures like us can only stand gobsmacked before the ineffable. Most of us regard these moments as interesting but ultimately insignificant diversions, and have no cause to integrate such feelings into the fabric of ones life. Such experiences that we might call ’sublime’ and the feelings they engender that we might call ‘awe’ or describe as ‘oceanic’, when they are associated with religious practices are embedded into the lives of those practitioners in a way that they are not with the casual, recreational seeker of the sublime. All faiths stress the importance of these feelings as marking knowledge (or the path to knowledge) of the relationship with the divine and this articulated, integrated set of emotional and cognitive responses is firmly ensconced within the writing, cultural practices, and relations of believers. For the atheists among us this is potentially a huge loss. We are as capable of grand emotional intelligence as the most fervent fundamentalist, yet it is hard to find a place within the life of an unbeliever in which such experiences, and the feelings they engender, might function, or indeed what this function might be.

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The Feeling of Light

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

enlightenment
creativity
theory (and mythologisation)
realisation
recognition
noticing
perception

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

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

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

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

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

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Enlightenment from Sensory Collapse

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Enlightenment (or something like it) can be aided by the process in which visual and auditory sensory experiences are transformed into tactile or proprioceptive experiences. This shift in sensory engagement from the seen to the felt collapses the (conceptual) space which radically separated seer from seen, replacing it with contact. In metaphorical terms this collapse involves a remapping of concepts from sources based in the visual (and auditory) to sources which are located next to, or inside of the body, rather that ‘over there’.

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Hub of the I

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

When you find the I, you may have arrived at the centre and thrown out everything that was not yourself into that vast region of everything else that was not yourself, but there is still somewhere else to go. You may have found the spindle of the world, the hub around which Everything turns, but until you abandon all claim to personal ownership of this axis there will still be an I. And here we are reminded that no truly enlightened One ever said ‘I am enlightened’; the sentence may be grammatically correct but is oxymoronically meaningless. There is no I in enlightenment, or at least no capital I, no miniature pedestal on which to place one’s self like the bust of a long-dead Emporer. The i that appears fourth from the front is a picture of modesty, placing itself humbly in line with its fellows and claiming no special privileges. We might also observe that this self-effacing i is notably decapitating itself, losing its head, and indeed its own eye, to the immensity of the wheel. If we are to join the dot of our own lower case i and become the i in Everything, we must do likewise and relinquish our personal claim to sole ownership of the centre.

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The Royal We

October 13th, 2007 Fred McVittie

An artifact of language that prevents us from feeling a unity larger than with the body we inhabit is the extended use we make of personal pronouns. Whenever we read a story, an item in the newspaper, or article on a website, we find the singularity of a unified viewpoint shattered into the ‘he said, she said’ of multiplicity. Imagine if every time we spoke for ourselves we spoke from a different part of our body, so that instead of the ‘I did this’ and ‘I think that’ of normal individual speech we said things like ‘arm did this’ and ‘neck thinks that’. Anyone listening to this kind of talk would quite rightly assume we were insane, or at the very least incoherent. When we speak as our individuated, ego-centric, body-bound selves we speak for and identify with the collective of our body parts and with all the vastly different mood states, beliefs, ideas, ideologies and histories in which we participate. This is so natural to us that we barely notice we are doing it. Even though our bodies and minds are disparate and sovereign to themselves we seem to have no difficulty in embracing them in a conceptual unity, a personal non-duality if you like, and referring to this chaotic gabbling horde as ‘I’.

When we turn our attention outward however, and try to see a larger unity, ideally identifying with that unity in some kind of enlightened state, then we keep coming across this basic duality of self and other. ‘Here I am’, our minds seem to be saying, ‘and there is everything else’. Even more, we break the ‘everything else’ into a ‘he’ over there, a ’she’ over there, and a whole flotilla of ‘its’ scattered across the landscape. Each of these diverse and diverting entities seems totally separate and alone, and any communion between them takes the form of a shouting across the gulf which separates them: semaphore and smoke signals lost in translation. Worse still, each of these islands seems to have its own currency and its own property rights; alongside me, and you, and him, and her, and it, there is a mine, and yours, and his, and hers, and its. The wealth of the world has been carved up and thrown to the dogs and suddenly no-one seems to have enough, and no-one is to blame because no-one is all there is. In place of no-one we should have no-many, and we cannot recognise no-many if we insist on ignoring the singular existence of One and getting the name wrong all the time.

A significant contribution to this breaking of self and world must be the habitual tendency we have to assign different speaking positions to the various parts of this large unity, making a kitchen sink drama out of a divine monologue. Try this simple exercise to hear the voice of the no-many, the One.

  • Take a newspaper article or passage in a book
  • Cross out all of the following words: I, you, he, she, it, they, and replace them with ‘we’
  • Cross out all these words: mine, yours, hers, his, its, theirs, and replace them with ‘ours’.
  • Read it again and hear how all the parts of the divine body have congregated into a unity.

You (we) are speaking and listening for everyone and everything in creation.

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Brightly Lit Space: Behind the Eyes (exercise)

October 14th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Fix your eyes on a point directly in front of where you are sitting. Without moving your point of focus, try to shift your attention and awareness to one or other side of your visual field. You will be able to detect movement and you will sense what is there but you will not be able to determine details or colour. Gradually move your awareness backward, away from the centre of your gaze, to the full extent of your peripheral vision. You may be aware of a darkness, or you may feel the existence of a point beyond which your awareness meets resistance, this is because we associate awareness with physical seeing, and since the movement of the eye is limited to the frame of the eye socket this association tends to carry over and affect how we use attentional awareness, even though the same physical limits do not apply. Try to continue the backward motion of the point of awareness into this darkness or beyond this imaginary limit. Move your visual awareness right back so that you are attending to the area behind your eyes. At this point, notice that you are no longer attending to a space that is in darkness, but a space that appears to be brightly lit, a light behind the eyes. If you give close attention to this space you may find that the light behind the eyes begins to take on form and colour, and as if waking from a dream, you may find you are looking at the world again. The room you are in is back, illuminated and radiant.

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OOBE Paradox

October 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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All in the Brain

October 27th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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Selfishness and Altruism

November 5th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Although it would probably be ideal if we could strive for enlightenment with no thought for the benefits it might bring such as pleasant bodily feelings, better mental and physical health etc. it would be a rare human indeed who could avoid the lure of such motivations. Our ancient biology and habitual self-centredness cannot fail to seek out the personal advantages that may be gained from any action, and the path of enlightenment is no different. However worthy and impersonal the goal, it is written in the fabric of our psyche that such evidently altruistic acts as, for example, training to be a doctor or social worker, entering divine ministry, even martyrdom for the most noble cause, makes us imagine how we ourselves might benefit individually from these career choices. Fame, wealth, and the promise of eternity in paradise are just some of the gains to be had, and it is the presence of these possible gains within our motivation which make us waver. It is a natural human tendency to find such ’selfish’ reasons to go there. ‘What’s in it for me’ is the knee-jerk response of a part of the brain which served us well in the evolutionary past and still calls to us when we are considering any course of action. So when such thoughts arise we may worry if we are doing this altruistic act not for its own sake but for the wrong reasons of personal gain.

We may feel that for an act to be truly selfless there should be no possibility of personal gain to be had from it and no trace of selfishness in out minds, and if there is then we should not proceed. It would be a great tragedy if all the great and good of history, Ghandhi, Mandela, Jesus, Mohammed etc. had come to this conclusion, since each and every one of them must unavoidably have felt the stirrings of personal profit and saw the possibility of their own elevation, if not in this world then in the next.

This feeling of impropriety also arises when pursuing enlightenment, however much we tell ourselves rationally that there is a ‘higher’ purpose to the quest, inexpressible in the language of the fallen. And no matter how we tell ourselves that any personal benefits that may accrue are transitory and not the thing itself (and there is no guarantee that any such benefits will actually emerge) we can still sense the persistent eye of our ego looking out of our being, an eye firmly fixed on the main chance and looking after number one. Since such self-centredness is inevitable and unavoidable we should not see it as a contamination of our pure motives, or as a reason not to continue on the road. Instead we should perhaps acknowledge the existence of this eye. After all, it served us well in our evolutionary past and without it looking after our bodies when danger was behind every bush we would not be here today thinking about ‘higher’ things at all. When we were at our most mortal, it was there for us and kept us safe, and it would be churlish and ungrateful for us to disown it now, like a soldier from an unpopular war. When we needed it, it was there, and the least we can do is to look upon it kindly and with the compassion and understanding it deserves. It no longer stands alone at the vanguard of our existence, and when we hear its voice in our head we do not have to answer its call.

Look after your old self like an elderly relative; sometimes it says wise things and sometimes it calls your Senegalese neighbours ‘darkies’. Without it you would not exist. You are an adult. Make up your own mind.

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Enlightenment from Sensory Collapse

November 7th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The attainment of Enlightenment (or something like it) may be aided by the process in which visual and auditory sensory experiences are transformed into tactile or proprioceptive experiences. This shift in sensory engagement from the seen to the felt collapses the (conceptual) space which radically separated seer from seen, replacing it with contact. When the connection between subject and object is conceived as direct contact (or even immersion) then the separation between these concepts disappears and non-duality is achieved. In metaphorical terms this collapse involves a remapping of concepts from sources based in the visual (and auditory) to sources which are located next to, or inside of the body, rather that ‘over there’.

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Fechner’s ‘Day View’

November 8th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Gustav Fechner, the 19th century philosopher and pioneer psychologist, is most known for developing the science of psychophysics, the investigation of the relationships between physical events and stimuli and the appearance of these stimuli in consciousness. In addition to this work, (which he apparently regarded as something of a diversion to his major interests), Fechner is primarily associated with a metaphysics which attempts to unite concepts of body and mind. Echoing some of the monist ideas of Spinoza, and latterly Muller and others, Fechner regarded all phenomona as having both a physical and a psychological dimension. In the language of his day Fechner referred to this psychic dimension as ’soul’, although there is no absolute necessity to embrace the full theological implications of this terms to appreciate the distinction he is making. In looking out into the world, Fechner would claim, our experience is not only of the material substances that make up that world but also a kind of ‘liveness’ which animates that experience. This does not apply only to those aspects of experience which we usually associate with liveness, plants and animals predominantly, but that this liveness is a component of being itself. Fechner goes on to critique what he saw as an overly materialistic and empiricist way of looking at the world which he felt denied this liveness, and referred to this way of looking as the ‘night view’, a sterile and ultimately bleak way of looking which evacuated the world of meaningfulness, in contrast to what he called the ‘day view’ in which the world is witnessed in its full liveness. It is important to note that this quasi-panpsychist viewpoint that Fechner argued for does not attribute the world, or the materials of the world, with specific agency; he is not arguing for a crudely animist way of looking in which spirits haunt every rock and tree, but of a more abstract and distributed notion of what we would now refer to as consciousness. This has some resonance with the work of David Chalmers, for example, in contemporary consciousness studies, who similarly argues against theories of consciousness as an emergent phenomena and in favour of a conception of it as a omnipresent aspect of being.

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Enter Death

November 25th, 2007 Fred McVittie

In order to really be (enlightened) one must enter into one’s own death.

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Light as a Metaphor

December 14th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Although light is intangible and uncontainable it nevertheless has a rich significance in the world of thought. This is possibly because the perception of light is a key component of the visual sense, which is the dominant mode in human sensory awareness, with up to 50% of the processing power of the brain being given over to vision. Light underpins out ability to see and therefore, despite its ephemeral nature, is central to our conceptualisation. The important position of light as a concept is revealed in the metaphorical uses it fulfills, and significant connections are evidenced between the different phenomena to which the metaphor of light is applied.

Light metaphors tend to be applied to the various abstract phenomena broadly understood as ‘knowledge’, and particularly, the acquistion of said knowledge. This is exhibited most clearly (sic) when we say that we ’see’ what a person means when we want to indicate that the knowledge that the person is pointing us to is objectively available to us also. We also refer to the gaining of knowledge as ‘illumination’ or ‘enlightenment’ and support the metaphor with reference to ‘light bulb’ moments, ideas ‘dawning’ on us, ‘flashes’ of inspiration, etc.

The source of the light metaphor is, as noted, the role of actual visible light within visual perception. Even though light itself cannot be easily seen, it is necessary for seeing to take place; when we look at a tree we do not see the light filling the space between the tree and our eyes, we ’simply’ see the tree. However, since the absence of light is also the absence of sight, this natural concurrence gives light something of the status of an embodiable phenomenon. We feel that it is a concrete, sensorially available entity, even though in actuality, when distinguished from the objects which it illuminates, it is exposed as a deeply abstract concept beyond the horizon of direct experience.

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The Dark and Light of Dying

December 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Two images dominate our understanding of the death experience. In the first of these we imagine death as an embrace of the darkness. We find this in poetic metaphors of ‘the dying of the light’ against which we should rage, in visual representations of death as associated with blackness, impenetrability, and night, and in images of ‘fading’ consciousness, squeezing out of sparks, and the dimming of brilliance in senility. Conversely, there is the apparently paradoxical metaphor which associates death with entering illumination, a moving toward the light and a merging with the glory of that light.

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Anything with Anything

January 25th, 2008 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

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