New Spectacles

April 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Today is Easter Sunday, and for some reason my mobile isn’t working so I’ve not been able to ring home and wish the children Happy Easter. I’ll try to borrow someone’s later maybe. There are no papers this morning so I’m sitting in my hotel room right now, writing this on my laptop, and squinting a little because my spectacle prescription is out of date and the words on the screen are distinctly fuzzy (if that isn’t too oxymoronic a thing to say).

Which sets my thinking about the first pair of glasses I ever got, when I was about 12 I suppose. Up until that point I just assumed that everyone else saw the world as I did; that things not only became smaller as they moved away but they also became indistinct. I also believed that this was not a feature of my dodgy perception, but a property of the actual material world. I truly thought that beyond a distance of a few hundred yards from my head the world was an undifferentiated mass, and it was only within my orbit (and presumably the orbit of other humans) that the parts emerged from the whole. If I don’t get my prescription renewed and get myself some new spectacles I may have to re-embrace that worldview.

Posted in Perception, Seeing, Space, Story, Subjective | No Comments »

Clover 2

May 15th, 2006 Fred McVittie



On Thursday I found these 2

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The Evolutionary Economics of Subitization

June 1st, 2006 Fred McVittie

The ability of humans and most animals to innately recognise the numerosity of small numbers of objects , an ability usually referred to as subitizing, must have its origins in the evolution of perception and the psychology which supports it. This paper will argue that one possible source of such an adaptive pressure is the allocation of resources within social groups, and the need to balance the needs of the individual with the competing needs of others. Prior to the availability of a sophisticated system of numbering (which might be estimating or counting), it will be proposed that resources can be shared between two parties in ways involving three basic schema;

  • Uneven A (in which one party to the sharing receives zero)
  • Even (in which both parties to the sharing receive equal amounts)
  • Uneven B (in which one party to the sharing receives more than the other)

These schema can be represented as:

0|
0|0
0|00

It can be noted that all the variations of equal and unequal distribution can be represented by these three schema, and when these are reduced to groupings:

0
00
000

It is immediately evident whether such groupings lend themselves to a equal or unequal sharing schema. It follows from this that within social situations there would be an adaptive pressure to distinguish such groupings in order to manage the allocation of resources to meet the competing demands on those resources by individual need and the need of the other. Such an adaptive pressure would express itself in abstract terms as an innate ability to recognise these schema without counting or estimating, an ability corresponding to subitizing.

It may be noted in passing that this derivation also creates the concept of the zero, expressed as the absent term in distribution schema uneven A.

Posted in Economics, Evolution, Mathematics, Perception | No Comments »

Non-conscious ‘Beliefs’ and Behaviour

August 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Theories relating to the perception of optical illusions suggest that non-conscious mental processing of visual images has a persistent effect on how those images are consciously perceived. There is clearly a potential for such non-conscious processing to similarly have an effect on physical action, behaviour, attitudes, or feelings. It is conceivable, for example, that an error in perception caused by such processes might lead a person to make a judgment based on this (mis)perception which judgment would be incorrect in conscious rational terms. We know that information directed directly at non-conscious processes, and which bypasses conscious awareness, has a direct effect on attitudes and choice (hence advertising), it is likely that the unconscious knowledge represented by Universal Physics has a similar effect.

Posted in Illusion, Perception, Physics, Seeing, Unconscious, Universals | No Comments »

Metaphors of Partial Presence

August 14th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Although the fort da logic of perception and experience suggests that an entity is either present or absent (there or not there), in actuality we seem to be able to conceive of presence/being as a property which has more than a binary function, but which can exist as a continuum. The cognitive facility to conceive of entities as partial, which is clearly an abstraction, is achieved through metaphorical mapping from concrete experiences in which entities appear to reduce their level of presence. The key metaphors for this partial presence are; distance, fragmentation, and transparency.

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The Development of Unconscious Physics

August 29th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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Subitizing and Knowing

August 30th, 2006 Fred McVittie

When a subject is shown a group of objects where the number of objects is small, between one an four, they are able to report on that number within a very short time, and they may accompany this report with a subjective account that their perception of the number of objects is ‘immediate’. When a subject is asked the number of objects there are in groups beyond four items, on the other hand, their response time typically increases by about 250-350 ms for each item, and this increase corresponds to a report by the subject that they are counting the objects, rather than being immediately aware of the number in the group.

The cognitive processes associated with subitizing, the apparently instant recognition of the number of objects in groups up to four, is clearly different to the forms of knowledge gathering processes employed with larger groups of objects, and whatever processes are being used within subitizing they do not appear to be readily accessible to consciousness.

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Corpuscles of Now

September 27th, 2006 Fred McVittie

Husserl makes the observation that a perception is not simply a static, atemporal image, but also contains the dimension of time. Each percept contains a retention of the ‘just past’ and a protention of what is about to occur. Perceptual presence, therefore, is not ‘punctual’; it is rather that now, not-now, and not-yet-now exist in what Husserl refers to as a ‘horizontal gestalt’.

To paraphrase Richard Dawkins, ‘we are all beings that live for a medium duration of time, experiencing that life in medium-sized moments, midway between femtosecond and cosmological time.

(”Hindu cosmological time cycles represent numerically the life of our solar system and are a comprehensive system of time measurement based upon the sexagesimal number system with units as small as 1/216000 of a day and as large as 3.1104×1014 years.”
http://www.aaronsrod.com/time-cycles/time-cycles-03.html)

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Performing Magic (Non-consciously)

October 7th, 2006 Fred McVittie

The interactions which take place between performers and audience do not only take place at a conscious rational level. In fact most of the transactions probably takes place non-consciously through body language, gesture, intonation, proximity, etc. Much non-conscious transaction and perception does not utilise the same processes and beliefs that consciousness relies on, the objective axioms of rational physics and deductive logic for example, but rather uses subjective (and sometimes universal) embodied processes and beliefs, Folk Physics and Magic.

Posted in Perception, Performance, Unconscious | No Comments »

Probability Gradients

November 1st, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

Posted in Consciousness, Eliot, T.S., Husserl, Edmund, Perception, Time | No Comments »

Thinking is Perceiving

November 3rd, 2006 Fred McVittie

The contents of thought are not abstract, impressionless concepts, but are perceptions of various kinds. To test this one might simply try to imagine something; an idea, an object, etc and observe the impression it forms in the mind. One cannot imagine the concept chair without imagining a chair, or a sequence of chairs. These impressions are not always, or necessarily, visual; thinking on the concept of music will undoubtedly produce an auditory impression, sugar will entail the impression of a taste, and heat will most likely involve a tactile perception (quite possibly in addition to visual and other components; the sun, a fire, a hotplate; perception is, after all, usually a multimedia presentation). This perceptual nature of thought is also in evidence when we imagine concepts which have no literal or concrete analogue in physical embodied experience. Concepts such as justice, love, and truth, as well as speech components such as in (when used in phrases such as in trouble), or high (as in high performance or high anxiety) are abstract and do not apparently make direct appeal to the senses of perception. In such cases, even though we may not be consciously aware of it, our minds are conceiving of these abstractions through the imaginary perception of metaphors which stand in for these abstract concepts. So our ability to think about justice is due to our ability to form imaginary perception of the various metaphors which represent justice; visual images of scales and balances perhaps, or harmonic sounds, or perhaps other, more ideosyncratic sensory-based perceptions.

Posted in Cognition, Hearing, Imagination, Metaphor, Perception | No Comments »

Under the Red Light

May 8th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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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.

Posted in Art, Embodiment, Feeling, Metaphor, Perception, Sense, thesis | No Comments »

Supervenience and Perception

May 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

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On the Evidence of the Senses Alone

May 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

Posted in Consciousness, Harding, Douglas, Naive, Perception, Sense | No Comments »

Empty Yourself

May 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie

  1. Empty your perceptions into the world. See vision as including the objects of vision.
  2. Empty your attributes into the world. You are not what you have, what you look like, what you can do, what you have done, or what you will do. The secrets that you tell no-one are not you. The part of you that others see, but which you are unaware of, is not you. The part of you that is hidden to yourself and to the world is also not you.
  3. Empty your body into the world. Space runs through you and through everything and everyone.

Posted in Perception, Seeing, Space | No Comments »

The Pleasures of Thinking

May 30th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The ‘cognitive imperative’ drives the mind to fabricate a coherent model of the world from the disparate, unconnected, and often conflicting signals caught by the senses. This imperative is the phenomenological equivalent of ‘perceptual binding’ in which we perceive the world as a unified, multi-sensory whole; we experience the bird on the branch singing its song, we do not experience bird, branch, and song as distinct from each other (unless we choose to). The cognitive imperative is not an emotionless, machinic process however, rather we experience its operation as patterns of positive and negative stress, pleasures and discomforts. It feels good to see connections and relationships between different sensory input, and it can feel challengingly irritating to notice discontinuites or incongruities in the smooth surface of experience. The removal of these stresses and the maximisation of positive feelings was presumably evolution’s way of shaping mental and physical behaviour which was (and is) adaptive, and would aid in our survival and the likelihood of our reproducing. These stresses and pleasures are nature’s way of keeping us thinking, because thinking aids survival.

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Velmans’ Reflexive Monism

May 31st, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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The Affordance of Theory

July 12th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Sometimes ideas are difficult to grasp. At other times they might go right over my head or be simply too hard, too thorny, too slippery, or too big to get my head around. These choices of terms that we use to describe the experience of difficulty we face when confronted by such ideas is suggested of a particular kind of relationship, or rather lack of relationship, between these ideas and ourselves.

The philosopher J.J. Gibson (1977, 1979) proposed a theory of perception (and by extension, cognition) in which the repertory of basic elements that we draw upon when visual engaging with the world is not the abstract logical world of geometrical shapes and forms but the potential for physical action that objects and spaces presented. When we see a table, for example, we do not see a set of connected rectangular solids which we mentally assemble and subsequently recognise as a piece of furniture that we might then choose to lay for dinner. Rather, Gibson would claim, we percieve primarily a ’supportable surface’ which only later might we decompose into its logical constituent parts. He termed these primary perceptual qualities ‘affordances’ and the objects and spaces to which we relate ‘affordance structures’. Clearly, the affordance of an object is dependent largely on the form of the living body and on the needs, habits, and preferences of the entity possessing that body. An object which is recognisable as a ’supportable surface’ by one entity, and might therefore be subsequently thought of as a table, might not afford the possibility of that kind of use by a differently-bodied entity, and cannot be recognised in the same way. (Some artworks play with these affordance differences to generate specific effects, for example, the work of Claus Oldenberg.)

Recognition therefore, at its most basic level, is a function of seeing the use of an object or space, and is an embodied, felt sense. If we return to the difficulty associated with trying to grasp ideas which are too hard, or trying to get our head around theories which are too deep etc. one possible interpretation for what is going on in those moments is that the difficulty is one not of intelligence or concentration but of perception. In order to recognise an object in real space one needs to imagine physicaly engaging with it, one needs to imagine this protrusion as a handle and this surface as supportable. Similarly, in the theoretical, metaphorical space of ideas, one needs to be able to imaginatively perceive the affordances of those ideas. One needs to be able to imagine holding firmly to a conveniently placed axiom as one steps across a syllogistic divide; narrowly avoiding a paradox by stepping back and containing the contradictory terms within a greater explanatory framework. It should be remembered that abstract thinking of the type that makes up all theoretical ideas, is always ultimately made up of embodied metaphor, because embodied metaphor is the language of cognition. So if complex ideas are to be grasped, stood under, held, or deconstructed, then we need to treat them as Gibsonian affordance structures.

James J. Gibson (1977), The Theory of Affordances. In Perceiving, Acting, and Knowing, Eds. Robert Shaw and John Bransford, ISBN 0-470-99014-7

James J. Gibson (1979), The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception, ISBN 0-89859-959-8

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Unweaving Harding’s Rainbow

August 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The accumulation of knowledge concerning objective facts cannot have an ultimate effect upon the experiencing of those facts, (knowledge about the physics of the rainbow does not unweave its beauty). It is possible to banish, or significantly alter, the experience of facts which are subsequently shown to be incorrect however. The ‘fact’ that rocks fall to the ground because of their desire to return to their natural place produces the convincing experience of a rock ’straining’ downward when held in the hand, almost like a small animal pulling on a lead. The replacement of this incorrect theory of why rocks fall with other explanations, the gravitational attraction of the Earth for example, causes this illusion of downward agency to completely vanish, replacing it with an equally convincing impression of a force pulling the rock toward the greater mass of the planet.

The experimental exercises of Douglas Harding show a similar effect, and are prey to the same hazards presented by contrafactual knowledge. Many of the exercises depend upon an explanation of vision (’seeing’ is the key metaphor in Harding’s system) which is scientifically incorrect but which allows the ’seer’ to have experiences that support the metaphysical aims of the practice. Since vision does not operate in ways that is routinely referred to in Harding’s writing, and which is embodied in the experiments, to continue to have these experiences the seer must maintain ‘belief’ in these incorrect explanations. Knowledge of more accurate explanations of how seeing functions can have the effect of dismissing the desired experience as effectively as knowledge of gravity dismisses the illusion of agency in the stone. There is a distinct possibility that, unless alternative appropriate theories are available which also support the desired experience, the acquisition of knowledge may well unweave Harding’s rainbow.

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Unweaving Harding’s Rainbow

August 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The accumulation of knowledge concerning objective facts cannot have an ultimate effect upon the experiencing of those facts, (knowledge about the physics of the rainbow does not unweave its beauty). It is possible to banish, or significantly alter, the experience of facts which are subsequently shown to be incorrect however. The ‘fact’ that rocks fall to the ground because of their desire to return to their natural place produces the convincing experience of a rock ’straining’ downward when held in the hand, almost like a small animal pulling on a lead. The replacement of this incorrect theory of why rocks fall with other explanations, the gravitational attraction of the Earth for example, causes this illusion of downward agency to completely vanish, replacing it with an equally convincing impression of a force pulling the rock toward the greater mass of the planet.

The experimental exercises of Douglas Harding show a similar effect, and are prey to the same hazards presented by contrafactual knowledge. Many of the exercises depend upon an explanation of vision (’seeing’ is the key metaphor in Harding’s system) which is scientifically incorrect but which allows the ’seer’ to have experiences that support the metaphysical aims of the practice. Since vision does not operate in ways that is routinely referred to in Harding’s writing, and which is embodied in the experiments, to continue to have these experiences the seer must maintain ‘belief’ in these incorrect explanations. Knowledge of more accurate explanations of how seeing functions can have the effect of dismissing the desired experience as effectively as knowledge of gravity dismisses the illusion of agency in the stone. There is a distinct possibility that, unless alternative appropriate theories are available which also support the desired experience, the acquisition of knowledge may well unweave Harding’s rainbow.

Posted in Harding, Douglas, Perception, Rock | No Comments »

Harding’s Trompe L’oeil Space

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Douglas Harding’s ‘naïve’ seeing requires, or at least significantly benefits from, a Western paradigm of looking which is passive and camera-like. This is possibly promoted by a familiarity with experiences which respond to this paradigm, particular repeated exposure to 2-dimensional representations of 3-dimensional spaces. Such images utilise those mechanisms of the visual system which are the most passive. In looking at a 2D image and seeing it as 3D one is relying on the perceptual cues of perspective, blurring with distance, overlapping of objects such that nearer objects obscure those objects which are further away. Facilities of depth perception which are not used are parallax vision, which uses the binocular system of the eyes to judge distance, and the ‘enactive’ vision technique in which the movements of the eyes, head, and body provide depth information. These latter techniques are both active and require an understanding of perception which is very dissimilar to camera-vision. Both these latter techniques are necessarily suppressed when carrying out the experiments which form the core of Harding’s work, in favour of a kind of seeing which is more akin to looking at a trope l’oeil painting of the world than at the world itself.

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Hide Behind Your Nose (exercise)

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Close your left eye and with your right eye look to the left. You will notice a large dark object, close by your eyeball, taking up perhaps 59% of your visual field. This object is, of course, your nose. With very little effort of imagination you can experience you self as being located ‘behind’ this object (although not necessarily inside you head), peeping out from it as one might peep around a half-open door.

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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.

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The Lure of Common Sense

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The lure of common sense is incredibly strong and we have an inbuilt tendency to view the world in a way which we might think is ‘realistic’. This means that what we see of the world is how it really is and our sense give us an unproblematic access to that world. Even when we become aware that there are many aspects of the world which are beyond the reach of the sense, from ultraviolet light to the ultrasound squeaking of bats, and acknowledge that our awareness of these phenomena is through some act of interpretation (so the sound of bats becomes the movement of a needle in an acoustic meter, ultraviolet light becomes a waveform on the screen of an oscilloscope) we still regard the impressions of our sense as transparent and direct. We feel that when we look at a tree, or hold a rock in our hands, we are not carrying out any kind of interpretive act but that our activities are unmediated, untheorised, and uninterpreted. We might claim a kind of naturalistic support for this impression by referring to the experience as essentially the same as the unalloyed experience of children and babies. That in the golden age before education and conceptualisation there was a unique way of being in the world which was entirely of this realistic type. As over-educated and over-intellectual adults, this view continues, these natural perceptual abilities are shrouded in a conceptual fog that prevents us from seeing clearly what is really there. As grown-ups, it is felt, we compulsively dismantle the world-as-it-is in favour of some interpretation that might or might not serve some ends.

But what are the grounds for this assertion? We might say ‘there is a tree’ and point to the tree at the bottom of our garden, go on to suggest that all the proof of realist/naturalist perception is contained in that statement. However, we know that there is more to it than that. If we close our eyes the statement becomes, at best, open to error. Making no impact on the senses, we have no evidence for its existence at all. The tree and our seeing of it are inseparable, and removing our sight also removes the guarantee of any visible tree existing. The visibility of the tree simply vanishes. Furthermore, we could go on removing one by one those aspects of the tree as it appears to the sense. Just as we can remove its visible qualities by closing our eyes we can remove its smell, taste, touch, and any sound it might make as the wind sways its branches simply by banishing the sensory impression of it. So we can only say ‘there is a tree’ if we first acknowledge that are gesturing in the direction of our sensory impressions, even if our hand is pointing toward the bottom of the garden.

Also, we should consider what these sensory impressions are, if they are not the tree itself. We know from the testimony of science that these sensory impressions are the result of complex physical and neurological events which are alchemically transformed into the various sensory mods’ some events become sounds, some others, superficially similar, become sights, or smells, or tastes. Since the basic biochemical processes are identical, these transformations are also interpretations, with some signals being translated into the language of vision, others into the lingo of sound. The experience of synaesthesia demonstrates this interpretive act which precedes the most basic act of perception in that, with those who experience this condition, these is a constant slippage between one interpretive strategy and another, in which shapes are perceived as sound, colours as tastes, etc. And while it is tempting to conclude that these unusual experiences are simply misfirings, deviation from the normal perception which offer realist views of the world, this would miss the fact that all perception is also construal, not only that of synaesthetes. It would betray a perceptual chauvanism equivalent to claiming that the language one spoke was real because, while to a French person a chair is une chaise, to an English person a chair really is a chair. Seeing is never transparent but is always an act of interpretation.

We know and cannot deny that the story of vision which begins with the eye and ends with the bald claim ‘there is a tree’ needs fleshing out. This narrative involves a cast of thousands including photons, cells of the lens, aqueous humor, sclera, choroid, retina, optic nerves, neurons, axons, dendrites, neurotransmitting chemincal, complex neuronal structures allowing for the individual processing of straight lines, diagonals, fields of colour, colours themselves, textures, edges, memories, language, the formation of whole gestalts from the accumulation of disparate elements, distinction of figures from background, our ability to name. It is only through the careful co-ordination of these millions of players that the play called ‘there is a tree’ is rehearsed at all, and the extent to which this choreography of ideation can go wrong is an indication of how ultimately interpretive the simple act of seeing is. Any break of misfiring in the great chain of seeing brings the perception of the tree crashing around our eyes. It is also significant how culturally and species-specific such a statement is, which is obvious if you consider the point of view of an any, a bear, or a bacterium. Every word in the sentence ‘there is a tree’ demands a huge amount of knowledge about being human to even begin to make sense

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Being One Eyed

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

We spend more time than any species in history looking at 2-dimensional surfaces representing 3-dimensional spaces. Screens, pictures, posters, prints on t-shirts, photographs in papers and magazines, and artwork on the side of buildings, vehicles. Painted, projected, hung, drawn and appliqued, almost every flat surface around us has been exploited for the display of fictional depth. The depth cues used for this trickery are particular and incomplete; in place of focus have blur, parallax and proprioceptive cues are entirely absent. The 3D space shown on our surfaces are not fully experiential but are the 3D as witnessed by a being with one eye, fixed in one location, removed from the space into which is gazes.

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Between Seeing and Touching

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Visual objects are distant from us and are located in external space. Felt objects are so close to us as to barely have ‘location’ at all.

Different visual objects (or concepts imagined metaphorically as objects) occupy different spatial locations, and changes in these objects are conceived as changes in location. Different ‘feeling objects’ or simply ‘feelings’ are difficult to dimensionalise spatially and changes in feelings are not conceived as changes in location but as changes in intensity or some other property which is not spatial (colour, temperature, size, luminance etc).

Between feeling and seeing the senses of hearing and olfaction are nested with intermediate orders of spatial extension and specificity. When we hear a sound we can turn in that direction, or point at it with a fair degree of accuracy, but it is likely that there also be a large amount of fuzziness in our pointing. We may know intellectually that sound may be emitted from a point, but our hearing of that sound is more smudged. It is an entity which has blurred boundaries, which does not exist in a single region of space but seems to flow from a region. The main direction of that flowing is toward the listener and the sound fills the space between this loosely defined region over there (and here the listener makes a vague hand-waving gesture indicating the space outside of their body that is particularly full of the sound) and the sound in here (and here the same listener makes a very precise pointing gesture toward the inside of their skull). The sound out there falls away from its source in some event and loses whatever singular identity it ever had (if it ever had any identity at all) forming chords with all the other sounds of the world. With eyes closed I (and you) can hear these chords, and while I can separate them in space I usually don’t. If I separate them at all, and again I usually don’t, I separate them in time, with one chord following another in a neverending sequence of conscious being-in-sound. The spacetime of sound is not the empty, crystal clear space of objectifying vision, but the fullness and vibratory connectedness of a single piano string.

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The Scaly Eyes of Children

August 20th, 2007 Fred McVittie

It is slightly unfortunate that Douglas Harding uses the word ‘true’ when referring to the self which appears when using the technique of ‘Seeing’. This terminology follows in the footsteps of other mystical traditions which stress the truth of their claimed version of reality, and invokes a claim for authenticity of being based on an apparent transparency to the act of visual perception. The status of truth is underwritten by the assumption that seeing is believing. In Harding this base is reinforced by an appeal to the ‘naturalness’ or naivety of children’s perception which, it is suggested, is unclouded by the kind of conceptualisation which marks adult seeing. To look through the eyes of an adult, it is suggested, is to look in a way which is contaminated with knowledge that blinds us to the way things really are, and so when we look at ourselves this entity too is shrouded with the fog of conceptualisation. When we look through the unsullied eyes of a child however, there is no such contamination and things appear as they really are. Children’s eyes, it is claimed, have no scales of knowledge over them and they access the world directly, as ‘true’. Self-perception, using this putative childlike version of seeing, is considered to be similarly ‘true’.

Posted in Harding, Douglas, Knowledge, Naive, 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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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.

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Binding Science and Religion

September 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The term ‘religion’ seems to be derived from a term meaning ‘to bind’ or ‘to hold together’, which although in the modern context we might interpret as being somehow ‘bound to God’ or ‘held together in faith’, in the original it seems to be much simpler and less a priori theistic. I don’t know if we have a natural desire to embrace some kind of theistic religion, I suspect not, but the desire to take disparate experience and form some kind of consilient whole does seem to be a human universal. This tendency, or cognitive imperative, seems to operate on a number of levels.

At the level of basic perception we are able to take disparate sensation and compose them into the multimedia event of lived experience. As I look around the room I am not subject to a ‘blooming, buzzing, confusion’ (1) as William James put it, but an impressively singular, coherent, all-embracing totality. I even seem to be able to fill in the gaps in my vision; I don’t feel the area behind my head as a constantly present darkness, but build its invisible contents into my overall picture. Moreover, this totality crosses the various sensory modes; I do not hear the hum of this computer separately from my seeing of the computer, they are completely integrated into a unity. Further, I do not experience this panorama as a set of flashing still images following one another rapidly, but disjointedly as each millisecond brings new rays of light to my eyes. As Husserl noted, my present also contains fragments of my past and fragments of my future; the now, the not-now, and the not-yet-now, as he is often translated (2). We seem to have the capacity to blend the frames of time’s passing into a single extended present, or as T.S. Eliot put it:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.(3)

The basic act of being alive and awake seems therefore to involve a massive, unconscious, act of creative binding together.

The acts of consciousness also seem to have this tendency in spades, as witnessed by our almost uncanny ability to search out and detect patterns and consistencies. As kids we look for figures in the design of the wallpaper and do dot-to-dot puzzles, finding one picture of one bear where before there was only 35 random dots on the page: a trick we carry on into adult life every time we look up on a clear night, or look at the clouds during the day. This conscious striving for a unified picture where before there was only wildly separated splotches of colour finds its most noble application in our ability to generate towering, visionary edifices of ideas. The awesome regularity of the periodic table, in which every particle of matter so far imagined is brought into a single frame: the phenomenally elegant Darwinian model of descent in which all of life that has ever lived on the planet is brought into the fold of one gigantic thought.

One thing that I find with these routine and extraordinary acts of binding together, is how extremely pleasant and rewarding they are. Looking around the room and seeing it, just as it is, feels good, and it feels even better to stand on a mountain and have a hundred square miles of land and an immensity of sky come together in the unique singularity of my experience at that long moment of Right Here, Right Now. Also, just thinking about ‘the river out of Eden’, as Dawkins so perfectly described it, and holding that fantastic idea in my hand like one perfect rose, gives my goosebumps. If there really is a theory of everything, and if I ever hear about it, I think I might spontaneously combust from sheer awe-struckness. Which brings me, by a circuitous route, to the point of this post. Religion isn’t really about dressing up in funny clothes and praying to half-naked statues, or following a certain dress code and not eating this or that animal. Religion is a logical extension to our natural tendency to make coherent sense out of the chaos of the world, and the more religious we get, that is, the more we are able to include in our singular vision, the better it feels. The big ideas of religion feel great because they are about seeing eternity in a single glance and embracing everything, with nothing left out, and the same is true of the big ideas of science. I think the ambitions of science are exactly the same as those of the practices we traditionally refer to as ‘religions’. As Aleistair Crowley put it:

We put no reliance on virgin or pigeon
Our method is science, our aim is religion (4)


1. James, W. (1981). The Principles of Psychology. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press. p.488.

2. Husserl, E. (1964). The phenomenology of internal time-consciousness. Bloomington, Indiana University Press.

3. Eliot, T. S. (1943). Four quartets. New York, Harcourt.


4. This phrase appeared on the masthead of each edition of the O.T.O. publication “The Equinox”.

Posted in Binding, Perception, Religion, Science, Time | No Comments »

Effect of Words on Perception

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The words that we speak seem to have a concrete effect on perception. Whilst the claims of Whorf and Sapir are fairly well disproved, it is evident that there is a relationship between language and thought, and that one’s perceptions can be affected by the language that we use. Lera Brodowsky at Stanford University found that Russian speakers were better able to distinguish between various shades of blue, a phenomenon which she attributed to the fact that the Russian language has a clear distinction between light and dark blue which is not emphasised in English. The distinction in the language allowed the Russian speakers to create different categories of colour which the English speakers had not, conceptualising all blues as belonging to the same broad category. This difference is categorisation, supported by difference is language use, produced a difference in perceptual acuity. It is important to note, in contrast to the Sapir-Whorf model, the English speakers were just as able to identify the distinction in the various shades of blue, the difference lay in the speed with which they were able to carry out this distinction. There was was no fundamental difference in the ability to see the colours, only in the difference to swiftly respond to small distinctions in those colours.

Posted in Brodowsky, Lera, Language, Perception, Whorf, Benjamin | 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 »

Garfield Space

October 3rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The world before our eyes is objective space and we can/must imagine that space as having a centre. Hear we all are, standing in a vast circle and all looking inwards towards the centre of the circle. There before us is shared space, there is the space of objects, triangulated, confirmed, peer reviewed, double-blind tested, felt from every angle by every being in the circle. These objects are carved out of the gaze of all of us in the circle of science, and so sharp is our vision that there is no subjectivity clinging, messily and unkempt, on the surface of the objects. There is the light, there is the clean white world.

And here we are, facing into the circle with arms outstretched, like novelty Garfields stuck onto the surface of a great glass sphere. Behind us, individually and collectively, is the gathering dark which is the source of our vision, in front of us is the brightly-lit cave-like interior of the objective world.

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Window metaphors of Visual Consciousness

October 9th, 2007 Fred McVittie

One of the most enduring and intuitively satisfying images for perception (and by metaphorical inference for ‘knowing’) is that of the window. However much we may construct alternatives, or work to disabuse ourselves of this image, it is nevertheless extremely persistent. The window metaphor conceives of perceptual consciousness as formed around this image, and with one’s understanding of ’self’ depending on where one is located, and with which parts of the image one identifies. This image has six (or possibly seven) components, three of which are standard components of all images, both mental and actual. These are:

? The space in which the image appears, usually a three dimensional space replicating the Cartesian space of lived experience.
? A viewing position within that space from which one observes the image, usually from outside of the image itself but sometimes contained within it.
? The direction of the imaginary gaze from the mental viewing position, probably toward a particular point on the image or scene.

All mental images have these elements as standard; the ‘window’ image also contains three (or maybe four) other elements or entailments, the conceptualisation of which determines the state of one’s perceptual consciousness within the limits of the metaphor. These additional components are:

? The space ‘outside’ the window, which in terms of perceptual consciousness is usually conceived of as the objective world.
? The space ‘inside’ the window, which is understood to be the mental space of thought, mind, memory, imagination, and subjective existence.
? The frame of the window, which in visual terms has the incorporated form of the dark border to our vision formed by the eye-sockets, the nose, and the top of the cheeks. Conceptually this frame is the edge of the visual field.
? (Possibly) the surface of the window itself corresponding to the pane of glass which separates outside from inside. I say ‘possibly’ because I personally find no evidence for the appearance of this part of the image in my mind when I look at my mental image of the window and apply it to my cognition.

The default setting for this image as a conceptual metaphor for consciousness places our ’self’ within the internal space, looking through the ‘frame’ of our eye-sockets into the other space of objective interpersonal reality. Support for the ubiquity of this experience presumably comes partly from the very real and tangible existence of the ‘frame’ component, but also from the intuitive, if not innate tendency that we have to locate our identity, and indeed that of others, within an interior space. Experiments with the naïve knowledge of children suggests that we acquire this sense at a very young age indeed, and that this essentialist idea of (self) identity as existing inside the body, and certainly behind the eyes, is not something that is learned through formal or informal cultural practices, but is implicit in the structure of a universal human engagement with the world. The window metaphor then, whilst having no real basis in psychology or neuroscience, corresponds sufficiently well with some elements of naïve knowing and with some facts of embodiment for it to feel ‘right’ as an image of perceptual consciousness.

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Seeing Is Seeing As

October 11th, 2007 Fred McVittie

All perception relies upon the mechanisms of the mind/brain to interpret stimuli and construct a meaningful image appropriate to that stimuli. The words ‘meaningful’ and ‘appropriate’ here signify the ancient archeology of thought in which meaning and appropriateness refer specifically to survival; the buzzing cloud of atoms is perceived as a tree, that is, as a hard, climbable, object, because that is the most useful way for medium sized predators like ourselves to regard it. In other words, ’seeing’ is never neutral but is always the result of an interpretive process in which the historically salient features of the scene are presented in ways which dramatises that salience. We do not simply see the tree, we see … as the tree.

The three dots here indicate that I cannot find a suitable object for the sentence. I do not want to write ‘we see the tree as the tree’, as that would simply avoid the issue, nor do I want to say ‘we see the cloud of atoms as the tree’, since we obviously have no access at all to the atomic behaviour of the world. Besides which I would have to accept that I myself, the ’seer’ in the story, am a similar cloud of atoms, which would make any description even more removed. The closest I can come to imagining this perception is to consider that, since the tree and myself are equally engaged in the act of seeing, (even though only I am able to narrate that act), then the seeing emerges jointly from that engagement. (And here I am endebted to Max Velmans and his notion of ‘reflexive monism’). This joint act of seeing creates the circumstances of the as.

Posted in Evolution, Perception, Salience, Sense, Tree | No Comments »

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.

Posted in Enlightenment, Exercises, Light, Perception, Space | No Comments »

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend (exercise)

October 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

You are standing still and looking out through your own eyes at whatever the world is placing in front of you at this moment. Standing in a field is good, but anywhere will do. Without changing your position, try to change your interpretation of what you are looking at, or rather, where you are looking from. Try to imagine that you are standing at the edge of a space which is infinitely vast, and inexpressibly dark, and you are looking out of this space. The world in front of you is brightly lit, and everything in it is clear and visible and knowable. You can just make out the periphery of the dark space behind you at the edge of your vision, a blurred black border around your sight which extends outwards and backwards as far as your informed imagination can reach. Feel the darkness of the space behind you and alongside you.

Now turn around so that you are facing into the darkness that you felt a moment ago. See how bright the darkness is, and how much it contains. See how the stuff of the world extends into the dazzling dark, shrinking with distance, so that at the furthest extent of your vision everything is infinitesimally small, and how, beyond that point, all is a single blurred whole. Notice also, that in turning around you have created a new dark light space, bordered in black where your eyes meet the world. You may wish to turn back around to remind yourself how full of light and space and matter that place behind you really is. Turn again, and again. Wherever you turn you find yourself looking into the heart of the astounding darkness which surrounds you.

Now close you eyes and feel the darkness close over you and include you in its embrace. There is nothing to fear here. Hello darkness, my old friend.

Posted in Exercises, Imagination, Perception, Space | 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 »

Sensory Mutual Arising

October 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie

All entities appear at the point of contact with other entities. The smooth surface of this table on which I rest my left hand appears when both the table and my hand are mutually present, similarly the visible appearance of the table arises mutually with the eye and the visual apparatus that connect with it. This applies across all of the human sensory modes, and also beyond them into the realms of instrumentality. The frequency of some of the light reflected of the table is beyond the capacity of my eye to embrace, but there are devices I can point at the table which show the presence of this invisible luminance. Again, though, this high frequency light only appears in contact with the instrument of its detection.

I am tempted to proceed solipsistically forward to the conclusion that it is my consciousness that is allowing such liminal formation to occur, but this would be egotistical and patently incorrect. The X-rays that give me cancer may never appear as conscious impressions but bypass my awareness, and my ego, entirely. Arising at the interface of my somatic being, these rays appear out of sight and do their work in the dark.

Posted in Boundary, Perception, Sense | No Comments »

Objectivity (Buber and Polanyi)

November 3rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

The traditions of objectivity place the material of that objectivity in a shared interpersonal space in front of each and all possible viewers. The (arte)facts of such objectivity are rendered as knowledge objects in this imaginal conceptual space. There is a fact that both you and I can agree upon, and if put in the right light is self-evident to everyone else also, (the Earth is round, parallel lines never meet, all things must pass). The fact is an objective fact and has the same status as any other object.

The question then becomes, what is an appropriate relationship for me to have with that object? What is your relationship? Is yours the same as mine? A number of options are possible; if we are fresh from reading Martin Buber we might have a choice of striking up a relation of I-it, in which we preserve the object’s inanimate sovereignty, but at the cost of rendering ourselves similarly lifeless and regally removed from the situation. Or we might try to establish an I-Thou relationship in which both the object and ourselves are mutually potentiated by contact.

Alternatively, we may have come to the question after reading Polanyi, and recognise in our apprehension of the object a certain direction, a kind of vectorial aspect to our relationship. We may feel that the object over these in shared conceptual space lies at the end of a line of intentionality that begins at the source of our own self. We may sense the ‘from-to’ nature of this intentionality; here I am and there is the object, and what I know of it is the result of the pouring of perception from here to there, an outpouring which oddly leaves my own body in its wake so that I feel myself not located entirely at the source but eccentrically and ecstatically projected forward toward the object. In the from-to relationship this projection is welcomed and a sense of rapport, compassion, empathy, and fellow-feeling may be invoked. The from-to light does not simply stop at the surface of the object but penetrates, connects, warms, and co-illuminates. It has a place to go to and it feels like home. Or, to stay with Polanyi, our relationship of projected intention may be less ‘from-to’ and more ‘from-at’, in which the object is given no power to receive our transmissions, and while the gaze may originate here, with the self, there is no end to the journey of our perception. The view into the shared space does not resolve onto an object of (comm)union but is interrupted by an object of the imperial empirical state.

Posted in Buber, Martin, Dualism, Object, Objectivity, Perception, Polanyi, Michael | No Comments »

Avatar Fovea Vision

November 29th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

Posted in Consciousness, Perception, Unconscious | No Comments »

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.

Posted in Enlightenment, Illumination, Light, Metaphor, Perception, Space | 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 »

Baudrillard on Lucidity

March 23rd, 2008 Fred McVittie

“It is here that lucidity is at stake. Lucidity is precisely that which sets itself against this fixing of reality, this materialisation of truth, no matter what form it takes. In itself, it is nothing, and the only way of speaking of it would be that of negative theology, in the sense that it is not. It is neither a contract with reality nor with knowledge. It is a pact and, if it has anything to do with light, literally speaking, it is not with Enlightenment reason and objective knowledge. It would lie, to evoke a very beautiful image, at the intersection of the light issuing from the object and the light coming from the gaze. Or rather it would consist, as Musil says, in looking at the world with the eyes of the world – and not, as he says, in having the world at the distant end of the gaze [au fond du regard], because it would then crumble into absurd details, as sadly separated from each other as the stars at night…”

http://www.ubishops.ca/BaudrillardStudies/vol4_2/v4-2-baudrillard-hetero-da-fe.html

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Height and Light

March 30th, 2008 Fred McVittie

The common metaphorical association of light with knowledge (in all its forms) seems to show a consistent relationship with the spatial metaphor of knowledge which relates the extent of knowing with height. This consistent pairing of these two metaphors may originate in an embodied experience which routinely links these two concrete experiences.

The light metaphor has been well covered within Arthur Zajonc’s ‘Catching the Light: the entwined history of light and mind’, in which he shows that the historical and cross-cultural application of this metaphor is impressively widespread. As a specific metaphor for the cognitive process of knowing this metaphor has common application within terms such as illumination, enlightenment, flash of insight, and seeing the light. It also features within graphical representations of knowledge acquisition such as lighbulbs, flames, and candles. It should be noted that the sense of knowing signified by light metaphors need not necessarily be the objective knowledge of empiricism; it is very common for light to feature within spiritual and religious epistemologies, and whilst these may not constitute knowledge in the academic sense, they do tend to be experienced as such, albeit Gnostic rather than positivistic.

The use of the vertical dimension as a measure of knowing similarly shows extensive usage across times and cultures, and again this application is not only to the knowledge of science and rationalism, but also to other forms of knowing including the spiritual and religious. Isaac Newton is cited as saying that, if he could see further than other men, it was because he ‘stood on the shoulders of giants’. The elevated position offered by this historical piggy-backing is used to signify greater knowledge (ultimately drawing upon a metaphor linking knowing with seeing), a metaphor widely exploited within ‘hierarchies’ of knowledge, in which higher vertical placement on the hierarchy is seen as suggesting greater knowledge. This verticality is also referred to within terms such as ‘higher power’ or ‘higher self’, in which the power or self which is placed in this higher position is one with superior (sic) access to knowledge and truth.

These two metaphors are both consistent in their application and can be confirmed in their consistency by noting that in both cases the opposite of height and light metaphorically implies the opposite of greater knowledge. There is also a strong consistency between these two metaphors; a source or repository of knowledge which is considered ‘high’ is usually also considered ‘in the light’, whilst one that is considered ‘low’ tends also to be thought of as ‘in the dark’.

It seems extremely likely that the origins of these metaphors, and the reason for their co-presence and coherence, is in the embodied experience of being the types of animal we are with the types of senses we have. To have greater access to information through the occupation of a more elevated position, the top of a tree for example, must be an experience we and our ancestors have had for millions of years, to the extent that such a correspondence must be hard-wired into the fabric of our cognition. Similarly, the fact that the major source of illumination available to us, the Sun, is above us must have structured our consciousness since the earliest dawning of that faculty. There is therefore an overwhelming correlation between height and light which can be verified simply by allowing one’s eyes to rise from the ground to the sky and experience the increase in illumination this rising brings to mind.

The hard-wired nature of this assumed location of light as being ‘up’ is witnessed by the various optical illusions which rely on this phenomenon for their effect. The image below, which appears to show alternative rows of ‘bumps’ and ‘dents’, relies on the unconscious assumption that light comes from above.

bumps.jpg

Posted in Illusion, Light, Perception, Up | No Comments »