The Language Snake

May 30th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The Ouroboros is a symbol for self-reference or recursiveness, or reflexivity and has extensive use in the literature and symbolism of myth. It is also useful as a symbol condensing some of the ideas and concepts relevant to consciousness, cognition, creativity, and performance. One way to begin to interpret the symbol of the Ouroboros in relation to these applications is to see it as a metaphor for the structure of language. The lexicon and grammar of a language contains an infinite number of possible combinations and can express a similarly infinite range of ideas and concepts. This immensity is represented by the head of the snake, gaping and extensible, its loosely-jointed jaws capable of containing all words and meanings in its infinite articulation. And yet, passage through the body of the symbol distills or generalises the complexity and in doins so, less and less words are used to express more and more until finally, within, or perhaps out of, this vast vocabulary, at the tail end of the snake is the single word ‘language’. The living process of the Ouroboros is at work and the singularity of the logos has been formed which indicates all. But this word, this ‘logos’, is not in some other place outside of the symbol. It is held as a term in the mouth of the symbol itself. The complexity of language contains itself and in some ways, consumes itself, putting itself to work in an endlessly self-reflexive loop of reference and meaningful re-entry.

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The Great Chain of Being

August 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The snake of the Cosmic Ouroborus offered by history and legend represents the scales at which the universe operates, from the smallest meaningful measurement, the Planck length, at one end (the tail) and the largest meaningful measure, the entire visible universe, at the other, the all consuming head. In the model developed by Premack and Abrams these scales are wrapped around into a serpentine loop with the suggestion that these is some physical force or property which unites the smallest and the largest. No such force has been discovered yet in physics, although superstring theory is suggested as a possibility. Without this connection between the smallest and the largest, this understanding of the Ouroborus is little different from the traditional way of understanding the Cosmos generally referred to as the ‘Great Chain of Being’.

The Chain of Being idea is found in many theological and philosophical traditions and is part of the ‘Perennial Philosophy’ of Huxley, Aurobindo etc. It is a way of understanding the universe by configuring it conceptually as a hierarchy with all entities: living, non-living, ‘divine’, and ‘profane’ having a particular place on this hierarchy. Medieval Christian illustrations of the Great Chain inevitably place God at the top of the hierarchy, with angels, archangels, cherabim and seraphim stacked below Him. Somewhere beneath the angels we find humanity, and below the humans are animals, primates only slightly lower, insects well down the chain. In some illustrations the chain is continued downward to include inanimate material below the level of living creatures.

D.E. Harding’s reworking of this hierarchy replaces the personification of the spiritual that denotes the upper levels with the equally unfathomable and awe-inspiring image of the large-scale universe. Beyond the human scale of medium sized objects Harding indicates levels at the scale of the planet, the solar system, the galaxy, and the ultimate scale, unmatched in grandeur, the totality of the universe. Harding also extends the scale downwards in scale (although the sense of ‘down’ is replaced by ‘in’) beyond the level of inanimate material occupying the lowest levels in Medieval illustrations, and includes in the hierarchy the levels of atoms, subatomic particles, and ultimately, the incomprehensibly infinitesimal space which lies at the heart of all matter. A space which is reduced to a dimensionless point. Exactly here.

A striking aspect of both these images of the hierarchy or Great Chain is that there is an implied direction to the flow of ‘energy’ (for want of a better word, causality? Responsibility?) within the chain. In the Medieval image of the Chain, the direction of power and creative energy is downward, and God, at the top of the hierarchy, is responsible for the origin and maintenance of that which is below Him. “And without him was not anything made” as the Gospel of John would have it. All is seen as an emanation descending from on high. At the point of the hierarchy at which human beings are found there is an assumed responsibility for all lower levels; we have ‘dominion’ over the creatures of the Earth, and even those of us who are not Christian, or profess no faith at all, may still feel that we are responsible for the Earth and its safe-keeping in a way which transcends simple self-interest.

A more detailed look at the Great Chain at the point where humans are shows us that humanity itself is divided hierarchically, with kings and aristocrats placed on a slightly higher level than the mass of common humanity, and whilst we may reject this caste system today it is still embedded in our cultural, legal, and political systems. The Sovereign of England rules by divine right and that right is hereditory. When I was a child, when we sang hymns in school assembly, our rendition of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ still included the second verse.

The rich man at his castle
The poor man at his gate
He made them high and lowly
And ordered their estate

The re-imagined Great Chain of Being which Harding indicates, and which is also found in Ken Wilbur’s writings for example, is superficially similar but significantly different. As noted above, the levels in the hierarchy above the human, which in the Medieval Great Chain were populated by spiritual beings, in the physical Great Chain are larger orders of scale, with an acknowledgment that different laws operate at these different scales. God is replaced by the totality of the universe (or the visible universe at any rate), the Angels become galaxies and the Cherabim and Seraphim are the Solar system and the planets. The levels below human, or rather below (or inside) human scale, are the levels of molecules, atoms, quarks, bosons, and the rest of the subatomic menagerie.
Absent from this model is the implication of greater value associated with higher levels of the chain, so the model cannot be used to prop up an aristocracy or justify the existence of a caste system (although there is a scent of just that kind of value difference is some of Wilbur’s writing.) A distinct difference between this model and the Medieval one is that the direction of creative power is reversed. There is no assumption that divine creative force operates from the far reaches of the universe, working through smaller and smaller circles of influence until, ultimately, it is conferred upon the human being. Instead the flow is imaged as originating from the ’source’, which is the void at the centre of the most infinitesimal

This distinction, which difference in which responsibility and ultimate understanding is not seen as lying at the top of the hierarchy, with the equivalent of God, but at the bottom, mirrors the modern understanding within the physical sciences. The quest for the most effective description of how the physical universe operates is a journey downwards, towards the most essential particle, the fundamental building block of the entire edifice. In place of emanation we have emergence, and the flow of creative energy is upward, with the higher levels, the higher orders of being, emerging from the behaviour and properties of the entities populating lower levels. So the behaviour of a material is understood as emerging from the properties of its constituent elements. A block of iron is hard because the atoms of iron which compose it have strong bonds between them, and these atoms have strong bonds because the electrons and protons which make them up have the particular configuration they have, etc etc. As responsibility and explanatory power is deferred downwards, so the creative energy is routed such that it flows upwards.

Both these images of a hierarchy of Being also therefore contain a heirarchy of power and creativity, and whether the movement of this power is seen as descending from on high or bubbling up from below it is still imagined as originating elsewhere. We, as humans located as we are somewhere in the middle of the Great Chain, medium sized objects half-way between angels and rocks, between the everything of the universe and the nothing at the heart of the atom, are not near either of these putative origins. In the hierarchy of the chain we are the middle link, a conduit for an energy or power that moves us and then moves on.

This image of a hierarchy is not without its uses, particularly if we imagine the potential for both upward and downward motion. The image serves more purpose however if it is wrapped into a circle such that the smallest is connected to the largest. In terms of the Medieval Chain this means equating Divinity with the essential quality possessed by all entities, something like a soul perhaps. In physical and non-theological terms that means finding a physics for the unification of the largest with the smallest. As noted above, some suggestions point to superstring theory for this connection.

When the bottom of the chain is connected to the top a Cosmic Ouroborus is formed, the tail of the snake entering the mouth and the universe is simultanously consumed and consuming, creating and destroying.

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The Motion of the Snake

September 14th, 2007 Fred McVittie

In the beginning was the snake, and the snake was in every moment of time and all space contained the snake. There was nothing before the snake, for all of time is in the body of the snake, and there will be no end, for the same reason. And the movement of the snake is a circular movement and the appearance of a wheel, but there is, as it were, a wheel within a wheel, and endless wheels within wheels, and all of the turning of the wheels is the motion of the snake.

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Body in the Mind: Centre and Periphery

September 16th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Biting the Big One (part 2)

September 21st, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we extend our categorisation outward to its utmost extent, we arrive at a point where everything is contained within this ultimate category. We might call this category ‘the Universe’, or ‘Everything’, or ‘All’, or ‘the One’ (capitalising the word for added emphasis). For Plato this category was ‘Being’, and for the neo-Platonic Christians it was synonymous with the concept of ‘God’ (again capitalised for emphasis). The ultimate category has nothing beyond it and there is no place ‘outside’ it from where it can be regarded. It contains every material entity, every iota of space and every moment of time; past, present, and future. It contains every planet, inhabited and uninhabited, all of the inhabitants of those planets, every cell in the body and electrochemical signal in the brain of those inhabitants, and every thought in the minds supervenient on those brains: real, imaginary, true, false, glorious, pitiable, good, evil, enlightened or dismally dark. Every God that has ever been conceived, and all those that have not, and indeed all those that could not, are contained within the boundless bounds of Everything, along with every scientific hypothesis and theory, including of course, innumerable theories of everything.

Symbolising the ultimate category in the form of a mark, on paper for example, presents certain difficulties. One could, of course, use any arbitrary mark, a word for example, and simply accept that this chicken scratch somehow ’stands in’ for the concept, just as the small geometrical shapes of these letters stand in for the ideas in this writing, or a street sign that shows a number 30 on a white background, indicating the maximum legal speed limit. This ’symbolic’ relation between the mark (the signifier) and the idea (the signified) is fine, provided of course we know the language. This is necessary since the mark and the concept are associated by convention only, and such conventions have to be learned. Without a knowledge of numbers the speed limit sign is meaningless, as indeed is this writing without a knowledge of letters. There is no way you can look at a text written in a language that is unfamiliar to you and guess what it might mean. Words, numbers, and other marks of that kind do make even the vaguest appeal to intuition, to get the meaning you really have to know the language. With symbolic signifiers the lack of a connection between the mark and the idea, the signified, means also that the form of the mark makes no contribution to the understanding of the concept referred to. In order to understand what the mark means you have to already have full knowledge of the referent. Even if you are fully conversant with the English language for example, there is nothing about the word ‘tree’ that adds to your understanding of what a tree is; the mark simply points you to what you already know.

In our search for a mark for the ultimate category it would be nice if we were not so locked in to language and convention, and our choice did not have to appear so random and disconnected from the thing itself. Also, ideally, we would find a mark which more closely mirrored the condition of the category itself, an ‘iconic’ signifier in which the relation between the mark and the idea was one of recognisable similarity, like the drawing of house that shares some features of the actual house (the outline on the page is similar to the perceived outline of the actual house formed on the retina, albeit upside down), or the icon of a folder on the desktop of this computer in some way resembles a real folder, or like the street sign for ‘national speed limit applies’ which (in the UK) shows a black diagonal band on a white background, almost as if someone had taken a large pencil and crossed the number out. This type of signifier, whilst it does have a tendency to calcify into convention, does have a much closer, non-arbitrary relationship to the ideas represented. We do not have to have any specific knowledge to see a drawing of a house as representing an actual house; our familiarity with the use of folders in the real world allows us to understand the folder icon and its use in organising digital information intuitively, we need to learn the convention of the Arabic numeral system to feel the logic of the strike-through mark on a street sign; who amongst us has never crossed out something that no longer applied, or slashed with a machete at a section of redundant foliage?

Our mark for the category of ‘Everything That Is, Ever Was, And Ever Will Be, Real Or Imagined,’ (’Everything’, for short) should be of this type, but since Everything does not, by definition, have an outline, and certainly does not form an image on the retina,we cannot use the same strategy for the making of such a mark as we might when making the mark for a house, or designing an icon for my laptop. The other strategy, that which is used by the sign for ‘national speed limit applies’, is available to use however. Such signs are not pictures of the ideas they signify, nor are they totally arbitrary symbols which only acquire meaning within the language of a particular society, they are instead visual metaphors which capture the way we understand those ideas. We understand the street sign because of the embodied experience we have of removing something which was previously relevant by making a slashing motion through it with our arm. The act of wielding the machete through thick undergrowth, the act of striking out the words on the page with a bold stroke of the pen; both these actions physically perform the function of laying waste the stuff we no longer need, and it is this action, transformed into the visual metaphor of a diagonal line, which we use to stand for the cutting away of the previous thirty mph limit. Even if we had never come across this sign before, with a little bit of thought we could probably make a reasonably good guess at its meaning simply by ‘feeling’ the action it seems to be asking us to make. This guesswork would be even easier in some European countries where many signs are ‘cancelled’ by later signs on the road which duplicate them, but with the addition of a strike-through. The signs announcing the names of towns and villages in Spain which appear on the road into those towns, for example, are duplicated on the roads out but with a cancelling double slash. The signs seem to say that, should we be thinking we are still in that town, we should at this point cross out that redundant idea from our minds. This type of mark differs from arbitrary symbols not only in that it informs us of the idea that is stands in for, but because it also contributes toward the understanding of the idea in a way that symbolic signs cannot. In the UK the national speed limit is seventy mph so the exact same meaning should be conveyed by replacing the strike-through mark with another symbolic sign that simply had the number 70 on it. However, I would suggest that the feel of these two signs would be very different. When we see the strike-through mark on a street sign we intuitively understand it as the removal, possibly even the forceful removal, of something. Some restraint that was previously placed on our behaviour is being cut away like a blade through the ropes of a captive, and when we see the sign we understand it partly (albeit unconsciously) in those terms. After chugging along at a frustratingly slow 30 mph we suddenly feel licensed to cut loose and put the pedal to the metal. For this reason, the ‘national speed limit applies’ sign is very often incorrectly referred to a the ‘no limit’ sign. Rather than reading it as the imposition of a particular (higher) speed limit it is intuitively interpreted as the removal of the speed limit which previously applied, with no substitute put in its place. This incorrect interpretation is completely reasonable given the contribution made to our understanding of the sign by the metaphorical action implied.

This type of iconic signifier, a mark which stands metaphorically for some important aspect of the idea, which allows for a relatively intuitive grasping of that idea, and which also, ideally, contributes appropriately to the understanding of that idea, is the type we are seeking for the distinctly abstract idea of the ultimate category or Everything.

The most common mark of any category is the bounded space, usually drawn as a circle.


This mark as representative of the general concept of ‘category’ is found in a wide number of contexts, but most evidently in mathematics, where it features in Venn diagrams, set theory, Spencer-Brown’s ‘primary algebra’ and other systems of Boundary Math, etc. It also appears less formally in organisational charts, mind-maps, and in the pictures on the back of cereal boxes showing which foods constitute the major food groups. In each case the line of the circle represents a boundary within which are to be found the members of the category, and outside of which is anything which does not belong to the category. The intuitive success of this image as a mark for the concept of a category is due to its ability to function as a visual metaphor or iconic signifier. Although it may, at first pass, appear as arbitrary and abstract as a number or letter, this mark is grounded in embodied experience in much the same way as the strike-through mark on street signs. It can be seen as minimally representative of a container into which we may be placed all the members of a particular category. With almost no imaginative effort it is easily recognisable as the bird’s eye view of a basket into which we put all of the apples, and out of which we throw all of the oranges. Or alternatively we can effortlessly see it as the fence which we use to corral all of the sheep and exclude all of the goats. The experience of dealing with such bounded spaces as containers (and perhaps less so corrals) in the routine of daily life has created in us an intuitive grasp of this form or ’schema’ which we can, and do, apply in our understanding of categories. The bounded space of the circle is a highly successful and practical mark of the general concept of the category, intuitively accessible through being grounded in embodied experience.

Returning to our search for a mark which represents the ultimate category, the mark of Everything, we need to ask ourselves whether the bounded space of the circle is up to the task. Immediately we see that it is not. As discussed above, the strength of the circle is that it represents not only a category which contains, but also one which excludes. We separate apples from oranges only partly by keeping the apples together in a basket, we also throw the oranges out of that basket into the space beyond. Similarly, the fencing off of sheep in a corral is effective only if we have a space outside that corral to chase the goats into. In other words, the circle as a mark of categorisation is also a mark of separation. There is an inside and an outside to the category represented by the circle just as there is an inside and an outside to any container. When we are trying to refer to the ultimate category, by definition, there can be no ‘outside’, and everything must be on the ‘inside’. (including, paradoxically, the very idea of an ultimate category itself, or ‘the set of all sets that contains itself’. The category of Everything must also contain the category of Everything). There is no space ‘beyond’ the boundary of Everything.

One possible way to resolve this problem, which might lead us to producing a satisfactory mark for the ultimate category is by looking again at the circle. As we have already found, the ability of the circle to serve as a visual metaphor for a category depends upon the existence of a space outside the boundary line which defines these entities which do not belong in the chosen category. So, for example, the space outside the apple barrel does not just contain oranges but also contains everything that is not an apple. The vast prairie beyond the corral where we keep our sheep is defined not only by the presence of a few goats, but also by the presence of everything else that is not a sheep; it is marked, in a way, by its total sheeplessness. In a very real sense, the space outside the barrel, the corral, or the mark of the circle, is itself a category, albeit one which is defined in the negative. Also, the space outside the boundary of the circle is immense, as it would need to be to contain everything in the entire Universe apart from apples, whilst the space inside the boundary is comparatively small. We could, therefore adopt some version of the circle as a mark for the ultimate category if we place our attention not on the interior space but on the exterior space. When we do this we find that Everything (apart from apples, say) is indeed contained by this space. The boundary line of the circle on the page still represents the outermost limits of this large space as it excludes all that is not contained in this almost-ultimate category of ‘Everything minus apples’.

We still do not have a mark for absolutely everything,but having got this far, the next step is very easy. We can simply define the contents of the ‘exterior’ space where the apples are more closely, drawing the line around Everything corresponding larger. When we enlarge the category of ‘Everything minus apples’ to include the skin of apples we find that less is left outside and the mark on the page shrinks.

The inclusion of pips and the juicy flesh of the apples again increases the size of the ‘Everything but’ category.

At this point, or almost point, we are one bite away from the ultimate act of inclusion and the realisation of the mark of Everything. We reach out and, taking hold of the core, we pull it into ourselves, consuming it in a final act of border-crossing. At this point, and now we really are at this point, nothing is left out, not even nothingness. There is no space except the space that Everything embraces and the line around everything becomes infinitely short, infinitely curved. And we can represent this with the mark at the end of this sentence.

Here it is again, in case you missed it that time

.

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Existential Self and Evolutionary Individuation

November 26th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The modern human self has (at least) four different layers of being. Three of these are identified as:

The Symbolic Self
The Objective Self
The Subjective Self(1)

To these may be appended the additional, more ‘basic’ layer of the existential self. This layer of self-identification acknowledges the self as occupying a state of ‘being’, which might be simply the physical and material substrate of the body, inextricably connected to the equally material substrate of the wider environment.

It seems that the evolutionary narrative, as far as it relates to human beings, is one of increased distinction and individuation. The postulated ‘Existential self’ is clearly undivided from the physical environment of which it is a part. The Subjective Self has autopoeitic functions which construct fluctuating boundaries and resistances corresponding with the body of the organism, but there is no sense that this distinction is any more than, say, the distinction between a whirlpool and the water in which is turns. The Objective Self is further distinguished such that it becomes possible for the organism to recognise itself, thereby creating something of a closed loop of being and knowing. The whirlpool has an image of itself as a whirlpool, separate from that water. The ape recognising its own face in a mirror establishes a distinction in which it sees itself ‘out there’ in the world yet separate from that world. The subjective feeling of being is embodied in a permanent object from which all else is excluded.

1. Sedikides, C. and J. J. Skowronski (1997). “The Symbolic Self in Evolutionary Context.” Personality and Social Psychology Review 1(1): 80-102.

Posted in Evolution, Objectivity, Sedikides, C. and J. J. Skowronski, Self, Subjective, Symbol | No Comments »