The Cybernetics of Mind

April 12th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

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Performing the Now

April 24th, 2006 Fred McVittie

I know I said I wouldn’t be reporting on any more ‘BBC2′ type activity for a while, but I found myself at this presentation, which on paper looks suspiciously like more flapdoodle (vanilla flavoured rather than quantum). However, the presenter was disarmingly normal and seemed quite distant from the ideas he was presenting, so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.

All activity has extension both in time and space but the experienced and evaluated now of that activity is its performance. Phelan (1993) seems to take the view that performance is an act of disappearance, but if we are to grant this then we have to acknowledge that it is also, necessarily, an act of continuous and ongoing appearance. But even the terms appearance and disappearance are not totally applicable to the performance moment, as this moment is best seen not as a sluice gate through which time passes, carrying the future toward the past, but rather as a still point in which time is experienced out of existence, a standing wave in space-time. Performance, then, is the moment of coming-into-being. It corresponds in creativity studies with the moment of illumination (critiqued by Perkins). In consciousness studies it corresponds with the ‘now’ of consciousness (heightened and extended in the long now of ‘the zone’, and the exactly here, precisely now of zen and other enlightenment practices). In physics this might be analogised with the process by which energy and matter are transformed by accelerating particles of that matter to a speed where everywhere is present in the continuous now.

Phelan, P. (1993). Unmarked: the politics of performance. London, Routledge.

Posted in Conference Abstract, Flapdoodle, Perkins, David, Phelan, Peggy, Physics, Story, Time | No Comments »

Phone Call from Home

May 22nd, 2006 Fred McVittie

I had the embarrassing experience this morning of being ‘paged’ because the registration desk had my wife on the phone who needed to talk to me ‘urgently’. I don’t really know what the crisis was, she knows where I am and that I may not be able to phone home because of the scheduling of the papers or whatever (actually, my mobile hasn’t been able to pick up a signal since I’ve been here). She seems to think that I’ve been gone ages, although its only been a few days. I think I’d put her mind at rest by the end though.

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Tree (yesterday)

June 6th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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Space and Relation

July 16th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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

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Space and the Now of Presence

July 28th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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

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The Tao of Water

August 21st, 2006 Fred McVittie

The metaphors which we use to conceptualise time overlap significantly with with those for being and energy. This metaphor is water-based and allows for these three distinct phenomena to be merged or synthesised. A particularly significant example of this synthesis is in the Chinese philosophy of the Tao, (which Alan Watts refers to as ‘The Watercourse Way’ [1975]), and in which these three phenomona are merged into a single concept.

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The Centre of Time

August 22nd, 2006 Fred McVittie

Before the international time zero line was set at Greenwich there was considerable competition between nations for the honour of hosting that line. This desire is reflective of a basic human need to be ‘at the centre’, a cultural trope also found in the omphalos of Easter Island and the symbolism of the Totem pole. No-one wants to live in a place where the centre of time, the zero point of the now is elsewhere.

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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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Being in the Now: Zips and Trumpets

October 3rd, 2006 Fred McVittie


The moment of ‘now’, a perception which, according to Husserl, also contains the no-longer-now of the recent past, and the not-yet-now of the anticipated future, is clearly not a symmetrical moment. We move from a singular past in which events have already been experienced and can therefore be retrodicted with absolute certainty, and we move into a future which becomes increasingly unpredictable the further into that future we project. The past is singularly solid, the future is a ‘blinding mirage’ of multiplicities. The moment of now, containing fragments of past and future within itself, must therefore also contain to some degree this difference. If we could visualise or graph the now we could see each corpuscular moment, each perception of now, as having a polarity; the end directed toward the past narrowing to an infinitely fine point representing the singularity of past events, the end pointing toward the future flaring out like a trumpet representing the increasingly multiple universes of possibility. Or we might imagine it not like a trumpet but like a zip fastener, the cloth of the distant future infinitely separate and the cloth of the past permanently united. As our perception of the now proceeds the universe is zipped up around us, perpetually cocooning us in the present.

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Probability Gradients

November 1st, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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Waiting for AHA

December 10th, 2006 Fred McVittie

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

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Liveness and Simultaneity

December 25th, 2006 Fred McVittie

One of the key features of ‘liveness’ is best partially understood not as a property of an individual entity or event, but as a relationship between two or more entities. In this formulation, liveness signifies a simultaneity in time such that to experience an entity ‘live’ is to be in a relationship to that entity that includes this simultaneity. This correlation of liveness and simultaneity also allows for the apparent paradox of the ‘live recording’ in which an event exists simultaneous to its inscription on a recording media of some kind. This would be in contradistinction to the non simultaneous ‘recording’ carried out in recording studios for example, in which the inscription onto media takes place progressively, with different tracks being recorded and assembled at different times.

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Extra-Sensory Anticipation

February 4th, 2007 Fred McVittie

To place one’s consciousness on a particular object or concept, or to become aware of some stimulus is often preceded by a pregnant moment of waiting. This emptiness before awareness, an emptiness opened up by anticipation, is often not marked by any particular type of sensory event; we are not waiting for a sound as opposed to a sight, a smell as opposed to a touch. Instead we are poised extra-sensorially. Anything could (apparently) happen, not only those types of events which our senses categorise.

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Medium Speed?

May 10th, 2007 Fred McVittie

What does it mean to move at ‘medium speed’? Motion and speed are ultimately entirely relative concepts, and the speed of an object can only be regarded as fast, slow, or medium in relation to some notional ‘fixed’ object or context against which it might be measured. But of course, no such fixed objects exist in any absolute sense; as you watch the train go past you in the station, the passengers in that train simultaneously observe the train you are on go past them.

Perhaps it is more useful to think not in terms of speed, but in terms of duration. All objects persist for certain lengths of time and then are gone; a moving object persists in one location for a certain length of time and then is observed in another location for a length of time, and the longer the duration in each location the slower the progress across the various locations. An object moving quickly has a short duration in each location whereas an object moving slowly has a much longer duration. If an object has a very long duration in one location we might not regard it as moving at all.

The longest possible (meaningful) duration is likely to be the age of the known universe, some 13.7 billion years, and this entire universe, having no ’space’ to move into, is effectively motionless, existing in a single location for its entire 13.7 billion years (although the nature of that location may have changed).

The shortest possible duration is Planck time, around 10 to the power of -42 seconds. An object spending the least possible length of time in each location would inevitably be considered as moving at the maximum possible speed, which is the speed of light in a vacuum. So although there can be no such thing as zero speed, and any measure of speed is inevitably relative, we can estimate what ‘medium speed’ might refer to by seeing it as a function of medium duration.

Our duration in any one place falls squarely between the duration of light and the duration of the universe. As individual lifeforms, and as a species, we are not only medium sized but our speed, when measured in relation to duration, falls slap bang in the middle of the possible range.

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May 23rd, 2007 Fred McVittie

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Here is Now

May 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we imagine ‘time’, one of the most common forms this imagining takes is one a line drawn through an empty space.

—————————————————————————

Considering time ‘objectively’ in this way, and placing ourselves at some remove from this ‘object’, this line, we might envisage is as something like a ruler, possible with ends, possible without, but with its length being divided, or at least divisible, into the durations of years, weeks, day, and minutes.

|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|—–|

We might add numbers to this time-object corresponding to dates: days of the week, or parts of the day, so we may end up in our minds with something we might find in any history text book; a timeline that we are viewing as a whole, and which we are viewing from a distance somewhere in empty space. From this remove every point on the line is pretty much the same as every other point, and if we were to be asked to indicate the point corresponding to ‘Now’ then there would be nothing remarkable about that point, nothing to distinguish it from any other. Also of course, as soon as we had indicated it then that moment of Now would be somewhere else. The Now that we put our finger on has become ‘then’, a moment in the past.

To prevent losing contact with Now we must let our finger move along the line, keeping pace with the passing seconds.

Here is now. Here is now. Here is now. Here is now.

Until we get to the end of the line.

How different our experience of time is if we come down from our lofty position above the line and enter the object of time itself. As we descend we may feel ourselves drawn toward the flow of the passing seconds, connected almost umbilically to the point of our pointing, following our moving finger to where Now is Now. Maybe we feel the urge to match our speed to that of time’s movement like cars accelerating up the slip road to enter the stream of motorway traffic. The brief moment of acceleration is felt: a small vertiginous dissociation, then we are fully immersed in the stream and everything is normal again. Ourselves and everyone and everything around us is moving at the same speed along the timeline so everything, in relativity, is still and there is no movement anywhere. We can look out of the windows of our cars at the people in the cars in the adjacent lane, their lips moving, smiling. He is making a joke and she is pretending she hasn’t heard it before. In the back, the children are singing along with the radio.

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Now Again

May 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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Now Triangle

May 24th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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What Time is Now?

June 1st, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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The Past is a Blinding Mirage

June 2nd, 2007 Fred McVittie

You are standing on the deck of a ship moving through a wide ocean. You are looking out over the stern toward the distant and indistinct horizon, and the wake of the boat forms a V in front of you, widening and spreading, with the waves rolling over each other, casting up droplets of spray merging into a mist. The boat is ploughing toward its final destination, and though you do not turn to look in that direction, you know the journey well. In your mind you can call up the route the boat is taking, see the landmarks, the buoys and lighthouses, the familiar entrance to the familiar port. You know what disembarking will be like and you know the sights and sounds of Home. Your attention is fixed on the wake and the horizon however, and the direction of your gaze is always away from Home. As the boat travels in one direction, your mind travels in the other. You imagine that the V of the wake is drawing you in, that you are falling toward the distant and indistinct past, all the places the boat has been and all the places it could have been.

The future is already written, it is the past that is a blinding mirage.

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Knowing/NOWing

June 7th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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Listen to the Silence of the Long Now

July 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

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

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

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

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

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

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The 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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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”.

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Popeye was Wrong

September 25th, 2007 Fred McVittie

I am not all that I am (whoever says it). I am also what I was through all the periods of material astrogeny, chemical collation, human evolution, personal history, and physical momentum; from the most remote part of my past when I parted company with my fellows in the big bang, to the most recent moment just before my finger typed the letter ‘e’ at the end of this sentence. I am also all that I will be, from whatever shape the world makes my most distant descendents in the most remote of futures, to the shape my hand anticipates just before it makes contact with the cup I will reach for when this sentence is complete and which I am already feeling the pull of.

If I want to have a full life, I have to look after my whole extended family of selves, the people and non-human entities I was then, those I will be, and that which I am now, and now, and now.

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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 »

Now, outside my window

October 9th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The online blog has a passing similarity to a number of other digital knowledge structures, most specifically the hypertext and the wiki, and it is instructive to consider some of these similarities, and also of the significant differences. Also, the much greater paradigmatic difference between all of these digital forms and the analogue form of print material are sufficiently large to warrant special attention.

Apart from obvious material differences, and the equally obvious variations in access afforded by technologies of knowledge which use the screen rather than on the page, there is nothing that can be bound between the pages of a book that cannot be put onto a screen. Conversely however, the technologies of the digital environment offer the possibility of including types of information, (video, sound, animation), which cannot be reproduced in analogue form. More importantly, digital media offers ways of navigating information, and indeed structuring information, which are radically different to the book, essay, monograph, article, or thesis.

The two most significant strategies for the reading of digital material, and which distinguish it from print media, are the browse and the search. Browsing allows the reader to move through the text in a way which is non-linear, and therefore requires that the author of that text take into account this non-linearity in their writing. Typically this may involve the presentation of a number of different ways into and out of a specific piece of information. The familiar links on a web page which invite the browsing reader to follow the logic of their own reading process is a obvious example. This has the effect that most digital knowledge resources have the feeling of a net(work) rather than a story, or argument. The logic of the browse, at least for most online resources, also blurs the edges of the text such that the most casual click on a link takes the reader imperceptibly across the planet to information on another server, another site, another body of text. This trailing into and out of the home text may be formalised in the language of the deli.cio.us tag list, or may appear covertly behind the hexadecimal blue of an unfollowed link word. (Not to by confused with a fake link simulating that blue, and that underlining, but which in reality leads nowhere).

Searching, on the other hand, gives the opportunity to the reader of making a proactive entrance into the body of the text. Search results respond to the desire of the reader, who may disregard the obvious and sanctioned reading order in favour of a specific probing advance. Not only that, but search also organises and edits the entirety of the text into a collation thematically arranged under the heading of the search term. The blog writer may assist such acts of collative creation by the use of suggested search terms or labels.

These systems of knowledge construction and retrieval are common to many digital media products. The specific forms noted above, the blog and the wiki, add specific additional features to this list which increase their distinction from print media.

The defining feature of the wiki is that it is (usually) a collaborative form. Its charm is that large, sometimes very large, groups of people have access and editing rights and can add, subtract, or change the content of the wiki at any time. The blog also has the option of allowing collaborative creation, although this is usually only to the extent of facilitating the attachment of comments to a posting. The other, and perhaps most unique, feature of blogs is that any posting on a blog is time-stamped, which gives a layer of structure that is largely absent from hypetext and wikis. Time stamping means firstly that blogs tend to reflect, and reflect upon, events and issues which are contemporaneous in a way which is impossible in other media. Whilst it is certainly true that a book or article will usually try to be current, and to include an up-to-date set of references and referents, it would be unusual for these references to change from one page to the next. This is exactly what one would expect from a blog however; as event transpire in the wider world, or in the slightly less wide discipline to which the blog refers, then the writing on the blog shifts to include these events. News items of deaths and wars appear alongside discoveries and gallery openings, and these writings are dynamically related to the times in which the blog is written. On a more personal, processual level, as information becomes available to the blogger through the course of their own experience and study, then this too makes a gradual appearance. Rather than the entire document appearing as if it were written at one sitting, in the full light of acquired knowledge, as is often the case with the book, there is the gradual accumulation of the light, and the progressive journey through different knowledge sources.

The blog, then, has a temporal structure which is absent from other digital media forms, and which is absent from print. Firstly it is located across a swathe of historical time rather than a cross-section, which gives it an internal structure containing growth, progress, and change. Secondly it is embedded and interconnected to the moving moment of contemporaneity at multiple points and many different levels; the health of one’s children, the death of a prince, the newest operating system from Microsoft, an uprising in Burma, a song that right now seems to be everybody’s ringtone, the time now is 16:18 and outside my window are two young men smoking cigarettes. One of them has seen me and waves. His name is Matt.

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Empty Yourself – continued (exercise)

October 18th, 2007 Fred McVittie

With eyes closed, feel yourself standing at a moment in time, in the stream of your passage through time. Behind you the road diminishes with distance into the darkness of the past and ahead of you it stretches into the future. Behind you is the moment you have just left, and you can feel each passing moment at it falls away behind, and looking further back you can make out all the moments of yesterday, last week, last year, right back to far distance of your childhood. See how the road behind narrows with perspective to a point at the far horizon behind you marking your first steps on this road. Extend you glance around this point if you can, into all of the cells and chemicals and patterns and love affairs and adaptive histories of all creation that have gone into the making of that first step. See the road behind you. This is your history as a great and glorious ribbon flowing like the tail of a kite, and without it you would not be flying as you are now. But know also that you are not the tail of that kite, and you are not that road, and you are not that history. Where you are is here and now, and as long as you can see the road behind you you can be sure that it is not you. Cherish it if you like, or at the very least learn from it, but also recognise that its place is out there, in the world, with everything else that is not you, not here inside the boundaries of your self.

Now turn your attention to the front. Your eyes are closed and in your mind the road continues ahead of you, into the blinding mirage of the future. Dazzling and welcoming, these are the days and years you will step into when you move forward on the way. Even now, as you stand or sit, you feel yourself gently drifting toward that light; each breath you take waits for you a moment ahead of you on the road and as you breath you can feel yourself moving forward to catch your breath. If you look carefully you may be able to anticipate each beat of your heart punctuating the road ahead like cat’s eyes glinting through tarmac. Lifting your gaze to take in more and more of the future, the details are lost in the heat haze but you have the sense that great and marvellous things are up ahead, as well as terrible things that could break your heart; some of these you will be able to avoid and some you will choose not to. There will be changes, and in the far distance, just beyond the horizon, nothing remains of this world and everything over there is fantastically new and unimaginably interesting. You are a willing pilgrim on this journey and cherish the future that you are falling toward as the gravity of time pushes you on. But even as you welcome the road ahead, know that the road is not you and is not part of you. The space that you are about to move through is not contained within you any more than the space behind. You are here and now and the boundaries of yourself are drawn on this side of the future.

Now that you have emptied the past and the future out of yourself, turn you attention to where you are standing right now. Arrayed around you are all those things that are not in the past or the future. These are the things that you have with you right now. The dark secrets that you keep hidden are with you, perhaps just beneath your feet, the habits and hopes and skills that you have, along with the pride you have in those skills; maybe these are tucked under your arm or wrapped around your waist like a carpenter’s belt. The ambitions for peace and enlightenment that you carry with you, and which maybe motivated you to begin this exercise, you maybe wear on your forehead. All these things are with you and serve you well, but know that they are not you. You were yourself before you had those skills and hopes and ambitions and you will still be you when they are gone. Your self will not vanish if your secrets become common knowledge and you will still be you whether you are in the most Stygian darkness or are flooded with the most divine light. Each of these attributes and possessions do not belong inside the boundary of your self, and you can throw them out of your self and into the embrace of the Everything where they belong.

You can allow Everything to move its boundaries closer, taking in your past and our future, absorbing your hopes and fears, dreams and nightmares, the thoughts in your head and the words in your mouth, and when the only thing that is left is the finest, most central core of your being you can say once again, this core is not me. You can give over final permission for Everything to take the core of yourself into its arms. You, and I, and We, are infinitely small. We are a point. Around us spins the whole of Everything with nothing left out. We are consumed. We are nothing. Everything.

Posted in All, Centre, Exercises, Time | No Comments »

Soul of an Atheist - Past of the Self

November 11th, 2007 Fred McVittie

When we are invited to look into the past, to consider who we are in relation to who we were, in which direction do we look? When we usually look back in time we look… back. We tend to consider time as a kind of river that is bearing us forward, or as a road that we have traveled, with the events of the past littering that road like the cast-off skins of a snake, or like flotsam bobbing in a boat’s wake and receding behind us as we proceed toward the distant shores of the future. There is the school we went to, and there are our parents. And the further back in time we look the more distant are the objects and events we look to. Last year is close on our heels, our memory of reading that newspaper item about a bombing and the death of some people we will never know, or the article about that celebrity coming our of rehab. Beyond these recent landmarks, and perhaps diminished by distance, we might see that same celebrity going into rehab, and the atrocity which provoked the planting of that bomb. These remote incidents may be harder to make out, blurring into the haze of hundreds of others, or they may be occluded by those events which followed them, and which now follow us. Here is the past as a journey that we are taking, and a country that we are constantly emigrating from..

Thinking about the past of our own self, our own most personal sense of being, is somewhat different however. Whilst the events, places, and people of the past are left behind in our life journey, our past self is not so easily abandoned by the roadside. Think back to your tenth birthday, maybe you had a party, maybe someone gave you a microscope, or a Hot Wheels set, or a book about trains. Or maybe your party was cancelled because you had a fever and had to spend the day in bed. Maybe you remember that day very well or maybe you hardly recall it at all. If you can revisit that day you may find yourself looking out briefly through the eyes of your newly ten-year-old self and maybe even feeling the stirrings of those smaller bones and muscles within your own. You may find yourself drawn to stand how you stood when you took the present from your Mother’s arms, or hold your hands in the way you held them as you adjusted the focus on that microscope for the first time, squinting down through the eyepiece at the gigantic wing of a housefly.

Here the past is not behind you, lost along the road or adrift in ancient seas, the past of your self is lurking inside, just beneath the skin of the present. The skin of this snake is not sloughed off, abandoned, and left for dead, but is grown over with its circulation and its senses intact. Your ten-year-old self is not doomed to wander lost through 1970’s supermarkets or wait to be picked up by school gates that no longer exist, its home is secured in the body of the here and now.

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Soul of an Atheist - Past of the Self 2

November 13th, 2007 Fred McVittie

The past of our self is not behind us and we seem not to be able to put the history of our being down and walk away from it. Even when we look back and feel ourselves in those alien situations, doing things we could not dream of doing now, and which are out of what we now think of as our character, we cannot completely divorce our now selves from our then selves, our new selves from our old selves. The circumstances may have altered, everyone we ever knew and every place we ever went may have disappeared, every priority in our lives may have changed, every cell in our body may have changed, we may have ‘moved on’, but that person we were is not some distant memory occluded by more recent and proximal images of bombings and celebrities, but is alive and awake within our bodies and minds, nestling like a Russian Matryoshka doll.

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Now I Am Really Awake

November 15th, 2007 Fred McVittie

Posted in Art, Consciousness, Time | No Comments »

Dread Cthulhu Waits

December 10th, 2007 Fred McVittie


The organism called life exists in all dimensions. It’s heart is at the centre of the universe and has a single beat; the pulsating bang from which all emerged. It is tentacled and octopus-like, extending its arms through the bodies of all organisms, rising and falling, living and dying, disposable cellular conduits through which Cthulhu manifests. Here is the being out of Eden, rampaging through the circuits of space and time; an alchemical marriage of DNA and geometry.

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The Space Between the Stars

December 26th, 2007 Fred McVittie

There is an interesting tendency within evolutionary psychology to treat the human condition as partly determined by the fact that our embodied self seems to be straddling two distinct phases in history. We have the brains and bodies of pre-industrial, illiterate, stateless, stone-age hunter-gatherers, but these bodies are embedded in an industrial, literate, society with well developed state institutions. The apparent disparity or mismatch between these two phases is held to account for some of the anachronistic feelings and behaviours that we indulge in today including religion, tribalism, and racism. These phenomena are seen as either appropriate survival techniques for pre-industrial social animals, or as early attempts to respond to the uncertainties of existence when life was, as Hobbes described it, ‘nasty, brutish, and short’. This disparity between our stone-age psychobiology and our information-age environment is also used to explain the difficulties we have in accepting newer ideas such as quantum theory, evolution, and relativity. These theories, since they would have served no useful purpose to our pre-industrial ancestors, do not figure in the structure of our consciousness and are therefore not intuitively obvious or ‘graspable’. It is only through the often deeply counter-intuitive tools and procedures of scientific enquiry that such concepts are able to be generated or discovered. It may be that our attempts to explain the complexities of nature using the rough and ready tools of intuitive commonsense has been a contributor to the construction of false beliefs and myths. The universe, as JBS Haldane put it, may be ‘queerer than we can suppose’, and our tendency to operate within the limits of our suppositions causes us to make errors when dealing with phenomena beyond human scale.

Whilst it is undoubtedly correct that such a gap exists between the mechanisms of mind and the phenomena that we try to investigate with those mechanisms, this simple division into two phases, then and now, pre-industrial and post-industrial, may be just too simple. Unless we strongly favour a model of evolution which is punctuated to an extraordinarily high degree, with long periods during which very little change took place, allowing time for a relatively distinct psychobiology to form, then we have to acknowledge that our ancestry contains more than hunter-gatherers. We would have to recognise that our history also contains traces of earlier lifeforms, and that the shadow of these ancestors also falls across today’s world. In addition to a phylogeny associated with tribal hunter-gatherers we also have, in the symphony of our thoughts and actions, echoes of apes which foraged in small family groups, solitary tree-dwelling marsupials, amphibians, aquatic ocean-dwellers, bottom-feeders, nematodes, slime moulds, unicellular bacteria, free-floating chemical soups, clay crystals, chemical compounds, elements, atoms, stardust, and the space between the stars.

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A Gene’s Eye View

January 30th, 2008 Fred McVittie

It has been estimated that the human genome contains around 24.000 different protein-encoding genes, which are the key carriers of the information which constitutes the ‘recipe’ for human life. This number is considerably less than was originally estimated and demonstrated the versatility and combinatorial power of these relatively few building blocks.

Of these 24,000, the vast majority are found in all human beings, with only a few minor variants effecting the genetic differences between individuals and groups. The amount of genetic information shared by every person on Earth is around 99.99%. In addition to this, the majority of this gene pool is not only flowing through humans but also through the phylogeny of animals and non-animal lifeforms; primates share somewhere in the region of 97% of our genes, lobsters and spiders around 70%, bananas between 50 and 60%, and yeast has about 30% of its genes in common with our own.

In addition to the genes found only in humans, there must be many more which code for non-human features of other lifeforms; the wings of birds and insects, the carapace of a tortoise, the compound eye of fly, the spinneret of a spider. Let’s say that the total number of genes found everywhere in the any kind of lifeform at any one time in history is 100,000.

It is reckoned that there are between 1.4 and 1.5 million named species of lifeform on the planet, but this number reflects only a small percentage of the actual number, which has been estimated in excess of 10 million. In addition, the division of life into species is not an exact science and does not reflect the distribution and multiplicity of genetic orderings that actually take place, or the changes that have occurred in that ordering in the past. The 100,000 characters in the total gene pool have been assembled into many more sentences than any of these numbers suggest. So this comparatively small number of genes is spread out across a vast spectrum of animal and plant life, each gene threading its way across species boundaries, sometimes spanning the globe and taking up residence everywhere and in everything, and sometimes confining itself to small niches of existence. The cell wall is a physical structure found in almost all lifeforms, and the gene sequence which contributes to the formation of this structure covers the globe. One vast pulsing gene being whose natural environment is the body of every living thing on the planet. The gene sequences for less distributed or more ideosyncratic features, opposable thumbs, toxic skin, night vision, consciousness, occupy only limited regions within this living landscape. Sometimes these tiny communites of genetic expression take hold within their environment, spill out of their niche, and spread through the time and space of the living world.

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Before and After the Book

April 29th, 2008 Fred McVittie

There is a book on the table in front of me right now (The Craft of Thought by Mary Carruthers) and it seems to be a solid object. I know it is mostly composed of space, but that isn’t really important since it doesn’t change my experience of it. The knowledge that the book ‘contains’ is something different though.

There must have been a time when knowledge didn’t live inside books, but inside the fragile containers of human bodies. If you wanted to know something you would travel to the point in space where that human body was located and if you were lucky they would convey the knowledge that they contained to you somehow. It would be important, needless to say, to travel to that point in space during the short window of time that the person was alive, awake, conscious, and compos mentis.

Sometime after that time someone must have got the idea of recording the knowledge that they had in some way; maybe by carving it on a stone or writing in on a scroll of some sort. If you wanted access to the knowledge then you would still have to travel to the point in space where the scroll was but the window of time would be potentially larger. In some ways though, the scroll would have to be given the same special treatment as a human possessor of knowledge; it would have to be protected from harm, safeguarded against fire and the ravages of time etc. It would be a pretty special kind of object.

Maybe then someone got the idea of making copies of the scroll so that the knowledge could exist in more than one place at the same time. That would be quite a leap forward. The same knowledge would now exist in more than one point in space, and the destruction of one of these instantiations would not mean the total loss of knowledge from the world.

Print publication would extend this process even further, such that every time knowledge is put into book form it would, to all intents and purposes, become immortal. All publications (with ISBN numbers) are archived in the British Library, with the security which that implies, as well as appearing in book shops and the shelves of readers. The immortality of the knowledge is ensured partly by the treatment accorded to individual copies of the book but more significantly by its distribution. When knowledge is repeated across thousands of instantiations across the world it is extremely difficult to destroy.

It has been said (although I don’t know by whom, or whether it is true), that if you are in a city you are probably no further than eight feet away from a rat at all times. In a book culture it is likely that you are similarly no further than, say, thirty feet away from some books. Not all books obviously, but I would be surprised if there was not a bible within that kind of radius most of the time, and possibly a dictionary or other reference book of some kind. Some knowledge, even though it appears in books, seems to exist almost as a field, distributed across populated space, with the individual books that instantiate it being simply temporary devices which allow it to appear. When one book, or a thousand books, fall apart or are destroyed, the knowledge is still instantly accessible through the medium of all the other books which contain it.

Thanks to Project Gutenberg and similar endeavours it is now possible to access almost the entire history of the world’s writing through screens. Knowledge that lived in books, and across the field of books, now exists across the field of space and ubiquity is almost total. As I sit here typing I am within inches of all the knowledge that has been inscribed and digitised and can access it instantly. Truly ubiquitous, this knowledge is everywhere available. In fact, I am not even inches away from that knowledge; the wireless network that links this laptop to the access point on the wall is radiating that knowledge through space and through me as I type these words. When I summon up a page of the Gutenberg Bible, that information is in the room and is inside my body and the walls of the room and in my coffee cup and everywhere within the 20feet radius covered by my local network.

Changes in technology, social organisation, and epistemology itself mean that knowledge has changed its spots. Whereas once it was uniquely located at a particularly point in space for a very limited period of time, now it is everywhere and forever. From being identifiable as a distinct and temporal object is has transformed into a distributed and atemporal field. Nothing is lost, nothing is forgotten, nothing is burnt, silenced, made mute by dementia or death. The evolution of publication is almost complete and the pages of the book spread holographically across the space between atoms and stars. This blog is more permanent and more ubiquitous than any work of print.

This does not mean that the book itself ceases to be important as an idea; it still carries the symbolic significance it inherited from its history in the individual scroll, and ultimately the individual body of fragile human beings. This symbolic significance is evidenced by the continued popularity of book-burning; no knowledge has ever been lost by the burning of a book, but since as an action it represents the destruction of a speaking position and a human speaker, the symbolic value of the action is maintained.

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