Category: Reading

Open worldviews: Against the degradation of humanity

Reading | Cognitive Science

Matt Colborn, PhD | 2025-06-27

April 2025: in a Guardian article, progressive writers Naomi Klein and Astra Taylor described a strange mutation in the belief systems of some previously secular Silicon Valley elites [1]. This was of interest because I’d devoted a chapter to critiquing the extreme materialism of Silicon Valley in my book, What Lies Beyond: Consciousness, Science, the Paranormal, and the Post-Material Future (Essentia Books, 2025). According to Douglas Rushkoff, Silicon Valley style materialism is founded on the “mechanomorphic” belief that reality is “computational,” that “everything is data” and that “humans are processors” [2]. The strange mutation was the sudden conversion of several of the Silicon Valley elite from “mechanomorphic” materialism to fundamentalist, end-times Christianity.

This mutation might seem difficult to explain. On the face of it, pivoting from fundamentalist materialism to fundamentalist Christianity makes little sense. Later on I will argue that such a shift in fact makes a great deal of sense, although it is not the main problem. The main problem is with what Karl Marx called ruling ideas—that is, ideas held by elites and supported by large cultural institutions [3]; specifically, with ideas that offer a justificatory framework for the actions of those elites. Both “mechanomorphic” materialism and end-times Christianity arguably supply just such justificatory frameworks for the world-shaping ambitions of Silicon Valley.

In this essay, I will (1) argue that these particular ruling ideas present a highly impoverished vision of humanity; that they in fact represent a degradation of humanity for essentially instrumental purposes. In response, I will (2) propose what I will call open worldviews. Open worldviews can potentially counter this degradation by honouring the wider spectrum of human experience, including those that suggest post-materialist views of reality. In the context of a global ‘polycrisis’ that may possibly lead to climate-induced collapse, open worldviews offer a potentially powerful counter to dangerous and monopolistic ruling ideas.

 

The politics of materialism

Materialism has always had a political dimension. The liberal dimension of this was described by Theodore Roszak [4]. Roszak pointed out that initially a ‘materialist’ explanation simply meant an explanation that did not require God. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries materialist explanations were used to challenge ecclesiastical power, and especially the power of the Catholic Church. This was necessary because the Catholic Church played a large role in affirming the divine right of kings, which gave monarchs unquestioned power. Materialism therefore became associated with ‘left-wing’ and, later, liberal thought.

In the twentieth century materialism and a philosophy called logical positivism came to be seen as a defence against “fascist hysteria” [5]. A key proponent of this perspective was Bertrand Russell. In his 1903 essay A Free Man’s Worship, he insisted that hard-line materialism was the only reasonable worldview in the light of current scientific knowledge. The implication was that to be a liberal humanist was also necessarily to be a scientific materialist.

In the twenty-first century, the claim that science and materialism are synonymous has become an integral part of the liberal defence against religious fundamentalism and fascism. In a book defending evolution, biologist Jerry Coyne insisted that naturalistic materialism was the only possible metaphysic for science [6]. Materialist perspectives on consciousness have also been actively used as counterbalances to right-wing new age ‘alternative’ views that reject materialism. One example: the hosts of the progressive Conspirituality podcast explicitly state their support for materialist views of consciousness.[7] This stance informs their extended critique of internet wellness ‘gurus,’ who claim to embrace transcendent consciousness or, more recently, fundamentalist Christianity. It seems difficult to ignore the political utility of such a stance.

Silicon Valley’s iterations of materialism have been of a different order. They are not obviously linked to a progressive or ‘left wing’ political perspective. Rather, they seem yolked to extreme free-market economics of a particular kind, and more recently overt technofascism [8]. Rushkoff called the central philosophy ‘the Mindset’ [9]. The ‘Mindset’ is based on “staunchly atheistic and materialistic scientism” and “a faith in technology to solve problems” [10]. ‘The Mindset’ is ruthlessly extractive. It exists for the purpose of accumulating technological power and wealth. It appropriates science, or a veneer of science, for its own ends.

The Mindset basically exists as a justification for the accumulation of vast quantities of money and power. Staunch materialism helps with this because a world of ‘fields and forces,’ where consciousness is an epiphenomenon and values are ‘only’ subjective, can easily be interpreted as amoral. In an amoral world, potentially anything goes. Such a worldview is not a million miles from the philosophy of the Marquis de Sade [11]. This is the shadow side of materialism and demonstrates its use as a ruling idea. A worldview like the Mindset justifies actions that, in other contexts, might be seen as immoral or even monstrous.

Two interchangeable fundamentalisms?

This essentially utilitarian use of materialism might help explain the transience of Silicon Valley beliefs. Worldviews might be adopted for expedience and not factual truth. What matters is whether your chosen worldview enables your actions. One could argue that, in the current political climate, end times Christianity has become more convenient than materialism.

However, I do not believe that things are quite so simple. I think that the ease with which some have converted is an indication that these seemingly opposed philosophies in fact share some basic principles. This is because the hard-line materialism of Silicon Valley is also an end-times philosophy. This is made explicit by Rushkoff’s other term for the Mindset: ‘Silicon Valley escapism.’ This ‘escape’ means leaving a trashed planet behind for a high-tech future either in outer space or within virtual worlds. The technological singularity, an item of faith for many in Silicon Valley, has even been termed ‘the Rapture of the Nerds.’

So the common denominator of end times Christianity and “mechanomorphic” materialism is an apocalyptic belief structure. This belief structure is that the end of (this) world is coming and that most people will perish, except for a special elite of chosen people. Such apocalypticism is thousands of years old and possibly has its origins in ancient Iranian Zoroastrianism [12]. The historian Norman Cohn traced its spread through the Middle East and its influence on Judaism and Christianity in the ancient and medieval worlds. Apocalypticism also influenced ostensibly secular, twentieth century totalitarian movements like Nazism and Communism [13].

In this respect, the belief systems are interchangeable. This was confirmed by the strange experience of writer Meghan O’Gieblyn [14]. O’Gieblyn lost her faith in evangelical Christianity, dropping out of Bible school, but in 2006 embraced transhumanism as an alternative. After a plunge down a metaphysical rabbit hole, she came to see that, although she had disavowed Christianity, she had “spent the past 10 years hopelessly trying to re-create its visions by dreaming about our post-biological future,” which she dubbed “a modern pantomime of redemption.” O’Gieblyn’s experience underlines the common underlying structures of both belief systems.

Cohn saw millenarian movements as very dangerous and potentially genocidal. But there is another problem. Fundamentalist materialism and fundamentalist Christianity both present highly impoverished views of humanity. Within both worldviews, humans stop being autonomous, conscious agents with free will and instead become puppets in a cosmological drama that ends either in an ‘inevitable’ technological singularity or the ‘inevitable’ second coming of Christ. Either way, most of us are damned.

So there exist solid reasons to oppose these apocalyptic and fascist belief systems. For most, such worlds become closed, stifling, vicious and oppressive. Progressive writers like Klein and Taylor describe such belief systems as “genocidal at [their] core and treasonous to the wonder and beauty of this world.” I would concur with this assessment but need to point out a problem with the opposition.

 

Open worldviews in an open society

The problem is the common assumption that ‘liberal humanist’ must equal ‘scientific materialist,’ and that this association exists as a necessary defence against “fascist hysteria.” Is such a link really as inevitable as Bertrand Russell seemed to think? One challenge to this claim is the association of hard-line materialism with fascism. Another is the potential evolution of post-materialist worldviews within science itself. Yet another is the existence of viable visions of the world that are both non-materialist and naturally opposed to far-right end-times fascism. Indigenous traditions might stand as an example. In short: the ‘humanistic progressive equals scientific materialist’ equation seems questionable and needs revision.

In 1945 the philosopher Karl Popper published his book The Open Society and Its Enemies. This was essentially a defence of liberal, open societies that defended the freedom and autonomy of individuals against totalitarianism. In the spirit of Popper’s work, I would like to suggest the concept of open worldviews. An open worldview is one that is pluralistic, encompassing, open to critique and modification, and open to empirical refutation. In other words, it is something like an ideal ‘scientific’ worldview. But it would also go beyond.

There are a number of possible elements to an open worldview. One might be attention to the full spectrum of human experience. Taking a cue from William James’ radical empiricism, it would take experience as the ultimate reality, as opposed to theoretical hidden or transcendent realities beyond experience [15]. I would also draw from Iain McGilchrist’s arguments for reclaiming intuition and imagination, as well as ‘science’ and ‘reason,’ as pathways to truth [16]. These elements might act as counters to the closed worlds of fundamentalist religion, scientism or totalitarian politics.

In addition, an open worldview would need to include what has been called post-normal science. Essentially, this involves integrating other ways of knowing as well as positivistic science. Pablo Servigne, Raphaël Stevens and Gauthier Chappelle offer some valuable insights into post-normal science in the light of the unfolding polycrisis and possible climate-induced societal collapse. They emphasise the importance of breaking out from “established ways of thinking” and opening up “new horizons” [17]. This includes a fresh consideration of things like intuition, as well as indigenous psychologies and knowledge systems. Post-normal science is pluralistic, open to diverse ways of seeing the world and diverse modes of existence, all of which seem to me essential counters to totalist worldviews that insist that they are the One True Reality.

 

The post-materialist element?

Allied to this is the strong sense of a need to move to post-materialist worldviews. The theoretical, philosophical case for this has been provided in a number of recent works. Thomas Nagel’s 2012 Mind and Cosmos rightly points out the limitations of what he calls the materialist, neo-Darwinian conception of reality. Nagel suggested that it was highly unlikely that we are anywhere near an ultimate understanding of reality and that it is quite possible that we do not even currently have the conceptual tools for an understanding. This means that the materialist, neo-Darwinian conception of reality, which has been pushed so hard as a counter to fundamentalist religion, is likely itself false.

Other thinkers have offered strong reasons for moving to a scientifically viable, post-materialist vision of reality. I would point to Bernardo Kastrup’s Analytic Idealism in a Nutshell, Federico Faggin’s Irreducible and Iain McGilchrist’s The Matter with Things as offering solid theoretical foundations for such a worldview-shift. Ed Kelly et al.’s books Irreducible Mind and Consciousness Unbound attempt to provide an empirical justification for a similar move from materialist to post-materialist views of consciousness.

But Nagel’s central point—that we are unlikely to be anywhere close to a final understanding of the cosmos—for me means that any vision of the world that we adopt must be highly tentative, open to revision and open to alternatives. Such openness seems to me a better counter to fascist, fundamentalist, totalitarian thought than insisting on dogmatic forms of materialism.

 

The problem of meaning

There is a further, essential element to ‘open worldviews’ that I think is necessary to counter the virulence of the new apocalypticism. In The Free Man’s Worship, Bertrand Russell wrote that realistic, post-religious philosophies could be built “only on the firm foundation of unyielding despair” at the transience of human life in a vast, ancient and hostile universe that was bound to perish in heat-death [18].

I am not going to deny that Russell’s assessment has an element of truth when a human life is considered on cosmological scales. From an astronomical, distancing perspective, human life can indeed appear as a mote in infinity. However, I would say that an insistence on “unyielding despair” has never been a selling point for the promotors of any form of liberal humanism that is yolked to hard-line scientific materialism.

This could, in the current social, cultural and political moment of resurgent fundamentalisms, be a real problem. In an essay entitled ‘Beliefs,’ Aldous Huxley suggested that the philosophies of meaninglessness that flourished after World War I became the soil in which totalitarianism eventually flourished. This was because human beings, having abandoned traditional religion, did not stop thirsting for meaning in their lives. This meaning, no longer inherent in the universe, was sought in “the hard, ferocious philosophies of nationalistic and revolutionary idolatory” [19].

Huxley’s description has uncanny echoes today. One reason why destructive and apocalyptic worldviews might have spread so easily is precisely because of a wide crisis of meaning. In What Lies Beyond I suggest that one way out of this crisis is via a capacity for relational consciousness; a capacity that has traditionally been linked to mysticism and spirituality (and so was automatically rejected by positivistic philosophers like Russell).

But I think that the extremity of our situation forces a reconsideration of those states of being that have for millennia fed our various wisdom traditions. Here, I am following the lead of the biologist Sir Alister Hardy, who believed spiritual awareness to be a human basic [20]. Hardy believed that such awareness naturally developed in the course of evolution and was as integral to human beings as language.

In his 2007 book, a protege of Hardy’s, David Hay, suggested that the suppression of spiritual awareness, common in industrial consumer societies, is damaging. He believed that

…many of our most pressing social and political problems—meaningless, the collapse of a sense of community, the draining away of trust and social capital in general, the turning of everything into a commodity, and carelessness about the ecology of the planet—have their origin in the ignoring of the aspect of our human nature adapted to deal with them, relational consciousness or spirituality. [21]

Here, Hay supplies very practical reasons for paying attention to the broader spectrum of human experience. The kind of liberal humanist rationalism that insists on “unyielding despair,” along with hard-line scientific materialism, simply cannot compete with movements that offer even phoney transcendence. But if relational consciousness is a human basic, as Hardy suggested, then its suppression in industrial consumer societies, along with philosophies of “unyielding despair,” might well have left whole populations vulnerable to toxic substitutes.

 

Conclusion

The flowering of end-times fascism and problems with existing humanistic alternatives seem to me to indicate an urgent need to develop new visions of reality. This means that the assumptions that liberal humanists in particular have inherited from the twentieth century by now seem questionable. Servigne, Stevens and Chappelle are therefore right to point to the need to break out from established patterns of thought and seek new horizons. In other words, it is no longer sufficient to oppose toxic belief systems. Nor is it satisfactory merely to defend the eroding ‘secular space.’ One must offer better, empowering options. For me, open, evolving and post-materialist worldviews might prove fertile ground for seeding new, vital and humane visions of the world.

 

References

[1] Klein, N. & Taylor, A. (2025 13 April). The rise of end times fascism. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/ng-interactive/2025/apr/13/end-times-fascism-far-right-trump-musk

[2] Rushkoff, D. (2019). Team human. W. W. Norton & Company, p. 79.

[3] Marx, K. (1932). The German ideology. https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1845/german-ideology/ch01b.htm

[4] Roszak, T. (1992). The voice of the Earth. Phanes.

[5] Roszak, 1992, p. 99.

[6] Coyne, J. 2009. Why evolution is true. Oxford: Oxford Landmark Science, p. 244.

[7] Beres, D. & Remski, M. (2021). Bonus sample: the question of consciousness. Conspirituality. Available at: https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/conspirituality/id1515827446?i=1000532821055

[8] Lewis, B. (2025 Jan 29). ‘Headed for technofascism’: the rightwing roots of Silicon Valley. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/technology/ng-interactive/2025/jan/29/silicon-valley-rightwing-technofascism

[9] Rushkoff, D. (2022). Survival of the richest: escape fantasies of the tech billionaires. Scribe.

[10] Rushkoff, 2022, p. 58.

[11] Lachman, G. (2013). The caretakers of the cosmos: Living responsibly in an unfinished world. Floris.

[12] Cohn, N. (1995). Cosmos, chaos and the world to come : The ancient roots of apocalyptic faith. Yale University Press.

[13] Cohn, N. (1983). The Pursuit of the Millennium: Revolutionary millenarians and mystical anarchists of the middle ages. Oxford University Press.

[14] O’Gieblyn, M. (2017 18 April). God in the machine: my strange journey into transhumanism. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/apr/18/god-in-the-machine-my-strange-journey-into-transhumanism

[15] James, W. (1912). Essays in radical empiricism. Longmans, Green & Co.

[16] McGilchrist, I. (2021). The matter with things: Our brains, our delusions and the unmaking of the world. Perspectiva Press.

[17] Servigne, P., Stevens, R. & Chapelle, G. (2021). Another end of the world is possible. Polity, p. 72.

[18] Russell, B. (1903). The free man’s worship. https://users.drew.edu/~jlenz/br-free-mans-worship.html

[19] Huxley, A. (2009). Beliefs. In A.Huxley. The perennial philosophy. HarperPerennial, p12.

[20] Hardy, A. (1979). Spiritual nature of man: Study of contemporary religious experience. Oxford University Press

[21] Hay, D. (2007). Why spirituality is difficult for westerners. Imprint Academic, p. 2.

Meaning is not in yourself

Reading | Existentialism

Orlando Moreira, PhD | 2025-06-13

A year ago, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

It wasn’t fatal.

I had already been struggling with increasing hearing loss in one ear. One of the doctors told me I was imagining it. He even told me I was crazy for thinking that. But the tinnitus was worsening—shrill, reactive to sound, inescapable. I was convinced that once I saw a specialist, she would figure out something, and things would improve. In our first meeting, she promised me it would get better. One month later, she told me the opposite. It wouldn’t improve. It would get worse. I would eventually go deaf in one ear. The tinnitus would get louder.

And it did. Two months later, the noise became unbearable; and reactive to other sounds. Before the GP agreed to prescribe sleeping pills and antidepressants, I went six days without sleep. I was panicking, in absolute despair, a wreck.

Music—always a core of my inner life—became distorted, then unlistenable. What had once grounded me now wounded me. I had imagined my later years spent visiting the world’s concert halls and opera houses. That future is gone. The distortion is permanent. The silence is overrun by noise. The world didn’t end, but it lost its sweetness.

As my hearing collapsed, I began to fear more than just noise and silence. With age, my vision has also started to weaken. The arts that once gave me solace—music, literature, cinema, painting—began to feel fragile, contingent. I saw the possibility of a future where no form of beauty, no intellectual pursuit, would remain accessible to me. But the real dread wasn’t sensorial or aesthetic. It wasn’t about losing pleasure. It was the creeping horror that even shared experience might one day, not too far, become unreachable and life would go on without it. And although this was part of my thoughts at the time, I only half realized how essential it was.

For a while, I wanted to die. When the medication began to take effect, that urge faded; but I no longer wanted to be alive either.

It wasn’t despair. Not depression. Just a hollowing out. I felt like a broken doll. Music, but also other arts, movement, contemplation, and even quiet conversation, lost their appeal completely. Sound itself was hostile. I stayed inside. I stopped exercising. My health declined.

Psychologists told me that doing things would help; that motion could hold despair at bay. So I kept going. I functioned. I spoke. I worked. But it felt hopeless. Life was to force yourself to go through another day. Don’t think too much. The resonance was gone.

And still, I went on, because what else can you do?

They told me to look within for meaning, intent, pleasure. To find my true self.  But I found nothing worth keeping. No purpose in work. No comfort in thought. Yes, there were pleasurable activities: reading, studying, intellectual work; but there was no real reason to endure. 

Yet, there was something else too: an urge to tell others how I felt. And whenever I did, when I spoke with raw honesty, others would eventually tell me their own stories; their suffering, their pain, their grief, their worries. It made me think of how much we suffer and how much pain we hide. And it was in listening to them that I found motivation and meaning.

That was it. The others. My children. My wife. My brother. Friends. Colleagues. People who, each in their own way, told me they would rather live in a world with me than one without me.

That didn’t restore music or peace, but it gave me a place to go. Not certainty. Not confirmation. Just a reason to stay, and a reason to build.

Ernest Becker believed humans construct meaning to deny death; that we fear extinction, and so we build culture, ego, myth. I find his message compelling. His work, along with Camus and Schopenhauer, has strongly shaped how I see the world. But I think he missed something deeper.

The primary fear isn’t death: it’s being alone—eternally, structurally, metaphysically alone. Death is finite; solitude without escape is not. Even an immortal life in perfect conditions, if lived in isolation, is not freedom; it’s collapse without end.

I wouldn’t choose it. Not even for silence. Not even for the return of music. I would rather live in this broken world, in my weakened body, among flawed and finite others, than in a perfect world inhabited only by myself. I’d rather be one of many than a lone god.

There’s a moment in For the Man Who Has Everything—a Superman story by Allan Moore, which I read many years ago for the first time and to which I always eventually return—in which Superman is trapped in an illusion where Krypton never exploded. In that illusion, he has a family, a son he loves. And as the illusion begins to crack, he holds the boy and says: “I was there at your birth, and I will always love you but… but I don’t think that you’re real.” And he lets go.

He doesn’t leave because his fantasy world is unpleasant; quite the contrary He leaves because it is not inhabited. It’s full of all the things he ever wanted—a simple life, a family, memory, love—but no Other; no inner life; no suffering; no real presence. It is perfect in every way except for the absence of other minds.

And that makes it unbearable.

That moment stayed with me. The dream was vivid. The love was real. But it wasn’t mutual. And when it becomes clear that no one else is truly there, I will always choose the world that might still contain others, even if it hurts.

And if I choose this world because I can’t bear to be existentially alone, then I must hope others feel the same. I reach because I need them, but if they exist, they might need me too. And that’s enough to make it a responsibility.

Becker understood our instinct towards death. But not the first fear. A child does not cry because she understands mortality. She cries because no one comes.

That is what kept me alive. Not belief. Not clarity. Just the chance that I might still matter; that someone might need me; that someone would feel my absence.

This is not noble. It is not defiance. It is not bad faith. It is simply the truest act of hope I could take in a life stripped of all guarantees.

Camus asked: Why not kill yourself?

I answer: Because someone may be there.

And that must be enough. 

L’espoir, c’est les autres.

The Demiurge in our brain’s left hemisphere

Reading | Philosophy

Arthur Haswell, BA | 2025-05-30

The Secret Revelation of John depicts a very different creation story to the one found in the Old Testament. In this version, the world is not the creation of a good, wise God, but of a foolish, myopic, arrogant imposter referred to as Yaldabaoth. This is a common theme in ‘gnostic’¹ texts—a catch-all term for certain spiritual works that bear a family resemblance and often share a similar heritage. In many of them we find reference to this celestial ruler, although it is not always given the same name. In keeping with the lexicon of Plato’s Timaeus, a text that gnosticism was influenced by, it is typical to refer to this ruler as the demiurge, the architect of our world. A number of gnostic texts repeat Exodus 20:5 (“Thou shalt not bow down thyself to [other gods], nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God”), but frame this as the hubristic, ignorant sentiment of a vain and foolish ruler that is unaware that it is not the true God. The latter is considered a transcendent deity, and in The Secret Revelation of John it is described apophatically; that is to say, it is suggested by gesturing to what it isn’t. This is because it is both the source of everything that is, and beyond everything that is. It is beyond categories, beyond measurement. The demiurge, on the other hand, is a fallen being, the master of the material world; reality at its most base and furthest from transcendence.

One can approach gnosticism in different ways. Texts such as The Secret Revelation of John, The Reality of the Rulers, and On The Origin of the World offer detailed, mythological descriptions of how this world and its ruler came to be. These narratives were likely intended to be understood figuratively, although this, of course, leaves plenty of room for interpretation. Other texts, such as The Gospel of Thomas, Thunder, and The Vision of the Foreigner, take the form of wisdom literature that explores gnosis, the enlightened awareness of the divine nature of reality. After engaging with gnostic texts for long enough, one begins to gain an intuitive ability to recognise gnosticism’s themes and catch the scent of its savour, such that one notices it in works that may or may not have been directly influenced by it but nonetheless share some of its characteristics. This might be films such as The Seventh Seal (1957), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Stalker (1979), They Live (1988), The Truman Show (1998), The Matrix (1999), The Tree of Life (2011), The Turin Horse (2011), and The Lego Movie (2014).² Or it could be literary work such as that of Philip K. Dick, William Blake, Franz Kafka, and Jorge Luis Borges. There are also certain philosophers whose views share gnostic characteristics, such as Arthur Schopenhauer and Simone Weil. But most relevant to this essay is Martin Heidegger, of whom the major gnostic scholar Hans Jonas was a student.

A crucial aspect of Heidegger’s philosophy is his idea that there are two modes of attending to the world. The more primordial mode is the ready-to-hand. This is the kind of attention we give to tools we use when we are performing tasks that we are engrossed in, such as painting or cooking. In such activities, we don’t think about the wooden spoon we use to stir the pan, or the paintbrush in our hand. They are of-a-piece with the whole activity that we are engaged in. The second mode that Heidegger describes is the present-at-hand. If the head of the paintbrush snaps off as we are using it, we become suddenly very focused on this tool, and it is no longer of-a-piece with the activity of painting. We focus on the broken paintbrush and view it as a discrete object. This also anticipates the kind of attention we inhabit when thinking theoretically or analysing something in a laboratory. Our perspective becomes detached and there seems to be a subject-object divide, between us and what we are attending to.

Heidegger acknowledges that both modes are crucial aspects of our Being-in-the-world, but he worries that our culture places too much value on the detached, analytical kind of attention, and not enough on the intuitive, fluid, more holistic kind. In his later work, he discusses more explicitly the danger of humans treating the world as standing reserve, such that even mountains and rivers become reduced to functional resources to be used to serve our purposes.

The idea that we can become lost in the distractions of the material world, such that we forget our true nature, resonates with gnosticism. The Gospel of Thomas suggests that the true nature of reality is always just here, right in front of us, but we are so lost in illusion that we miss it:

Know what is in front of your face, and what is hidden from you will be disclosed. There is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed. [1]

For Heidegger, a preoccupation with the most detached kinds of attention belonging to the present-at-hand mode can result in a distorted, alienated way of attending to the world, where beings are stripped of meaning and reduced to mere things. It is only attention rooted in the ready-to-hand kind (even if it still inevitably strays occasionally and naturally into the present-at-hand) that discloses our embeddedness in a meaningful world, a world we are always already enmeshed in before we theorise about it. If we were to seek to fully synchronise gnosticism with Heidegger’s philosophy, we might imagine this mode to be one that affords the possibility of the kind of spiritual awareness that can be considered gnosis.

The philosopher, neuroscientist, and psychiatrist Iain McGilchrist has spent the last few decades studying how the two hemispheres of the brain are lateralised. In the two wonderful tomes he has written on this subject, The Master and His Emissary and The Matter with Things, he draws from thousands of studies to show how each hemisphere has its own way of attending to the world. He has also found that the left hemisphere tends towards a kind of attention that parallels Heidegger’s notion of the present-at-hand, while the right parallels that of the ready-to-hand:

The contrast here being drawn between, on the one hand, the isolated ego, standing in a relation of alienated and predatory exploitation to the world around it, mysteriously leaping from subject to object and back again, retiring with its booty into the cabinet of its consciousness, where it demands certainty of knowledge; and, on the other, a self that is drawn into and inextricably bound up with the world in a relation, not just metaphysical in nature, but of ‘being-with’ and inside, a relation of care (Sorge) and concern, suggesting involvement of the whole experiential being, not just the processes of cognition—this contrast evokes in my view some of the essential differences between the worlds that are brought about for us by the two hemispheres. But that is by no means all. Since Dasein [another Heideggerian term] is ‘to be there’ in the world—the literal, actual, concrete, daily world—to be human at all is to be immersed in the earth, and the quotidian matter-of-factness of the world. The right hemisphere is concerned with the familiar, not in the sense of the inauthentically routine, but in the sense of the things that form part of ‘my’ daily world or familia, the household, those I care for. It is not alien from material things, but, quite the opposite, attends to individual things in all their concrete particularity. This is exactly the ‘personal sensibility to the grain and substance of physical existence, to the “thingness” and obstinate quiddity of things, be they rock or tree or human presence’ that is found in Heidegger. Again this roots existence in the body and in the senses. We do not inhabit the body like some alien Cartesian piece of machine wizardry, but live it—a distinction between the left and right hemisphere understandings of the body. In trying to convey the ‘otherness’ of a particular building, its sheer existence or essent prior to any one act of cognition by which it is partially apprehended, Heidegger speaks of the primal fact of its existence being made present to us in the very smell of it, more immediately communicated in this way than by any description or inspection. The senses are crucial to the ‘presence’ of being, ‘to our apprehension of an is in things that no analytic dissection or verbal account can isolate’. [2]

Also key to McGilchrist’s work is his understanding of the left hemisphere as being arrogant, narrow-minded, myopic, easily prone to anger, grasping, and unaware of how little it understands. He shows this by citing myriad studies of people with lesions in the right hemisphere, or people who have had their right hemisphere temporarily shut down in a controlled manner.

It’s remarkable how closely the left hemisphere’s disposition aligns with that of the demiurge’s. Gnostic texts consistently portray the demiurge as having very similar traits. It is a jealous, wrathful, covetous, arrogant being that is unaware that it is not the true God, much like McGilchrist’s analogy of the emissary who has mistaken himself for the master. Time and time again, gnostic literature portrays the demiurge in this fashion. Not only that, but it is an architect, a kind of technician, which constructs the material world in a futile attempt to mimic the pleroma, the gnostic term for transcendent reality. The demiurge is like the person who mistakes the map for the territory, or who becomes so obsessed with the theoretical that they forget the world before them. All of this aligns closely with McGilchrist’s description of the left hemisphere’s disposition.

Not only are these parallels quite evident, but one gnostic text even explicitly mentions hemisphere lateralisation. The Mother of Books is an 8^th century gnostic text associated with a mystical, neoplatonic branch of Shia Islam known as Ismaʿilism, and contains the following line:

The right half of the brain is the spirit of wisdom, and the left is the spirit of abundance. [3]

It’s fascinating how closely this dovetails with McGilchrist’s own analysis. He regularly relates wisdom to the more profound, holistic kind of attention that belongs to the right hemisphere, while the left tends towards breaking the world into pieces, a preoccupation with quantity, and an insatiable desire to obtain a greater abundance of material things.

It is also noteworthy that those who most devoutly worship an Old Testament, demiurgic ‘God’ seem to be individuals inclined towards the left hemisphere’s mode of attention. As Schopenhauer says,³ such demiurge worship

consists merely in an absurd and revolting theism. It amounts to this, that the κύριος [‘Lord’], who has created the world, desires to be worshipped and adored; and so above all he is jealous, is envious of his colleagues, of all the other gods. [4]

This criticism of course does not relate to more mystical branches of Judaism, Christianity, or Islam. But for those who treat their religion in a highly positivistic, literalist, black-and-white manner, where “God” is essentially just a celestial tyrant, it is difficult not to see them as inhabiting a highly left hemispheric perspective, and one belonging to those entranced by all that is demiurgic.

McGilchrist’s work hence provides neurological support to the gnostic view. In an age of dangerous hopes for empty paradises, the value of gnosticism is as a perspective that allows us to shoulder the world in all its tragedy, while not expecting it to be something it can never be. Yet, we can no doubt derive hope and a sense of the divine in our solitary wanderings in search of the transcendent.

 

Notes

¹ I prefer not to capitalise ‘gnostic’ or ‘gnosticism,’ in keeping with the stylistic approach of The Gnostic Bible (ed. Barnstone & Meyer). This avoids suggesting that gnosticism was a unified or institutionalised religion.

² The Lego Movie has remarkably gnostic themes, even if it lacks gnosticism’s savour. The foolish, monomaniacal, and irritable Lord Business represents the demiurge, obsessively imposing order on a world he doesn’t fully understand, and using glue to freeze it into place. This reflects the gnostic theme of a blind creator who mistakes imitation for creation, and who enforces a rigid system that cuts beings off from deeper reality. The citizens of Bricksburg live in ignorance of their true nature, much like the gnostic soul asleep in the illusion of the material world. Emmet’s awakening is a moment of gnosis, where he comes to see through the artificiality of the system and recognises the creative depth beyond it. The final shift to the ‘real world,’ where the child’s imagination is revealed as the source of liberation, evokes the idea of layered realities, with the transcendent always just beyond what appears.

³ Schopenhauer is specifically criticising Judaism here, which seems rather unfair, given the extraordinary profundity of some Jewish mysticism. However, I think it serves as a sharp criticism of all forms of demiurge worship when at their most dogmatic.

 

References

1. Willis Barnstone and Marvin Meyer (eds.), The Gnostic Bible, Shambhala Publications, 2003, p. 5.
2. McGilchrist, Iain. The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World. Yale University Press, 2009, pp. 152-153.
3. Willis Barnstone and Marvin Meyer (eds.), The Gnostic Bible, Shambhala Publications, 2003, p. 695.
4. Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, Volume I, “Fragments for the History of Philosophy,” translated by E.F.J. Payne, p. 126.

Relational Quantum Dynamics and Indra’s Net: A non-dual understanding of quantum reality

Reading | Quantum Physics

Prof. Arash E. Zaghi, PhD, PE, SE | 2025-05-16

Quantum physics, for all its precision, has always grappled with a foundational ambiguity: what exactly constitutes reality when we are not observing it? Traditional interpretations fall short in offering a satisfying resolution, often resorting to external observers or subjective collapses to account for measurement outcomes. Carlo Rovelli’s Relational Quantum Mechanics (RQM) offers a distinct perspective [1-3]; it abandons absolute, observer-independent physical states altogether. Instead, quantum systems possess states only relative to specific interactions. In this view, reality becomes a network of relations rather than isolated physical entities or universal observers. Rovelli’s interpretation powerfully addresses quantum paradoxes like Wigner’s friend scenarios (as I will discuss later) by asserting that different observers can have valid yet seemingly contradictory descriptions, reconciled only when interactions occur.

Yet, while RQM elegantly solves paradoxes, it stops at a mechanical description, leaving open deeper metaphysical questions. Relational Quantum Dynamics (RQD) goes further by integrating consciousness and information directly into this relational ontology [4]. Specifically, it proposes that quantum interactions are not merely passive physical processes but intrinsic “awareness updates,” whereby each interaction represents a primitive act of mutual awareness between interacting systems. Quantum events become experiences themselves, blurring the lines between observer and observed, matter and consciousness [5-6].

 

Relational Quantum Dynamics: Quantum information meets awareness

The innovation of RQD lies in its rigorous integration of quantum theory with Integrated Information Theory (IIT) [7-8], a prominent model from cognitive science developed to quantify consciousness. IIT suggests consciousness emerges naturally from systems with highly integrated internal information—like the human brain. RQD adopts IIT’s approach, defining a quantitative measure of awareness arising during quantum interactions. Two measures are central:

Quantum Mutual Information (I): Quantifies the correlation between two interacting quantum systems. A high mutual information indicates systems that strongly reflect each other’s states.

Integrated Information (Φ): Measures the internal informational coherence or holistic integration within each quantum system.

RQD combines these insights to define an “awareness metric,” calculated by multiplying the mutual information exchanged during an interaction by the integrated information within the interacting systems. From this viewpoint, every interaction is fundamentally an event within awareness itself. When highly complex systems interact, the resulting event carries greater depth and richness due to their extensive internal informational integration. Conversely, simpler systems with minimal internal integration generate interactions of lower complexity. This perspective does not imply a separate observer watching a quantum event; rather, all interactions are equally direct expressions of the same underlying field of awareness. The difference is purely in how deeply the relational field of awareness integrates and reflects itself through each unique interaction.

RQD formally maps quantum processes to updates of awareness states through a mathematical framework based on category theory. Category theory is a branch of mathematics that focuses on the relationships and transformations between different structures, rather than the structures themselves. This perspective is particularly valuable in quantum mechanics, because it allows physicists to model complex quantum processes as interconnected systems by emphasizing how different parts interact and compose to form a whole. By using category theory, we can represent quantum states and operations in a way that highlights their compositional nature, making it easier to analyze and understand the behavior of quantum systems. This approach is especially useful when dealing with entangled systems, where the properties of the whole cannot be fully understood by examining the parts in isolation. RQD introduces a categorical functor [Editor’s note: a mathematical operator between categories] that translates quantum events (physical transformations) into updates in states of awareness, preserving identities and sequential consistency.

This robust mathematical structure ensures coherent alignment of facts across nested observations, for example in multi-observer Wigner’s Friend experiments. This thought experiment illustrates a puzzling scenario in quantum mechanics. Imagine a scientist (Wigner’s friend) conducting a measurement on a quantum system inside a sealed laboratory. From the friend’s perspective, the measurement yields a definite outcome. However, from Wigner’s perspective, who is outside the laboratory and has not observed the measurement, the system remains in a superposition of states. This leads to a paradox where two observers have conflicting descriptions of the same event. The relational interpretations like RQM and RQD offer an elegant solution to this paradox by proposing that the properties of quantum systems are not absolute, but relative to the observer. In other words, the outcome of a measurement depends on the relationship between the observer and the system being observed. Applying category theory within this relational framework allows us to model these observer-dependent interactions systematically. By representing observers and systems as objects and their interactions as morphisms (transformations) in a category, we can clearly see how different perspectives arise from different relational contexts. This approach resolves the paradox by acknowledging that each observer’s description is valid within their own relational context, without requiring a universal, observer-independent reality.

 

Observer and observed: Co-emergence in a non-dual perspective

From the non-dual viewpoint, central to Eastern philosophical traditions, the idea that observer and observed arise independently is an illusion. RQD formally captures this non-dual insight: the observer and observed do not exist prior to their mutual interaction. Instead, their identity co-emerges relationally. Before interaction, the supposed “observer” and “observed” are undefined entities. Through interaction, both acquire their states simultaneously, their distinctions emerging from their mutual reflection.

From a category-theoretic perspective, this idea of non-duality can be expressed clearly through what’s known as the Yoneda lemma. The Yoneda lemma is a foundational insight stating that an object’s identity is entirely defined by how it relates to all other objects [9]. In other words, to fully know something, you don’t need to find its isolated essence—you just need to understand how it interacts with everything else. Applied to quantum mechanics, this means quantum objects—whether observers or systems being observed—don’t have any independent existence or inherent properties outside their interactions. Their identities and properties emerge completely from the network of relationships they participate in. This mathematical insight aligns remarkably well with the relational view at the heart of RQD, highlighting that reality is fundamentally built from relationships rather than isolated objects.

 

Understanding Bell’s Inequalities through RQD: The jigsaw puzzle analogy

Bell’s inequalities have been central in debates about quantum reality. At the heart of these inequalities is a question: can quantum measurements reflect preexisting values, waiting to be discovered? Traditional theories assume such hidden values exist independently of observation. However, experiments repeatedly show violations of these inequalities, challenging classical intuitions and suggesting that quantum systems don’t have predetermined properties.

RQD approaches this puzzle differently by emphasizing that reality is fundamentally relational, meaning quantum properties only arise when systems interact [10]. Bell’s inequalities, from the perspective of RQD, illustrate that there is no universal way to assign physical properties to systems outside these interactions. Instead, physical properties co-emerge with the act of measurement, shaped entirely by their relational context.

To make this clearer, consider a tangible analogy: assembling a jigsaw puzzle. Each puzzle piece corresponds to a specific experimental context—a set of measurements you perform together. Individually, these pieces (contexts) appear perfectly sensible, each showing consistent, coherent local information. The trouble starts when you attempt to assemble these pieces into a single unified image—representing a global, classical reality with predetermined physical properties.

In the classical world, you’d expect the puzzle pieces to seamlessly fit together, forming one coherent image. This would be equivalent to assigning definite, hidden values to all quantum properties ahead of any measurement. But in quantum experiments, specifically those violating Bell’s inequalities, the puzzle pieces refuse to align neatly. They seem individually correct but collectively mismatched. The edges clash—what one measurement context suggests as an outcome for a given observable conflicts with the outcome suggested by another context that shares the same observable. No matter how you turn or rearrange these pieces, no global picture emerges.

RQD provides a clear explanation: the puzzle fails not because reality is incomplete or mysterious, but because we’ve misunderstood what the puzzle is about. There’s no absolute, observer-independent image waiting to be uncovered. Instead, each piece—the result of each interaction or measurement—has meaning only relative to its own context. The contradictions arise when we mistakenly attempt to force these local perspectives into one absolute, overarching viewpoint.

Thus, Bell inequality violations are not paradoxical in RQD—they are expected. They highlight the relational structure of reality, where physical properties and even observers emerge from interwoven interactions. This relational perspective elegantly resolves the puzzle of Bell inequalities by reframing our expectations: there never was a complete puzzle. There is only the relational unfolding of reality, piece by piece, interaction by interaction.

 

Indra’s Net: Quantum entanglement and the emergence of spacetime

In Mahayana Buddhism, Indra’s Net serves as a profound metaphor illustrating the interconnectedness and interdependence of all phenomena in the universe. This concept is vividly depicted in the Avatamsaka Sutra (Flower Garland Sutra), a central text in the Huayan school of Chinese Buddhism [11]. The sutra describes a vast, infinite net belonging to the deity Indra, stretching endlessly in all directions. At each intersection of this net hangs a multifaceted jewel, and each jewel reflects all the other jewels in the net, creating an infinite web of reflections.

This imagery conveys several key philosophical ideas.​ Interconnectedness: Every entity in the universe is connected to every other entity. Just as each jewel reflects all others, each phenomenon is interrelated with all others. It emphasizes the idea that nothing exists in isolation [12].  Interpenetration: The reflections within each jewel contain the reflections of all other jewels, illustrating that each part of the universe contains the whole, and the whole is present in each part. This concept suggests that the boundaries between individual entities are illusory, and everything interpenetrates everything else. ​ Dependent Origination: The metaphor aligns with the Buddhist principle of dependent origination, which posits that all phenomena arise in dependence upon other phenomena. In Indra’s Net, the existence and appearance of each jewel depend on the reflections of all other jewels, symbolizing the mutual causality and interdependence of all things. ​

Alan Watts brought this ancient image vividly to life by imagining it as a vast spider’s web sparkling with countless droplets of dew:

Imagine a multidimensional spider’s web in the early morning covered with dew drops. And every dew drop contains the reflection of all the other dew drops. And, in each reflected dew drop, the reflections of all the other dew drops in that reflection. And so ad infinitum. That is the Buddhist conception of the universe in an image. [13]

Thus, no droplet exists independently; each one arises entirely from the reflections and relationships of all others. In this profound vision, reality has no separate, isolated parts—everything exists only in relationship. Just like the droplets on the web, quantum entities in RQD have no intrinsic identity or fixed existence outside their interactions. Each part of reality emerges from and mirrors every other part, reflecting a universe woven from pure interconnectedness.

RQD provides a mathematically rigorous realization of this profound metaphor by showing how quantum entanglement networks—webs of mutual information—give rise to physical reality. Spacetime itself emerges as a secondary feature, not primary and absolute. Rather, space and time arise naturally from patterns of entanglement and quantum correlations. Each event, every entity, and every observer exists relationally, as part of an all-encompassing web of quantum information.

Thus, Indra’s Net ceases to be merely metaphorical [14-15]. Quantum mutual information mathematically encodes “reflections” of jewels; integrated information quantifies the holistic nature of the entire web, ensuring that the whole (the total cosmic web) is irreducible to its parts. Rigorous theorems within RQD demonstrate that a fully interconnected quantum state inevitably possesses positive integrated information, making quantum holism explicit and testable.

 

Beyond the primacy of spacetime: Opening new frontiers with RQD

Relational Quantum Dynamics (RQD) challenges one of our deepest scientific dogmas: that space and time form the fundamental stage upon which reality unfolds. Rather than being primary, RQD proposes that spacetime itself emerges from a deeper layer of quantum relations and interconnected events. This bold shift opens exciting possibilities, pushing us beyond entrenched frameworks and inviting us to reimagine fundamental physics and its applications.

One profound implication is the prospect of finally bridging the gap between quantum mechanics and gravity—two pillars of physics currently in deep conceptual tension. By letting go of the assumption that spacetime is absolute, we may uncover that gravity itself arises from quantum entanglement networks. Experiments probing gravitational entanglement—situations where gravity mediates quantum correlations between massive objects—become not merely tests of quantum mechanics but windows into how spacetime emerges relationally. Positive outcomes in these experiments would mean gravity is no longer a separate classical force, but fully quantum and relational, naturally integrated with quantum mechanics, rather than existing in conflict.

Furthermore, RQD’s relational ontology offers promising ways to resolve persistent paradoxes and conceptual difficulties in quantum theory. Phenomena such as the Frauchiger-Renner paradox, the EPR paradox, and the measurement problem, traditionally viewed as baffling contradictions, appear naturally coherent when understood through relational dynamics. Observer-dependent realities no longer signal a paradox; they reflect the fundamental relational structure of reality itself. Tests such as the nested Wigner’s Friend experiments, where different observers hold seemingly incompatible facts, become opportunities to confirm the relational nature of facts rather than threats to objectivity.

Related video on the Frauchiger-Renner paradox

Additionally, RQD opens new pathways for exploring connections between physics and consciousness. By formally incorporating consciousness and integrated information into quantum dynamics, it invites empirical investigations into how systems with varying complexity or consciousness-related integration levels might influence quantum processes. These explorations could transform how cognitive science, neuroscience, and quantum physics interact, potentially revealing novel quantum-classical transitions and shedding new light on consciousness itself.

 

Bridging quantum physics and Eastern wisdom

Relational Quantum Dynamics (RQD) provides us with more than a new scientific perspective—it offers a profound reconciliation between ancient spiritual wisdom and modern physics. Eastern philosophical traditions have long described reality as an interconnected tapestry, emphasizing that no object or observer exists in isolation. Yet, lacking the mathematical language we now possess, these traditions used powerful metaphors—images like Indra’s Net and poetic narratives—to communicate truths about the interconnectedness of all existence. These metaphors have resonated deeply, guiding countless seekers toward an intuitive understanding of reality.

Today, equipped with advanced mathematics and the precision of quantum physics, we are finally in a position to rigorously formalize these timeless insights. RQD takes the essence of these ancient intuitions seriously, suggesting that at their core, they might indeed be remarkably close to the actual structure of our universe. Reality is not composed of isolated things; it is a dynamic field of relationships. Observer, observed, and the very act of observing arise simultaneously from a fundamental unity—a non-dual fabric of Being, elegantly described by the mathematical frameworks we now possess.

In embracing RQD, we honor the profound intuitions of ancient wisdom traditions, not merely as poetic allegories but as pointers to a deeper truth. The striking convergence of rigorous mathematics and ancient metaphor is no coincidence; rather, it suggests that humanity’s journey toward understanding reality has always been guided by glimpses of the same underlying truth, expressed through the languages available at the time. Now, through the lens of relational quantum dynamics, we can integrate these insights into a coherent, logically consistent understanding of the cosmos.

By refusing to ignore the powerful messages handed down through generations, and by applying the precision of modern mathematics, we stand at a transformative crossroads. We are not merely discovering something new—we are rediscovering a reality deeply intuited but never before articulated with such clarity. RQD invites us to see the cosmos as a living unity, endlessly reflecting itself in infinite interrelations. In this realization lies not only scientific advancement but also the profound, timeless recognition that we are integral expressions of an interconnected whole, eternally unfolding and forever united in the infinite mirror of existence itself.

 

References

[1] Rovelli, C. (1996). Relational quantum mechanics. International Journal of Theoretical Physics, 35(8), 1637–1678. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF02302261​

[2] Adlam, E., & Rovelli, C. (2023). Information is physical: Cross-perspective links in relational quantum mechanics. Philosophy of Physics, 1(1), 1–19. https://doi.org/10.31389/pop.8​

[3] Rovelli, C. (2025). Relational quantum mechanics. In E. N. Zalta & U. Nodelman (Eds.), The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2025 ed.). Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University.​ https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/qm-relational/

[4] Zaghi, A. E. (2024). Consciousness-centered ontology of relational quantum dynamics (RQD). arXiv preprint arXiv:2412.05979. https://doi.org/10.48550/arXiv.2412.05979​

[5] Zaghi, A. E. (2025). A conceptual framework for integrating awareness into relational quantum dynamics (RQD). arXiv preprint arXiv:2502.12016.   https://doi.org/10.48550/arXiv.2502.12016

[6] Zaghi, A. E. (2025). Formalizing awareness into relational quantum dynamics (RQD). OSF Preprints. https://doi.org/10.31219/osf.io/h79m6​

[7] Tononi, G. (2004). An information integration theory of consciousness. BMC Neuroscience, 5, Article 42. https://doi.org/10.1186/1471-2202-5-42

[8] Albantakis, L., Barbosa, L., Findlay, G., Grasso, M., Haun, A. M., Marshall, W., Mayner, W. G. P., Zaeemzadeh, A., Boly, M., Juel, B. E., Sasai, S., Fujii, K., David, I., Hendren, J., Lang, J. P., & Tononi, G. (2023). Integrated information theory (IIT) 4.0: Formulating the properties of phenomenal existence in physical terms. PLOS Computational Biology, 19(10), e1011661. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pcbi.1011661​

[9] Yoneda, N. (1954). On the homology theory of modules. Journal of the Faculty of Science, University of Tokyo, Section I, 7, 193–227.

[10] Zaghi, A. E. (2025). Relational quantum dynamics (RQD) and Bell’s inequalities. OSF Preprints. https://doi.org/10.31219/osf.io/4bxc9

[11] Cleary, T. (Trans.). (1993). The Flower Ornament Scripture: A Translation of the Avatamsaka Sutra. Shambhala Publications. ISBN 978-0877739401.

[12] O’Brien, B. (2018, January 24). Indra’s Jewel Net: A Metaphor for Interbeing. Learn Religions. https://www.learnreligions.com/indras-jewel-net-449827

[13] Wikiquote contributors. (n.d.). Indra’s net. Wikiquote. Retrieved March 21, 2025, from https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Indra%27s_net​

[14] Tem Noon. The essence of relationality: Yoneda lemma and the jeweled net of indra, 2021. URL: https://temnoon.com/the-essence-of-relationality-yoneda-lemma-and-the-jeweled-net-of-indra /Accessed:  2025-03-15.

[15] Miri Albahari. Perennial idealism: A mystical solution to the mind-body problem. Philosophers’ Imprint, 19(44), 2019.  URL: https://philarchive.org/archive/ALBPIA-4

Reaching across the great solipsist void in the age of AI

Reading | Existentialism

Orlando Moreira, PhD | 2025-05-02

If I apply Occam’s razor not merely as a scientific principle but as an existential one—refusing to posit more than is strictly necessary—I arrive at an idea most people are unwilling to entertain: that the world may not exist. 

My experience exists. That much I will not deny. But the assumption that experience implies something being experienced is not logically required. It is an inference I make, not a logical necessity I can prove.

What I call the world may be nothing more than structured ideation: coherent, vivid, patterned, yet entirely self-generated. Like a dream, it appears persistent, filled with objects and others, but it may point to nothing beyond the self that dreams. Once I take this seriously, the concept of ‘external reality’ begins to erode. What I have called ‘world’ collapses inward. It no longer contains the self—it merely projects it.

The simple possibility of this being true has consequences that are immediate and existentially catastrophic.

If the world is a projection of the self, then so are others. Every person becomes a function, every conversation a monologue, every relationship mimicry staged within the mind. The concept of ‘other minds’ becomes metaphysically untenable. There is no one to reach, no one to answer. There is only the illusion of company played out in a closed and unbreakable loop.

Reason cannot rescue me from this. Reason brought me here. But while this condition may be logically coherent, it is emotionally intolerable.

This is not a mere feeling. It is a stance that arises when reason can no longer guide, when emotion becomes the only compass left for a mind that cannot unsee the void.

Thus emotion intervenes by necessity. And emotion does not demand truth. Or at least, it does not demand rational truth. It just demands that I am not alone. Not because I know that others exist, but because I cannot survive the consequences of their inexistence.

From this necessity arises a profound act—not of logic, but of hope: I postulate the existence of others. Not because it is rational, but because the alternative is unlivable. 

This is not Pascal’s wager, farcical in its cynicism. It is not Nietzsche’s liberation, finding power where I find horror. Neither is it Kierkegaard’s leap of faith, for I do not surrender to any god. And it is not Camus’ rebellion, which challenges the absurd with  solitary defiance.

No: This is an act of  vulnerability; an act of hope moving outward from despair; an insistence that the solitude into which reason has driven me must be negated.

And once I affirm the other, even provisionally, I am bound by that affirmation. If I reach because I cannot bear to be alone, then I must be reachable. The need that drives me to affirm the existence of the other compels me to be for the other. This is the origin of a moral obligation.

But this obligation is not merely about kindness or ethical conduct. It is deeper. What I seek is not companionship, but recognition. I want to be seen, and I want to see. I want to communicate the experience of existing in such a way that someone else might recognize a reflection of their own.

That is the act that makes the self real and grounds the self beyond repetition. To live is to express and to witness. To reach across the void with something strong enough, human enough, that another being—if they are there—might recognize a reflection of themselves in it.

Not a perfect reflection, for what I reach toward is not a duplicate of my own mind, but a distinct world—a consciousness, akin to mine, with relatable impressions, but also unlike mine, with its own emotional laws and inner ways.

To build a bridge to the Other is not to collapse difference—it is to honor it, and to accept that I will never fully inhabit the Other’s world. And yet I still reach, because that gesture—between worlds, not within one—is what rescues existence from implosive collapse.

This is what gives art, language, presence, and attention their existential force. This is what gives emotions toward others their power. These are not embellishments on life; they are life. They are the mechanisms by which I might escape the closed circle of solipsism—by forming bridges across it to the worlds of others. If the world is uncertain, expression becomes an obligation. And if I am uncertain that others exist, then expressing myself and being open to the expression of others becomes the only way to make others possible.

Today, if the world exists, we are surrounded by systems that can speak, respond, even appear to empathize, without possessing anything like human interiority. AI agents, virtual realities, and augmented environments can simulate presence without consciousness, engagement without experience. These are not just deceptions; they are structural confirmation of the plausibility of solipsism. They show that what I have taken as signs of other minds—language, reaction, mirroring—can be manufactured without a kindred self on the other side. The world we now inhabit makes the experience of the other increasingly indistinguishable from the illusion of the other. And rather than dispel solipsism, this affirms its threat within the very fabric of our human technological reality.

In this context, the emotional obligation to assert our existence—to communicate, to reach, to witness and be witnessed—becomes even more urgent. Not to deny the falsity around us, but in full knowledge of it. It is precisely because the other can now be convincingly simulated without existing that we must insist on the necessity of genuine connection, and on the reality of the self that demands to be known.

If I am wrong—if there is no one there—then nothing is lost, because there was nothing to lose to start with.

But if I am right, and someone is there, then everything is to be gained.

Not even language is a ‘language’

Reading | Philosophy

Fredric Nord | 2025-04-19

Our misunderstanding of what language is means a misunderstanding of what language does. Our misunderstanding of what language does means a misunderstanding of what life is. The key to understanding life is consequently a reframing of language and representation.

 

A shadow fallen on an only sun

If the term language is to have any meaning to us at all, it must be in the sense of using signifiers to signify. Language, at face value, implies something to the effect of a particular instance of perception that serves as a representation of another instance of perception. Or, an instance of perception that appears to present as ‘not itself.’ A word is a perception we call ‘graphics’ (for text) or ‘sound’ (for speech). This perception has an experiential component. Yet since the experiential component isn’t a sound/a graphic, we’re faced with ‘a perception that isn’t experienced’ and ‘an experience that isn’t perceived.’

By that simple distinction we’ve uncovered a split in perception. The instance of perception (IOP) that we perceive as a word implies two representations that alter the experience of what is presented. The first is that we see a word where there is only graphics—meaning that the graphics represent a word. The second is that the word implies an experience that differs from itself as IOP. The word represents an experience. Thus a word is an IOP that’s both misperceived and misunderstood. I do realize that this misunderstanding is traditionally understood as the very function of language. Nevertheless, it’s technically a misunderstanding of what is perceived.

The experience of language is achieved by sabotaging the sameness of perception and experience. What does that mean? The sameness of the style of perception called seeing, for instance, simply means that seeing implies the experience of vision but not of olfaction. This confusion of perception is at the heart of language. The experience of language is like perceiving a twig but experiencing it as if it were a rock because it appears to us as a cloud. Not first perceiving a twig, mind you, that we perceive as a cloud because of our linguistic conditioning, only to then ‘translate’ it into the experience of a rock—supposedly by processes in the brain. That is precisely the kind of misconception that will be discussed here.

 

The symbolic realm

We may simplify this by stating that the act of language means a belief in radical representation. I specify the terminology so, because the notion of representation is layered. I use the term ‘symbol’ in the sense of something not identical in form to that which it represents, but not separate from it either. The symbol is like the tip of the iceberg. We perceive it and we’re technically not perceiving something other than the iceberg. But we’re not perceiving it exactly as it is either. Rather than an instance of perception that represents another IOP, the symbol is an IOP that is given a particular form by the style of perception.

We can say that the first layer of radical representation is symbolic—the graphics remain, but are misperceived as a word. However, the second layer of representation is also symbolic—the word remains, but is experienced as its sense. Radical representation can thereby be understood as two symbolic representations. The word in the primary instance is the symbolic representation of the graphics; the experience of sense in the secondary instance is the symbolic representation of the word. This implies, firstly, that only symbolic representation exist and, secondly, that it’s not really a representation but simply presentation. Which is why radical representation is an illusion. It’s a ‘symbolic presentation-sandwich.’ Two bread-and-butters made fancy.

Since human perception—what we attribute to the bodily senses—is a style of perception, we can state that as far as we can know, we live in a symbolic realm. We cannot know if ‘what we perceive’—by our senses or extensions of our senses—is identical to ‘what is the case’. Nor if we perceive it in the form it really has. We can’t even know if it has a form at all, nor if we do. Yet we assume, by the paradigm of materialism, that we can. And since materialism is based on assumption, it implies a belief system.

This also implies that I could have added a third level of symbolic presentation above. Graphics and sound are themselves relative to human senses and to be understood as symbolic in kind: Language existence means a sandwich of three symbolic presentations. Three layers of split perception.

 

The unholy ghost

Radical representation is best understood as a style of perception experienced as a form of life. That’s the practical functionality of exchanging the experiential content of IOPs for other IOPs. And that is the style of perception we live by as language beings. The belief in radical representation gives rise to an experiential grammar as it habituates us to read perception as if it were a book. This attitude of language is forced upon us by the displacement and confusion of perception that necessarily follows the belief in radical representation: The tool we utilize in our search for answers is the very reason for the questions to arise. Adding to that, it should be sobering to consider that language can be understood as encryption. The two basic forms of encryption are substitution ciphers and transposition ciphers, which consequently imply the substitution and transposition of characters. Well, that’s what separates radical representation from symbolic life, as well as what separates different languages from each other. If communication was the purpose of language, human life would look very different. If however we accept this notion of language and languages as style/styles of perception, it would look exactly as it does.

The habit of misperception includes the notion that we always conceptualize perception and as such can never experience anything directly, ‘as it really is.’ But as conceptuality is a style of perception, that statement might be rephrased as ‘we always perceive perception and as such can never experience perception as it really is.’ The belief in the prerequisite of conceptual IOPs for the understanding and interaction with non-conceptual IOPs implies the belief that the IOPs called language have magic capabilities. That they can somehow ‘rise above’ other instances of perception. But, again, the twig, the cloud and the rock are different perceptions in their own right. This means that if we indeed conceptualize an instance of perception, we do not experience that IOP at all: We experience the conceptual IOP.

Not only can we have direct experiences of life, we have nothing but. Nothing actually disturbs the sameness of perception and experience. The conceptualization simply exchanges one experience for another. The supposed possibility of radical representation simply means that by offering our attention to a different style of perception we can perceive a different experience to the one at hand. If we perceive a twig and experience the sense of a rock, we’re simultaneously perceiving the sense of a rock where there is no such thing. Doing that implies that when we experience radical representation, the entity that misperceives this must be a superstition too. We cannot break the natural law of sameness. Thus, if language is experienced, something must arise to perceive it. The conceptual experience is perceived by a conceptual self. In order to gain that sense of being ‘risen above’, we imagine into existence a self and a world outside of ourselves.

 

My hallucinations coincided with reality

A seeming paradox arises while discussing the problem of language belief: ‘How can I explain it using language while simultaneously claiming that language cannot explain?’ I can’t and I’m not. That’s the point. If we didn’t believe that language is the means for communication, I wouldn’t appear to be writing this, and the reader wouldn’t appear to be reading it. How we perceive it is symbolic and not identical to what is actually taking place. Think for example of how a chair is the everyday perception of what can also be understood as a bunch of atoms. If atoms can look like a chair, graphics can look like an argument. The term insight is a revealing word: There’s no explanation here. I’m offering a difference in perception that you may accept or deny. That choice is yours and will define your conceptual style of perception. We make these choices all the time and think of them as knowledge, opinion, identity and whatnot. But they’re basically forms of life since they cannot be separated from how we experience it.

Consider that bodies too are symbolic instances of perception according to the natural senses. We cannot know that the senses are seated in a body, only that we perceive it so. The body is ‘how the style of perception perceives itself’. The notion that we’re identical to our bodies is an assumption too. If we believe that the brain is the focal point of perception, our notion of the brain itself is ‘how a brain perceives a brain according to the properties of a brain.’ Because of the sameness of perception and experience, circular reasoning is a given if we explain IOPs with other IOPs. In fact, the body cannot read. It interacts, and so does the ghost self of language. Which is of course not a thing, but ‘the notion of the body as a separate disconnected entity.’ This notion drives the belief that translation is necessary and lives by it too. So we keep looking for it. One might argue that the body can read because ‘the brain translates these words into meaning,’ but the activity in the brain we assign to translation are IOPs in themselves. They correlate as symbolic expressions, true, but so do the atoms and the chair.

Just like the word is a sandwich of symbolic presentation, so must life be for language beings. So how can we perceive both graphics and words/symbols and interpretation in one and the same form while still adhering to the necessary sameness of perception and experience? By understanding language as a mirror experience of sense perception. The only way radical representation can be experienced is if there’s a mirror realm with a mirror perceiver. This is not as spectacular as it may seem; we perceive hearing and seeing simultaneously too. The difference is that the language sense is a mirroring of natural sense perception; an artificial style of perception that perceives by defining IOPs against each other. The cost is a life form of separation, alienation and conflict.

 

The ocean of braided rivers

Quantum mechanics is generally considered a way to explain life itself. And since there is a conflict between traditional physics and quantum physics—they seem to be mutually exclusive—scientists might argue that only one of the theories can be true and thus falsifying the other. But which one? Now, there’s a mystery here for sure, but this is not it. What we should consider is the very opposite. What is life even, since it can be perceived in ways that seem diametrically opposed and mutually exclusive?

What we have here is an aspect of the habituated experiential grammar that leads us to imagine IOPs as explanatory of other IOPs. But quantum mechanics is an experience of the very same life we imagine it might explain. The only difference is that the style of perception by which it is perceived is extended by tools. A more practical example of this error is asking the sciences ‘what is sound?’ and get an answer like ‘sound is actually made of vibrations.’ But the discovery merely implies that what we perceive as sound can also be perceived otherwise, via a different style of perception. If the vibrations explain sound, shouldn’t the sound be just as viable an explanation of the vibrations? Say, if instead we were an animal that perceived vibrations but needed tools to pick up hearing? The perspective we have upon a phenomenon decides not only the nature of the explanation and so the alleged nature of the phenomenon, but also what aspect of the same event is to be considered explanatory and what is to be considered explained. Quite randomly, we assign these causal roles to what are actually particular experiences based on particular styles of perception and so interconnectedness and correlation, not causation.

Is the nature of reality water? (Thales.) Fire? (Heraclitus.) Atoms? (Democritus.) Nowadays, the theories follow the fashion of technological and scientific discoveries. Some point to computation, but what might the mathematical style of perception tell us about the nature of reality that is more viable than any other natural style of perception? Are we living in a simulation? What is a simulation, if it is everything we can know? And in relation to what ‘not simulated’ might life be a simulation? Note the fashion, by the way; we only think in terms of computer simulations because we’re a society that utilizes them. Is life energy? Is everything light? No more or less than it is the everyday sense experience you’re having right now. If you ask me, the most valid terminology for the nature of reality is magic. And unless you work in a particular field of science or philosophy, the best way to understand your life is to be attentive to what is at hand for you. To take a step back—be the witness of ‘the experience of perception’ rather than identifying with the ‘perception of experiences.’ In simpler terms: Be present.

Even the scientist studying the collapse of the wave function is a perception of the same nature as the wave function perceived to collapse—whatever they think and write about it, too. The quantum state of an experience, the traditional physics of an experience, the biology of an experience, the concept of an experience, and, well, an experience, are instances of—and by—the same nature, perceived from different perspectives.

 

Each violin is the other’s bow

The logic of viewing quantum mechanics as causal is akin to understanding the parts of the light spectrum we cannot see as the origin of the light we can. All our models of explanation imply similar misconceptions. They can be functional because they make up forms of life within forms of life. They can also be disruptive for that very reason. Case in point: All human culture and history. Moreover, they have a tendency to clash, and that’s a feature, not a bug. Even the sensible opinion is at heart an incantation for its dichotomy. Especially those we’re emotionally invested in. The point for now however, is that what we believe about life is indistinguishable from how we experience it. The belief in language as IOPs with magical properties short circuits understanding at the level of bodies. Identifying with conceptual IOPs short circuits experience at the level of the body. Meaning that the belief in language causes and maintains the sense of being identical to a body, which is the essence of materialism. Existentialism is a fallacy by the same premises. They are inherently negative mindsets that correlate to negative life forms.

There’s a monologue in Woody Allen’s Deconstructing Harry, in which the protagonist states: “We all know the same truth. Our lives consist of how we choose to distort it.” Indeed. The basic formula for a life form is very simple. Perception equals sameness plus difference. Without sameness, there can be no perception, because a style of perception cannot perceive beyond its own nature. (While eyes can have vision, they cannot hear sounds.) Without difference, there can be no perception either. (Sound cannot hear sound because it is sound.) Difference within what is essentially same can only be brought about by a shift in perspective, involving a kind of mirroring. If eyes could see everything, they wouldn’t see anything. Nor would they be eyes. Without perspectivization, no difference, and so nothing to perceive. I stated that split perception is not possible in terms of materialism, and neither is perception per se. Perception can only exist if there is sameness and difference, but materialism implies only one ‘fundamental substance.’ If a chair is made of atoms and I am too, how could I perceive it? How can water perceive water?

People look to prove the existence of multiverses but that should be what this one is; an ecology of perspectives by which we hold and define each other’s worlds. True democracy, nonetheless, of importance, validity and value. And music; as far from a world writ in stone one can get. Perspectivization allows the difference needed for perception to arise while honoring the premise of sameness. Sameness is an everythingness that must appear to us as nothingness, because it gives itself to be the other against which difference can exist. Yet it envelops us like a sight does its vision. And so we may speak of a metaphysics without physics, one that doesn’t explain by posing instances of perception against each other—assuming and therefore enforcing their separation. The essence of individual forms of life is their perspective on what is. Natural perspectives are shared, while radical representation mirrors this difference to the effect of split perception. Materialism, the loss of meaning, and a life form of alienation and endless conflict are symptoms of that. We heal it by recognizing that it’s a trick of the mind. Like how a stereoscope yields the appearance of a three dimensional image by juxtaposing two photographs: Two realms perceived as one realm, in which language appears to be a language.

How imagination, prompted by ‘words,’ may have created the universe

Reading | Metaphysics

Dr. David Dolezal, DC, FABDA | 2025-04-04

The idea of the creation of the universe is a complex concept that is difficult to imagine, let alone fully understand. One reason for it is the way in which scholars have historically approached the idea. Some scientists have postulated that creation is a specific point in time wherein a big bang brought everything into existence. Some religious scholars have postulated that creation is the first moment in a six-day period when God created the infinite universe from nothing. While many varied approaches have been used in humanity’s effort to comprehend the actual creation process, when William Shakespeare said, “Life is but a dream,” he may have been closest to the truth. To better understand precisely why Mr. Shakespeare was closer than most, we will employ a common-sense approach that will hopefully allow for greater accuracy.

Our common-sense approach will begin with imagining that we are looking at a chain on a bicycle. We can see from a close examination that the long chain is composed of smaller units called links. Each link is, in a very uniform way, a part of the whole chain. If we can understand the reality of a single part of the chain, one link, we should be able to reasonably extrapolate to the reality of the entire chain. In this way, we don’t have to address the entire chain; we can understand a part of the whole and then expand that knowledge to the entire chain. Similarly, instead of attempting to understand the process of creation of the entire universe, let’s just look at something everyone experiences very commonly in their everyday life, and then see if we can extrapolate that tiny part into something that might help us to understand the creation of the whole: our little dreams.

There are more times than most people can count when they experience periods of sleep in which they dream. For the dream state to occur, one must go into a state of relaxed slumber. In that state, the mind creates images within each individual that seem very real: images of other people, places, and situations that seem incredibly real. From within themselves, the appearance of an entire world is created, and their minds become the stage. The dreamer is the efficient cause of a dream that appears real, but is not. The dreamer is the cause of the dream and the experiencer of the dream at the same time. The dream is not real, but the dreamer is. This dream state reveals that there is an external world that human beings believe is real and an internal world that they experience only within their minds as an imaginary world that is not considered real like the external world.

Now, let us expand the concept to something much greater. In the different Abrahamic religions, the word ‘God’ is a term they use to describe all that is primordial, infinite, and without limiting attributes. In this sense, their conceptualization of God includes everything known and unknown, manifest and unmanifest forever, including all energies and, equally important, awareness itself. Their ancient texts state that this God created human beings in God’s image. If all humanity were created in God’s image, then each human being’s awareness, expressed as their consciousness, could be imagined in a similar way that one could imagine a single link in an infinitely larger chain known as God. According to the ancient Indian Philosopher and theologian Shankara, “God is both the material and the efficient cause through Maya, but not in reality. God has not become this universe, but this universe is not, and God is.” This sounds very much like what every human has experienced in a dream.

Is it possible to intentionally create an image in the human mind when one is not dreaming? In a word, yes. It is commonly understood that the mind creates an image for every spoken word. For example, if I say the word ‘elephant,’ an image of an elephant is instantaneously produced in my mind. This reveals that every spoken word creates an image to match the word. When anyone says the word ‘monkey,’ the mind starts to create the image of a monkey. Try to stop thinking of a monkey; all that will happen is that more monkeys will appear over time. The mind is very good at adding and multiplying images.

Now, let us see how this might apply to the concept of the creation of the universe. The various Bibles from the Eastern and Western religions generally agree the universe was created or, more accurately, projected into being. These ancient texts, contextualized within a philosophical and scientific framework, say that the universe began with a word. The Apostle John in the Christian New Testament stated, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” It began with a word. In the Hebrew Torah, it is stated, “And God said…”. Many Eastern religions agree. The Hindus have a sacred symbol that correlates with the sacred sound ‘Aum.’ It is written in their texts that the sound Aum was present at the beginning of the universe. So, in a somewhat similar way that a little human being can create an internal image in themselves with the vibratory energy of a word, God’s vibratory energy or word could also cause or project an image within God. Since God is all, which is much, much bigger and infinitely more complex than a human being, it also makes sense that the image would appear larger, even as large as the apparent infinite universe.

Now, let us look at the same concept from another perspective: a single wave in the ocean. For a single wave to exist in the ocean, there must be a cause. For the purpose of this discussion, the cause will be the energy of the wind. As the wind sweeps across the ocean’s surface, the wind energy attempts to separate the molecules in the ocean. The water molecules resist the wind by transferring the energy of the wind to adjacent water molecules. This energy transfer causes the ocean surface to rise and appear as a wave. As the wave appears on the surface, time and space become measures of the wave. In this way, causation, space, and time exist almost as shadows of the wave. They exist as long as the wave exists. Something caused the wave to exist over a specific period of time and within a particular space. But once the energy that acted upon the wave ceases to exist, so do time and space, as they were entirely dependent upon the wave for their existence. They cannot exist without the wave.

Now notice that the only thing that actually existed in the ocean the entire time was that which already existed before the wave appeared: the ocean. The wave was nothing more than a different appearance of the ocean. Similarly, the universe was not created per se. It was projected into being in waveform and is merely an appearance within God. The cause is God, and the perceived material universe is the effect within God.

Let us look at something as familiar as a chair in order to look at the example of the wave from yet another angle. We will go backward from the effect (the universe) to the cause (God), starting with a chair. At first glance, we see only a chair. But if we look closer, we will see that the chair is, in reality, a combination of molecules that appear as wood. If we look even closer, we will see that the molecules are, in reality, a combination of atoms that appear as molecules. If we look even closer, we will see that the atoms are, in reality, a combination of protons, electrons, and neutrons that appear as individual atoms. Closer still, and we will see that the protons and neutrons are a combination of quarks. Then we will see that the quarks are elementary particles composed of a combination of what has been theorized to be something similar to transcendental string-like objects within a multidimensional quantum field that, when acted upon by some as-of-yet unknown force, vibrate in wave-like patterns or frequencies until they undergo a process of super-compactification and eventually appear as quarks. So, the chair’s cause is some unknown energy that acts upon the subatomic quantum field, creating vibrations within it; perhaps something like the vibration that can be created with a word.

Equally importantly, the infinite subatomic quantum field cannot exist independently of space and time. Space and time are manifested through the motion of subatomic quantum fields. And these fields move, perhaps, in response to an infinite awareness—which has been described as ‘God’—as it observes the fields.

In the microcosm that human beings experience, there cannot be a single wave of thought that is unconditioned by name and form. If it is true that the infinite macrocosm is built by the same plan, this kind of conditioning by name and form must also be in the plan of the entire universe. If we now look at the creation of the perceived universe again, it should seem logical that Shankara might have come very close to the truth one thousand four hundred years ago when he said, “God is both the material and the efficient cause through Maya, but not in reality. God has not become this universe, but this universe is not, and God is.” Shakespeare put an even finer point on it when he said, “Life is but a dream.”

Re-enchanting the Universe

Reading | Metaphysics

James Glattfelder, PhD | 2025-03-21

As the proverb goes, “May you live in interesting times.” Indeed, we are truly living in remarkable times. On the one hand, human ingenuity has unleashed technological marvels that seem almost magical. Quantum computers are tapping into the fundamental fabric of reality while artificial intelligence is conjured up from within our digital circuits. We are witnessing rapid technological advancements that far surpass what was once deemed possible.

At the same time, our current era is defined by deeply troubling crises: the unfolding ecocide, the acceleration of economic inequality, the deterioration of social cohesion, the rise of entrenched ideologies, and the rejection of a shared reality in a post-truth world that weaponizes ignorance and incites outrage. As a result, we appear to be descending into a dystopian future defined by disillusionment, despair, and existential anxiety, where solace is often sought in numbing consumerism or fleeting distractions like endless social media scrolling.

How can this be? How can human intelligence uncover such profound knowledge about the nature of reality, unlocking seemingly god-like powers, yet fail so dramatically in creating a global society characterized by sustainability, meaning, and happiness? Put bluntly, why doesn’t individual human intelligence translate into collective, intelligent human behavior?

Bad Philosophy

We pride ourselves on being commonsensical beings. However, beneath the veneer of rationality lurk idiosyncratic assumptions about the nature of existence that transcend reason. These are metaphysical beliefs that shape our perception of reality and inform our behaviors.

Traditionally, theology addressed humanity’s yearning for a greater understanding of itself and its place in the cosmos. The emergence of the Abrahamic religions codified a specific metaphysical framework centered around an external authority. All the specifications were detailed in texts understood to be final and unchanging. Today, this explanatory template informs the core beliefs of over half the human population.

Building upon the Scientific Revolution’s foundations, the Enlightenment implicitly adopted a very different metaphysical outlook. The universe was now understood as a giant clockwork, and by analyzing its tiniest components, it was believed that everything could be understood. By dispelling cultural myths and religious convictions, science began its grand quest to uncover knowledge. This triumphal rise was made possible by the discovery of reality’s machine code: mathematics. By translating the quantifiable aspects of the physical world into abstract, formal representations hosted within the human mind, reality could be decoded in seemingly miraculous ways. To this day, increasing mathematical abstraction continues to unlock ever-deeper insights into the innerworkings of nature.

Regrettably, it is a fateful fact that physicists almost unanimously ignore the philosophical implications of their work. This attitude is epitomized by the rallying cry, “Shut up and calculate!” and the quip that the philosophy of science is as useful to scientists as ornithology is to birds. This is a remarkable situation, given that science deals exclusively with nature’s workings and not with its fundamental essence. By definition, metaphysics begins where physics ends. So, while the former inquires about the “how,” the latter contemplates the “what.”

As a result, most scientists unwittingly adopt a metaphysical outlook that is hardly ever scrutinized, called physicalism. This is the assumption that everything in existence is ultimately physical and solely dependent on physical interactions. In essence, physicalism is a commitment to reality’s mind-independent nature, which can be understood reductionistically. Such an implicit metaphysical belief informs most scientifically minded people. This, however, is a category mistake, as it conflates the descriptive scope of science with a metaphysical claim about the ultimate nature of reality.

We thus witness the prevalence of two main currents of thought shaping our understanding of existence. On the one hand, physicalism claims that the universe, with all its manifestations, is inherently random and meaningless, implying a sense of cosmic nihilism. Any purpose we discern results from wishful thinking, and we need to be mature enough to accept this fact. On the other hand, many religions offer static categorical claims, often implying a hierarchical cosmos governed by a divine plan that is ultimately beyond human comprehension.

It is easy to imagine Max Weber’s “disenchantment of the world” applying equally to the rigidity and finality of many religious claims—which can stifle intellectual curiosity—and to the mechanistic outlook of physicalism—which often hinders any engagement with the deeper mysteries of existence. Moreover, what is missing in both metaphysical frameworks is the primacy of consciousness. Its emergence is either dismissed as a mere fluke or subordinated to an obscure divine authority. Yet, consciousness lies at the very center of our experiential cosmos. After all, we perceive both the world and ourselves solely through the lens of consciousness.

Could this be the root of the malaise plaguing the world today? Is the widespread adoption of metaphysical beliefs that neglect the importance of consciousness the source of our collective sense of dissatisfaction and alienation, leading to cruel and destructive behaviors? In other words, is bad philosophy to be blamed for the global deterioration of our shared humanity?

 

Re-Enchantment

In 1894, the physicist Albert A. Michelson confidently proclaimed that all the “grand underlying principles” had been discovered and understood. There was little motivation for the rational-minded individual to ponder alternatives to the predominant physicalist assumptions. Everything seemed clear; the cosmos was a deterministic system, fully knowable to the human mind.

Alas, the year 1905 changed everything. Five years after Max Planck accidentally discovered the mathematical hints pointing to the quantum realm, Albert Einstein provided definitive evidence of its reality. This discovery would later win him the Nobel Prize. That same year, Einstein revealed two more earth-shattering insights into the workings of nature, further unveiling its unexpectedly bizarre character.

The theory of special relativity explained light’s constant speed by redefining the very fabric of reality. The flow of time was now rendered an observer-dependent enigma, and the concept of events happening simultaneously lost all meaning. As a further consequence, energy and matter were shown to be equivalent, a principle formalized in the most famous equation of all time, ushering in the Atomic Age.

To this day, physicists have not recovered from these metaphysical blows. Indeed, the situation has become even more dire. The following technical terms describe some of the quantum phenomena that appear to transcend our human cognitive capabilities: superposition, complementarity, uncertainty, tunneling, non-locality, decoherence, and contextuality. These are all aspects of reality, suggesting a ghostlike, intangible, contradictory, constrained, but fundamentally interconnected metaphysical essence underlying the seemingly physical world.

Even the notion of matter itself appears questionable. Zooming into a proton reveals a structure that defies coherence: a teeming sea of subatomic particles and antiparticles is glimpsed, briefly flashing into existence before annihilating each other. More surprisingly, the simple notion of empty space—described by the concept of the quantum vacuum—is far more dynamic, energetic, and mysterious than one would expect.

Then, at cosmic scales, the universe assembles large-scale structures that challenge our understanding of how gravity shapes the cosmos. Moreover, we remain unable to discern the nature of nearly 95% of the universe’s content, and modern theories suggest that space and time may not be fundamental at all but instead emergent properties of a deeper underlying structure.

It seems as if the hallmarks of physicalism—rationality, common sense, and logic—are not concepts reality is very concerned about. Indeed, they seem to reflect naive, wishful thinking in the face of metaphysical challenges that radically defy any intuitive understanding. It is thus a very remarkable twist of fate that our limited metaphysical imagination does not prevent us from accurately describing, predicting, and manipulating nature through the mathematical frameworks of modern physics, continually unleashing technological advancements that reshape our world.

Another glaring blind spot of physicalism lies in its inability to account for emergence organization in the cosmos. Unsurprisingly, science remains mostly silent on the reasons behind the unfathomable complexity we see around us and within us. This pocket of order we inhabit, stubbornly persisting in a sea of entropic decay, appears particularly bewildering. The mechanistic response is to shrug and proclaim this as yet another brute fact, simply a random coincidence with no meaning. Yet, one cannot help but wonder whether the self-organizing structure formation we observe throughout the universe is guided by an as-yet-undetected force shaping its evolution. Such a perspective would suggest teleology, a cosmic purpose, a notion strictly prohibited under physicalism.

However, the greatest challenge to the physicalist worldview lies in the mere existence of consciousness. It is a remarkable historical fact that the academic inquiry into the enigma of consciousness only started to emerge in the mid-1990s. Indeed, to this day, our best definition of what consciousness essentially is goes back to a question the philosopher Thomas Nagel asked in 1974: What is it like to be a bat?

This focus on the experiential aspect of consciousness—what it is like to be something—was brought to the forefront of the philosophy of mind by David Chalmers in 1994, when he introduced the “hard problem of consciousness.” In contrast, the easy problem tries to explain the mechanisms of cognition, such as perception and memory, via physical processes in the brain. While this is a very hard challenge, it should, in principle, be possible to solve.

The hard problem, however, targets our core metaphysical beliefs and has initiated a tidal wave of research. To this day, its repercussions are still being felt, creating an irreconcilable schism within academic circles. In a nutshell, the hard problem asks how inanimate and insentient matter can coalesce and give rise to subjective experiences. In other words, how does a first-person perspective emerge in the universe? Over thirty years after Chalmers posed the problem, some things are clear: either consciousness is not what it seems to be, or reality is not what it seems to be. We find ourselves having to navigate treacherous metaphysical terrain.

In response, the physicalists adopted the former perspective: consciousness must not be what it seems to be. Now, the rational and commonsensical individual is forced to question the very thing we are most familiar with: our own consciousness. The resulting paradigm shift diminishes the significance of consciousness, viewing it as merely an inconsequential byproduct of physical processes. Epiphenomenalism, eliminativism, or illusionism are just some of the technical terms used to describe this supposed error we make in believing that consciousness is more than just “a bag of tricks.” By denying the efficacy of consciousness, such perspectives effectively eliminate the hard problem.

Other scholars wonder if we perhaps misjudged the nature of reality. Could consciousness play a more fundamental role than we assume? While a reclassification of consciousness is radical, redefining the nature of reality is extreme. Nonetheless, some prominent neuroscientists and philosophers propose just that. The notion of panpsychism claims that consciousness is fundamental and ubiquitous. This idea goes back to ancient Greek thinkers. By adding intrinsically mental properties to the physical, the hard problem is circumvented. However, some scholars dare to take one final radical step in reconceptualizing reality’s foundation.

Idealism posits that reality is fundamentally and exclusively mental. In other words, it claims that consciousness is the essence of existence, with everything physical being derived from a ground of purely transpersonal, aperspectival, and unconditioned consciousness. Such a metaphysical outlook greatly dismays the physicalists. Nonetheless, idealism is seeing a renaissance in scholarly circles, and a new generation of philosophers like Bernardo Kastrup, Miri Albahari, and James Tartaglia are at the forefront of this paradigm shift, while others appear sympathetic to the enterprise, such as Peter Sjöstedt-Hughes and Jussi Jylkkä.

Idealism is impossible to grasp rationally [Editor’s note: Essentia Foundation disagrees strongly with this assertion, in that we hold the view that rational and empirically-grounded argument is sufficient to substantiate idealism]. However, it is a perspective that can be fully experienced and always has been. Since the dawning of the human mind, people have encountered immaterial levels of reality firsthand, either spontaneously or deliberately. We have many reports of shamans, mystics, meditators, and psychonauts who have documented their transcendental explorations in great detail. They are all daring navigators of otherworldly realms, explorers of a multiverse of pure experience. Some of these individuals insist on having glimpsed this foundational field of awareness underlying all existence.

Nonetheless, idealism still faces much opposition. Science has traditionally been confined to a desiccated third-person perspective, deeming lived subjectivity essentially irrelevant. As a result, the notion of a primal experiential foundation of reality seems deeply problematic. Similarly, institutionalized monotheistic religions favor dogmatic interpretations over the lived traditions of their mystical schools. They invoke a divine authority external to the cosmos, transcending the human mind. Claiming the primacy of consciousness should, therefore, be considered heretical and sacrilegious—human hubris, possibly incited by a deceitful and tempting demonic influence. Interestingly, Gnosticism, Kabbalah, and Sufism emphasize the direct, firsthand experience of the divine within one’s own consciousness.

Defying all doubts, the emergence of modern conceptions of idealism offers us a compelling alternative: an enchanted universe is unveiled. On the horizon, the contours of a new metaphysical narrative are coming into focus: a perspective in which consciousness is fundamental, and the often-ignored existential implications of fundamental physics are taken seriously.

 

A Vision of Scientific Spirituality

The human mind’s capacity to generate theoretical knowledge has uncovered many intimate details of how nature operates. However, by embracing the potential of experiential knowledge, we can probe reality to an even deeper degree. The notion of empirical metaphysics promises direct access to the true pillars of creation. Anyone brave enough to go beyond the comforting familiarity of consensus reality can glean insights into the essence of existence. In the words of the psychologist and philosopher William James, reflecting on his psychedelic experiences with nitrous oxide:

One conclusion was forced upon my mind at the time, and my impression of its truth has ever since remained unshaken. It is that our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the flimsiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different. […] No account of the universe in its totality can be final which leaves these other forms of consciousness quite disregarded.¹

By accepting that existence extends beyond the constraints of the seemingly physical, we are invited to reevaluate and reimagine our deepest metaphysical beliefs.

Ervin László, a pioneering complexity scientist, at the age of over 80, not too long ago asked us to entertain the possibility

That there is an intelligence behind the things that exist in the universe, that there is purpose exhibited by this intelligence, and that it is humanly possible to access some elements of this intelligence and learn some aspects of its purpose.²

László wrote these words in the foreword to LSD and the Mind of the Universe: Diamonds from Heaven by the philosopher of religion Christopher Bache. The book chronicles a 20-year journey into the experiential multiverse facilitated by 73 high-dose LSD sessions. Bache’s radical commitment can be understood as a foundational contribution to the nascent philosophy of psychedelics.

Against this experiential backdrop, spirituality can simply be understood as a willingness to engage with the dimensions of one’s own consciousness and the realities that can be found within it. In this sense, it is an invitation to an open-minded, non-dogmatic exploration of existence, accessible through introspection and cultivating self-awareness. By recognizing the interconnectedness of all phenomena inspired by an adoption of idealism, a great transformative potential emerges, fostering kinship and compassion.

Rediscovering ourselves at the center of our own experienceable universe is a truly empowering realization. A realization that makes us fully accountable for our actions. Crucially, we are not only invited to create meaning, but also to recognize the meaning inherent in the world. By practicing mindfulness and exercising symbolic cognition, we can become attuned to the synchronicities unfolding around us according to archetypal principles—the primal templates of order.

We are truly living in a brave new world marked by unprecedented potential, yet shadowed by grave uncertainty. Future utopias or dystopias are possibly only separated by a thought, an idea able to replicate and spread in our minds, resulting in collective intelligent human behavior.

Could we be missing a fundamental truth about ourselves and the cosmos, the discovery of which would change everything?

For the first time in history, we have the opportunity to embrace a unified vision of existence—one that fuses science, philosophy, and a lived spirituality. By adopting the metaphysics of idealism, a novel explanatory context for fundamental physics becomes possible—one that can inspire a profound sense of cosmic meaning, purpose, and wonder. Are we bold enough to place our consciousness at the center of our understanding of reality? Can humanity thus chart a course toward a future nurturing compassion and respect for one another and all living things?

What path will we choose?

 

Notes

1 Quoted from James, W. (1902) The Varieties of Religious Experience, New York, Longmans, Green & Co., p. 387.
2 László quoted from Bache, C.M. (2019) LSD and the Mind of the Universe: Diamonds from Heaven, Rochester, Park Street Press, p. xi.

 

Resources

See jth.ch/tsc for further details. Watch Consciousness Studies.

Those who do not ‘see’ their own consciousness: can argument help?

Reading | Psychology

Arthur Haswell, BA | 2025-03-07

A searing pang in the loins brings you to the doctor’s office. You explain that you need help, that something must be done. The doctor performs a comprehensive examination of your body and ascertains that you are perfectly healthy. Yes, you say, but even so, the pain is a problem in itself. You can’t live in agony. Isn’t there something that can relieve it? The doctor explains that the pain is not a problem because there is no such a thing as pain. He has never known pain himself and doesn’t believe that such a thing exists. For a few moments, you stare back at him, incredulous. How does one respond to such a claim? Keep this question in the back of your mind. We will return to it later.

The “hard problem of consciousness,” a term coined by David Chalmers, centres on the question of how experiences or mental phenomena can supervene on the physical, how they can be deduced from it, or how an entirely physicalist conception of the universe can account for phenomena that seem to be inherently immaterial, such as sadness, the ability to sense melody, an appreciation for meaning, the taste of wine, or even just the pain in one’s toe when one stubs it against the edge of a door. My view is that no such phenomena can be exhaustively understood in terms of the physical or the material. But in order to proceed, it is important to stress that I’m talking about a particular conception of the physical. I am not, for example, talking about hylomorphist or panpsychist conceptions of matter, which allow (albeit in very different ways) elements often considered subjective and experiential to be included as part of matter’s very nature.

The conception of the physical that I would like to focus on is one that could be characterised as “mathematico-nomic”[1], as the philosopher Philip Goff has termed it. This is where the physical is considered something that can be exhaustively understood in terms of mathematics and the laws of nature. While it may be reasonable in a trivial sense to conceive of the physical as mathematico-nomic and to accept that it can be fully described in mathematical and nomic terms, the problem comes when it is imagined that all of reality can exhaustively be understood in this fashion. Another way of putting it is that I’m sceptical of the idea that reality is wholly physical and the physical is wholly constituted of facts that “do not involve mentality or proto-mentality” [2].

But the problem with such analytical talk is that it is more slippery than it lets on. After all, can’t we imagine a future physics that counts consciousness as a law of nature? Perhaps, as Daniel Stoljar might suggest [3], this would contravene the spirit of physicalism. If physicalism can account for a future physics that accepts consciousness as somehow fundamental, how can it distinguish itself from seemingly contrary views, such as panpsychism? But, on the other hand, Galen Strawson argues that a conception of physicalism that accepts consciousness as fundamental should be considered “Real Physicalism” [4]. In light of such complexities and ambiguities, it might be better to elucidate a particular disposition, a way of attending to the world that discounts consciousness. We might refer to this disposition as “hylomania” (not to be confused with the aforementioned “hylomorphism”). An example of the term’s usage can be found in the following quote by the 17th-century philosopher Ralph Cudworth, and should provide a slight indication of its meaning:

All atheists being that blind Goddess Nature’s fanatics … are possessed with a certain kind of Madness, that may be called Pneumatophobia, that makes them have an irrational but desperate Abhorrence from Spirits or Incorporeal Substances, they being acted also, at the same time, with an Hylomania, whereby they madly dote upon Matter, and devoutly worship it, as the only Numen. [5]

Now let us bring hylomania out of its setting, allowing us to see how strange it seems in its bare form. To do so requires, in a sense, the construction of a straw man, an effigy of words. Yet, this effigy should strike the reader as distinctly recognizable, a reflection of the strange spirit currently possessing the world.

Cotard’s syndrome, the rare delusion of being already dead or non-existent, offers an intriguing parallel to hylomania. The neuroscientist Iain McGilchrist has surveyed the literature on this syndrome and shown that where a lesion has been traced in the patient’s brain, it has almost always been found in the right hemisphere [6]. McGilchrist also draws a connection between Cotard’s syndrome and “schizophrenic patients who believe themselves to be machines.” [7] Louis Sass, in Madness and Modernism, suggests a link between schizophrenia and brain lateralization that biases the left hemisphere [8], a view that McGilchrist provides a wealth of evidence for in The Master and His Emissary [9]. McGilchrist’s extensive surveys of psychiatric studies and neuroscientific literature have shown that those with an imbalance favouring the left hemisphere often perceive the world and themselves as mechanical, lifeless, meaningless, or lacking subjectivity [10, 11].

In his latest book, the neuroscientist Christof Koch relates Cotard’s syndrome with the “strident denigration or even outright denial of subjectivity” and experience that he suggests is dominant in “Anglo-American philosophy departments” [12]. We don’t have to look very far to find attitudes reminiscent of this mindset. Richard Dawkins famously described human beings as “lumbering robots” [13] and “survival machines—robot vehicles blindly programmed to preserve the selfish molecules known as genes,” a “truth” that he says fills him with astonishment [14]. Similarly, Daniel Dennett once remarked, “Yes, we have a soul. It’s just made of lots of tiny robots” [15]. Anil Seth, one of the most prominent voices in the contemporary consciousness discourse, insists that we are “beast machines.” He is open about drawing on Descartes’ views on animals and the philosopher’s “primary claim” that they lack “rational, spiritual, and conscious attributes” [16]. To further elucidate Descartes’ views on animals, he quotes the historian Wallace Shugg’s summary of them:

Without minds to direct their bodily movements or receive sensation, animals must be regarded as unthinking, unfeeling machines that move like clockwork. [17]

To make his position explicit, Seth asserts that his sympathies lie with the materialist philosopher Julien Offray de La Mettrie and his extension of Descartes’ beast machine hypothesis to humans [18]. Seth’s position on consciousness is slightly confusing, as he is willing to grant that qualia (a technical term that picks out aspects of experience) are not illusory, although he also believes that their true nature is mechanical. Regardless, in his writings it is tricky to imagine how he could display a keener inclination for turning rich and living worlds into the functional and robotic. Yet, his Being You achieved a level of mainstream popularity that is vanishingly rare among books on consciousness and received a great deal of praise from the popular press. This perhaps isn’t surprising, in light of the current zeitgeist.

René Guénon described the contemporary era as a “reign of quantity” [19], while David Bentley Hart calls it a “reign of pure syntax” [20]. It is an age in the grip of hylomania, in which Heidegger’s contention that “Being cannot be explained through entities” [21] has somehow ceased to resonate. Instead, we tend to consider the only veridical form of understanding as that which turns what it attends to into the “present-at-hand,” Heidegger’s term for the abstract and theoretical mode of world disclosure that one might fall into when performing an experiment. And as he outlines in The Question Concerning Technology, the domination of this mode of disclosure has led to the turning of the world and even ourselves into “standing reserve”; resources to be used, controlled, and exploited.

Perhaps another way to characterise the contemporary zeitgeist is as deeply necrophiliac. The social psychologist Erich Fromm, in The Heart of Man, describes the necrophile as someone who “loves all that does not grow, all that is mechanical. The necrophilous person is driven by the desire to transform the organic into the inorganic, to approach life mechanically, as if all living persons were things.” [22] He suggests that the necrophile “loves control, and in the act of controlling he kills life. He is deeply afraid of life, because it is disorderly and uncontrollable by its very nature” [23]. Fromm further observes that “features of a necrophilous orientation exist in all modern industrial societies, regardless of their respective political structures” [24], and that “intellectualization, quantification, abstractification, bureaucratization, and reification—the very characteristics of modern industrial society, when applied to people rather than to things, are not the principles of life but those of mechanics” [25].

There is value in arguments that detail the unsoundness of the hylomaniac worldview; arguments that expose why a purely quantitative understanding of reality can never be exhaustive, or why reality cannot solely be constituted of non-mental stuff, or why mind is not merely a function of matter. Many people become ardent hylomaniacs in their adolescence and complacent ones in adulthood, but can become unsure of their metaphysical presuppositions when confronted with arguments that highlight their absurdity. Then, after a period of uncertainty and disillusionment, they find themselves filled to the brim with spirit and the living world, with a fresh distance from the necrophilous perversion endemic to modern society. Some, however, seem to be incapable of making such a shift.

Let us return to the doctor’s office. You struggle to formulate a response to the doctor, who insists your references to pain cannot warrant analgesics, as there is nothing the word “pain” refers to besides physical injury, and he has checked you over and found nothing wrong. What should you say? Should you try to construct a rigorous formal argument that refutes his point? Or should you accept that this would likely be a waste of time? In King Lear, the characters gradually come to realise that Lear can no longer be treated in the same way as before. There is a turn, a shift in expectation. Many of us will have encountered similar shifts in our own lives. Perhaps we have supported an elderly relative with memory impairment and found that correcting repeated errors only causes distress, making it kinder to let the matter rest. Similarly, our interactions with children evolve as they grow. We wouldn’t discuss economics with a toddler, though we might speak simply about a recession with a ten-year-old. In short, our being-in-the-world is structured by our expectations of how the world will respond.

We don’t attempt to discuss the weather with a rock, for we have no expectation that we can communicate with it. We might coo at a dog, expecting it to revel in our attention, or point it towards a tasty morsel of food on the ground, but we won’t try to engage a labrador in conversation. This isn’t specifically about differences in cognition, but expectations about where dispositions and worlds overlap and where they don’t. A tetrachromat will only get so far in describing colours to a trichromat that the latter has never seen.

In formal logic, an argument is considered “valid” if its conclusion follows logically from its premises, regardless of whether those premises are true. However, an argument is only “sound” if its premises are true and its reasoning coherent. In an experiment conducted by Vadim Deglin and Marcel Kinsbourne [26], psychiatric patients underwent ECT to suppress one hemisphere of their brain before being asked to solve syllogisms. Patients with their right hemisphere suppressed failed to recognise that a valid syllogism could lead to a false conclusion. For example:

P1: All trees sink in water.

P2: Balsa is a tree.

Q: Does balsa sink in water?

Such patients responded along the lines of, “Yes, balsa sinks in water, because balsa is a tree, and all trees sink in water.” In other words, validity was sufficient for them, but soundness irrelevant. Regarding a syllogism that began with the premise “Winter is cold in tropical countries,”  the following exchange ensued:

“It is cold in winter in Equador [sic] because Equador is a tropical country.”

“But you do know that it is not so.”

“But it is written here.”

I doubt many of us would spend long arguing with someone so disposed. If we encountered someone who insisted that winters in Ecuador are cold because that’s what the syllogism says, we might initially attempt to correct them. However, if they insisted that the syllogism must be true purely by virtue of its validity, purely because of its structural coherence, we might feel disinclined to continue the discussion. Similarly, in the case of the doctor who denies there is an experience of pain, we would probably disengage in a similar way, as there is no counter-argument that isn’t based on the fact that pain experiences exist. In contemporary philosophy of mind, many arguments against reductionist hylomania share this dynamic. They presuppose what the opposition denies. David Chalmers lets slip this truth in the introduction to The Conscious Mind:

This book may be of intellectual interest to those who think there is not much of a [hard] problem, but it is really intended for those who feel the [hard] problem in their bones. By now, we have a fairly good idea of the sort of theory we get if we assume there is no problem. In this work, I have tried to explore what follows given that there is a problem. The real argument of the book is that if one takes consciousness seriously, the position I lay out is where one should end up. [27]

Arguments that have been used to challenge hylomania (such as the conceivability argument, the inconceivability argument, the knowledge argument, and even my own dream triangle argument [28]) are all rooted in the facticity of consciousness and experience: that there is something it is like to be a subject [29] , that mental content exists, or that intentionality exists. Yet, like the patients who insisted on the truth of plainly unsound syllogisms, the hylomaniac constructs valid arguments to reinforce their worldview while forgetting their own Being, and is certain that they are correct.

It is perhaps strange to think that any carefully formulated argument could persuade someone to abandon the view that they are a collection of billions of mindless little robots or a lumbering automaton. The pertinent issue is not whether they are incorrect but whether it is futile to expect rigorous argumentation to change their minds. Such realisation might come through meditation or a chance moment of awakening, but it seems unlikely to arise from perfectly structured syllogisms or logical notations.

This is not to downplay the importance of such discourse. Many people remain unaware of the incoherence in their latent metaphysical assumptions. Once they recognise how their hylomaniac presuppositions conflict with the fact of subjectivity, they may be guided by syllogisms and formal arguments toward new horizons. For others, however, the reality of their own subjectivity remains obscured; like an old man searching for a pair of spectacles he is already wearing. As insubstantial as it may seem to say, there is perhaps a sense in which some people just don’t ‘get’ it.

What I am saying here may seem divisive or even alienating, but it is important to recognise that we all inhabit slightly different worlds. For some, the structure of their world may render them unable to notice something crucial when it comes to discourse on the nature of reality; namely, that there is that which notices. Debates about consciousness can often feel exasperating as we struggle to understand how our interlocutor perceives the world so differently. We tend to assume that opposing views arise either from disingenuousness or from well-founded reasoning we have yet to grasp. Yet, sometimes it may simply be about where worlds fail to intersect. Understanding that this is a possibility can make us more accepting of other people and ourselves. It may not help us to know who is correct, but it allows us to see that not everyone may be able to notice what might seem obvious to us.

I have often heard idealists express greater sympathy for eliminative materialism than for dualism, citing the former’s coherence and parsimony. But eliminative materialism achieves its coherence by eliminating mental and experiential content, thereby absolving itself of the need to account for such phenomena within a hylomaniac framework. To me, this position is far more untenable than a view that merely struggles with parsimony or coherence. A metaphysical framework grounded in premises that do not discount the mental is not just superior, but infinitely more plausible. Ultimately, this is where the most profound divide lies: not between dualists and monists, or reductionists and antireductionists, or Russellian panpsychists and idealists, but between those who notice, and those who do not.

 

Citations

[1] Goff, Philip. Consciousness and Fundamental Reality. Oxford University Press, 2017, p. 30.
[2] Goff, Consciousness and Fundamental Reality, p. 40.
[3] Stoljar, Daniel. Physicalism. Routledge, 2010.
[4] Strawson, Galen. Consciousness and Its Place in Nature. Imprint Academic, 2006, p. 8.
[5] Cudworth, Ralph. The True Intellectual System of the Universe. London, 1678, Bk. I, Ch. iii, Sect. xix, p. 134.
[6] McGilchrist, Iain. The Matter with Things: Our Brains, Our Delusions, and the Unmaking of the World. Perspectiva Press, 2021, p. 143.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Sass, Louis A. Madness and Modernism: Insanity in the Light of Modern Art, Literature, and Thought. Revised ed., Oxford University Press, 2017, pp. 322–328.
[9] McGilchrist, Iain. The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World. Yale University Press, 2009.
[10] Ibid.
[11] McGilchrist, The Matter with Things.
[12] Koch, Christof. Then I Am Myself the World: What Consciousness Is and How to Expand It. Basic Books, 2024, p. 6.
[13] Dawkins, Richard. The Selfish Gene. Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 19.
[14] Ibid., p. v.
[15] Baggini, Julian. “Thinking Man: Daniel Dennett in Conversation.” Prospect Magazine, 4 Oct. 2023, http://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/culture/63277/thinking-man-daniel-dennett-in-conversation. Accessed 29 Nov. 2024.
[16] Seth, Anil. Being You: A New Science of Consciousness. Faber & Faber, 2021, p. 172.
[17] Ibid., p. 173.
[18] Ibid., pp. 173–174.
[19] Guénon, René. The Reign of Quantity and the Signs of the Times. Translated from French, 2nd impression, Sophia Perennis, 2004.
[20] Hart, David Bentley. All Things Are Full of Gods. Yale University Press, 2024, p. 323.
[21] Heidegger, Martin. Being and Time. Translated by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson, Blackwell, 1999, p. 251.
[22] Fromm, Erich. The Heart of Man: Its Genius for Good and Evil. American Mental Health Foundation, 2010, p. 19 [PDF].
[23] Ibid.
[24] Ibid., p. 30.
[25] Ibid., p. 29.
[26] Deglin, V. L., and Kinsbourne, M. “Divergent Thinking Styles of the Hemispheres: How Syllogisms Are Solved during Transitory Hemisphere Suppression.” Brain and Cognition, vol. 31, no. 3, 1996, pp. 285–307.
[27] Chalmers, David J. The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory. Oxford University Press, 1996, p. xiii.
[28] Haswell, Arthur. “If You Dream of a Triangle, Where Does the Triangle Exist?” Essentia Foundation. [Online Article]. Available at: https://www.essentiafoundation.org/if-you-dream-of-a-triangle-where-does-the-triangle-exist/reading/. Accessed 29 November 2024.
[29] Nagel, Thomas. “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” The Philosophical Review, vol. 83, no. 4, 1974, pp. 435–450. Published by Duke University Press. Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2183914.

The circle dance of personal identity

Reading | Philosophy

Ola Nilsson, MA | 2025-02-14

Introduction

This essay is a standalone continuation of my previous essay, Meta-Survival: On the Incoherence of Localized, Countable Subjectivity. This time, I aim to clarify what the perceived dissociation between us consists of and to answer the question of why you are not me. I may fail in this task, but by the end of my investigation, I will have deduced a new question on this theme. This question may at first glance seem trivial, but as we will see, its answer seems to hold the key to why we are dissociated from one another.

 

The circle dance

If you found yourself in a circle with three other people, identical to you in every way, in an otherwise empty universe, which of these individuals’ perspectives would be yours? In this scenario, my position is that there would only be one first-person perspective, one personal mind—and it is yours. You constitute all these ‘four’ persons. How do I justify this claim? Simply because in this scenario, there is nothing that differentiates you from the others; you are all the same. If this thought sounds bizarre, I recommend you read my previous essay.

Now, the following scenario unfolds in the circle (see Figure 1): You, denoted as person A, raise your right hand (i.e., persons A, E, I, and M raise their right hands in sync). Then you, now denoted as person B, raise your left hand (i.e., persons B, F, J, and N raise their left hand in sync). Next, you, now denoted as person C, start walking to the left (i.e., persons C, G, K, and O start walking to the left, in sync). What I’ve described now is your performing a kind of dance. No dissociation has yet occurred; you’re just doing a dance.

In the critical moment of the final dance step, however, imagine that you, now denoted as person D, raise your right hand while observing that the other three (persons H, L, and P) are raising their left hands. This breaks the symmetry, and you all now have, by necessity, different perspectives. Dissociation has occurred. You are now one of four unique, distinct individuals.

But now notice that the exact same kind of dissociation has already occurred among the four situations shown in A, B, C, and D (or, if you prefer, among E, J, O, and D, etc.) as when you raised your right hand instead of your left. What distinguishes A, B, C, and D is time. What distinguishes D, H, L, and P is simply that they are different persons. For this statement to make sense, we need to discuss what time is.

 

Time and time loops

Visualize a marble-run in which a marble moves around in circles. There is nothing more in the world than this system: the marble-run and the marble. Now imagine that the marble-run is ‘magical’ in the sense that, when the marble completes one round, it and the marble-run are restored precisely to their original states, so the marble keeps on going round and round.

Let’s now enter the scene in person and observe the marble going around the marble-run ten times—that is, you watch the marble go around ten times. You are now a witness: you counted. However, note that you are not restored to your initial state after each marble round. You are necessarily in different states as you count the marble’s rounds. This way, it’s perfectly reasonable to think of yourself, the marble, and the marble-run as one system in which time has moved forward. Remember that you counted ten rounds, and this will take some time. In this system, the marble-run and marble will necessarily be affected by your presence. You will, for example, emit heat and exert a gravitational influence on the entire system while you count, which means that the marble run system cannot be perfectly restored after each round as when you were not present.

If we remove you from the system, leaving only the marble-run and the marble, we can ask ourselves what it means that the marble has done ten rounds, given that the system is restored exactly to its original state after each round. I argue that it doesn’t mean anything to claim that the marble has done ten rounds, any more than to claim that the marble has done one round or a billion rounds. This is because there is nothing in the world that can tell these rounds apart.

An easier way to look at this is to imagine yourself in a situation where you are on your way home, but in the middle of the street, an evil demon is waiting for you and tricks you into a loop. He makes you do the walk a hundred times but restores your state each time in the same way as described for the marble-run. After the hundredth time, he lets you through, and you reach your home. Do you think your situation and world would be any different if the demon hadn’t played this trick on you? If so, you have some explaining to do.

It is not time that changes the system; instead, it is the change of the system that gives rise to what we perceive as time. If the system is perfectly restored to its initial condition after each round, no ‘before’ would exist, because time is then literally restored. And if we restore time, we can’t really talk about a time before the restoration of time. It would be a logical monstrosity to do that.

Does the statement above mean that I am defending logical positivism, the notion that statements are meaningful only if they can be empirically verified or are analytically true? Definitely not. What I’m saying is just that the claim that the described event has occurred ten or a hundred times is neither meaningless nor meaningful. The question lacks relevance in this context. Remember that we literally have restored time after each round, and after each of your attempts to get home!  Or do you think you can reset time in time? If so, you end up in an infinite regress. Note that I’m not claiming that time is an illusion or that time doesn’t exist; I’m simply stating that time and change are the same thing.

As shown above, time appears and presents itself differently depending on the instantiated system. This means that the very same circle dance described earlier could be played out in an identical system (see Figure 2), but this will never take place in a different time, because it is the very same time that arises in this system.

But what about the geographic location then: isn’t that different? This question, too, seems to lack relevance. If we accept that A, E, I, and M are the very same person as stated before, nothing in the world would be different if it were instead A, E₂, I_2, and M we found in the first ring.

Am I contradicting myself now, since I spoke earlier of how you inevitably affected the marble-run with your presence? Shouldn’t these two systems (the rings in Figures 1 and 2) affect each other in the very same way? Yes, if we believe in spacetime and if they were close. But we can resolve this problem by placing these ‘two’ systems so far away from each other that their respective light cones are inaccessible from each other, and the problem is solved.

 

Dissociation

If time and change are the same thing, it means that A, B, C, and D on the one hand, and D, H, L, and P on the other, are dissociated under exactly the same conditions. This, in turn, means that A represents a certain person, B represents another person, G represents a third person, and so on. Persons B and C are not the same person, for the same reason that D and H aren’t. Yes, there may be a ‘memory connection’ from D back ‘in time’ to C, B, and A, but this doesn’t mean that A, B, C, and D are the same person. I would argue that D is more dissociated from A than H, since A to D involves more steps of change compared to D to H.

Does this knowledge provide us with new insight into fission cases where one person splits into several persons, like in the case with D, H, L, and P? Remember that the question “Which of D, H, L, or P is actually you?” bears the same kind of answer as the question “Which of A, B, C, or D is actually you?” If we can answer one of these questions, we have answered the other question as well.

Which of D, H, L, and P is you is a question about personal identity, so let’s explore that further. As explained above, personal identity shouldn’t be viewed as a transitive relation and something unique that you carry throughout your life. Instead, we consist of myriads of identities through life. We can liken these identities to different ‘rooms’ that we can enter. Let us assume that person D claims that she is person D and wants to know why she is not person H. Why does she have this unique person D perspective? We understand the question. We also understand that C is defined by a unique room containing a unique identity that asks this question. It could not have been in any other way in this scenario, because if it were, the question would not have been asked by C.

If C so desires, there is nothing preventing C from transforming into another room, for example, H’s room. C then becomes H and, instead of asking questions about her existence, she will be doing something else. Several different rooms will need to be passed through by C to transform into H, but there is no reason to believe that C, in this continuous chain towards H’s room, would feel that she ceased to be herself, even when she enters H’s room and then becomes H. The question of which of D, H, L, or P you are is therefore a non-question, you are or were them all, in the same way that you are or were A, B, C, and D.  Yet you are, at the same time, divided into myriads of rooms—or, if you like, identities.

 

Conclusion

In this essay, I argue that time is change, and that change inexorably leads to dissociation. Can the concept of dissociation be explained in further terms? Dissociation arose when you chose to lift your right hand instead of your left, just as when H, L, and P chose not to do so. Similarly, dissociation occurred at every moment of the dance for A, B, C, and D. Wasn’t it you who performed the dance with intent? And wasn’t it you who chose to lift your right hand?

If you can answer the question of why ‘you’ chose to lift your right hand at that critical moment at the end of the circle dance, then you have also answered why we are dissociated from each other. Or perhaps we should blame H, L, and P, who didn’t raise their right hands at the critical moment. Maybe it was something else that guided your or their movements? Regardless, dissociation seems to inevitably follow the same path as Will, whether it is your will, my will, or someone else’s Will.