Tag: Highlight

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.