No ghost, just a shell: A rejoinder to Keith Frankish


This essay is a rejoinder to Keith Frankish’s reply to my original criticism of illusionism, the notion that consciousness is an illusion.

An initial reflection

In criticizing illusionists such as Frankish, one is always faced with the dilemma of either writing with the general public in mind or the individual illusionist one is criticizing. The most effective line of reasoning is different in each case, for the public isn’t tied up in the conceptual and definitional knots illusionists create for themselves. Indeed, whereas the public—watching from a more objective, uncommitted vantage point—can easily grasp the blatant circularity and inconsistency of the illusionist argument, the illusionists themselves are too immersed in their own story to fathom any of it. Instead, one must first meet them where they are, otherwise they will choose to believe that their points are merely misunderstood by their critics.

Having always written with the general public in mind, it thus comes as no surprise to me that Frankish should feel certain that I do not grasp what he is saying. At no point does he seem to entertain the possibility that I actually understand perfectly well where he is coming from, why he thinks what he thinks, and yet still consider his story blatantly absurd.

As a matter of fact, in the early years of my career as a computer engineer, I wrestled intensely with the question of how to build computers that would consider themselves conscious even if not programmed to do so; that is, how to construct a machine that would not only perform calculations, but also spontaneously claim to experience these calculations, just as you and I experience the goings-on in our brain. This wasn’t armchair philosophizing for me, but a very concrete and practical question. And that’s precisely why I ended up wasting so much time on it: I never stopped to examine the implicit assumptions embedded in the very problem statement that motivated my search.

And so it was that, in the first years of the 21st century, Pentti Haikonen, a researcher at Nokia, came up with a computer architecture that would not only consider itself conscious, but—Haikonen thought—also in fact be conscious. Haikonen’s deeply insightful realization was two-fold: first, the original semantic anchoring of the input signals fed into the computer should be preserved—as opposed to being encoded into arbitrary binary symbols—if the computer is to consider itself conscious; second, feedback loops should be inserted in the architecture at strategic points, so as to allow the computer to introspect by re-representing its own computational activity.

Haikonen’s approach, which I recognized as brilliant and hold in very high esteem to this day, can be regarded as effectively elaborating—much more specifically and persuasively than Frankish himself—on Frankish’s claim that introspective (mis)representation is what leads to the belief that we are conscious. As such, and implausible as it may sound to him, I believe I actually understand why Frankish considers illusionism so compelling. I am very familiar with the thinking and motivations behind it, in a fairly high level of (engineering) detail.

Indeed, Haikonen creatively tackled many of the difficulties I had identified for building a machine that could spontaneously claim to be conscious. Alas, we would be unable to verify such claim, for the only way to know would be to be the machine. Yet, the claim alone would already be a remarkable engineering achievement, one I was very interested in contributing to.

When it comes to us, however, it’s not just a matter of making spontaneous claims: we actually know that we are conscious, for we are ourselves. In our case, therefore, we must address the hard problem of consciousness, which Haikonen’s architecture—despite his philosophically naive claims to the contrary—completely fails to do: instead of creating consciousness in the phenomenal sense, his approach merely presupposes it. And so does Frankish’s.

No amount of structure, complexity, feedback, recursion, re-representation, etc., can make a substrate presumed to be fundamentally unconscious produce experience, in the same way that no amount of added speakers can turn a stereo into a television, and that no amount of extra legs can make a centipede fly. Recursive re-representations can only complexify pre-existing experiential states, not create them from something fundamentally non-experiential. More specifically, what recursive re-representations can do is to make pre-existing phenomenality accessible to metacognitive introspection, not create it.

Conflating consciousness with metacognitive awareness

For Frankish, it is our ability to introspect by metacognitively re-representing our neural processes that characterizes what we call consciousness. He writes:
It is a mark of conscious experience that we are, or can easily become, aware of having it. We can direct our attention inward (‘introspect’) and think about the experiences we are having.
It is this introspection that, according to Frankish, creates the illusion of qualitative experience: “Our introspective systems monitor these [neural] processes but misrepresent them as a simple quality,” he says. “The illusion concerns the nature of these processes—the belief that they are simple qualia.” Later he continues: “It is this emphasis on the effects of introspection that makes the notion of illusion so appropriate here.”

The problem is that Frankish conflates phenomenal consciousness—that is, raw experience, ‘what-it-is-likeness’—with meta-consciousness. As Jonathan Schooler explained in his 2002 paper, Re-representing consciousness: dissociations between experience and meta-consciousness,
Periodically attention is directed towards explicitly assessing the contents of experience. The resulting meta-consciousness involves an explicit re-representation of consciousness in which one interprets, describes, or otherwise characterizes the state of one’s mind.
But phenomenal consciousness does not require meta-consciousness: if an experience falls outside the field of our attention, we have the experience without being aware that we are having it. For instance, we regularly experience our breathing without metacognitive representation. Moreover, as discussed by Jennifer Windt and Thomas Metzinger in their 2007 paper, The philosophy of dreaming and self-consciousness: What happens to the experiential subject during the dream state, dreams largely lack introspective re-representation, despite their undeniably experiential nature. Even the emerging ‘no-report paradigm’ in neuroscience rests on the understanding that experience can—and frequently does—occur without explicit introspective awareness, such as in the cases of blindsight that Frankish likes to cite.

In conflating consciousness with meta-consciousness, Frankish is failing to heed a key conceptual distinction already discussed by philosopher Ned Block in his important 1995 paper, On a confusion about a function of consciousness: whereas introspection requires metacognitive access, it doesn’t need to be phenomenal. Phenomenal consciousness, in turn, doesn’t need to be introspectively accessible in order to exist. These are two different things.

Therefore, Frankish’s appeal to introspective (mis)representation to explain experience away is based—as I originally claimed—on conceptual confusion: if experience isn’t there to begin with, we have no reason whatsoever to believe that introspective re-representations would be, or even seem to be, experiential either. Instead, everything would happen ‘in the dark,’ without the light of awareness.

Eating the cake and having it too

For Frankish’s position to have any relevance in helping tackle or circumvent the hard problem of consciousness, what he must deny is phenomenality, felt experience, qualia, ‘what-it-is-likeness.’ Anything else, despite potentially having some other philosophical application, would be irrelevant as far as the hard problem is concerned.

Unsurprisingly, thus, Frankish often emphasizes that what he denies is precisely phenomenality, qualia, experience. For instance, already in the subtitle of a recent essay, he wrote that “Phenomenal consciousness is a fiction written by our brains” (emphasis added). This doesn’t seem to leave much room for ambiguity, as philosophers use the qualifier ‘phenomenal’ precisely to specify, unambiguously, that what is meant by the word ‘consciousness’ is qualities, felt experiences, ‘what-it-is-likeness.’

But to deny the qualities of experience is to deny, for instance, that we feel pain; is to say that our agonizing screams under torture—as well as the accompanying physiological processes—are merely functional, useful for getting help; but that, from the inside, none of the dreadful qualities we associate with pain are actually felt. If Frankish denies the qualities of experience, presumably he wouldn’t mind undergoing torture, which I very much doubt to be the case.

And so, in his reply to me, Frankish already starts out by acknowledging that it is “utterly ridiculous” to claim that “people are not conscious, don’t have experiences.” He goes on to say that “illusionists don’t deny that we are conscious,” that there is a “sense in which we undoubtedly are conscious,” that “our lives are filled with conscious experiences.” Really? What is it, then, that illusionists do deny?

“What illusionists reject is a certain conception of what consciousness is,” Frankish claims. But then again, if illusionism is to have any relevance as far as the hard problem is concerned, the “conception of consciousness” that must be denied is precisely that entailing pain and emotion, felt experiences, which Frankish has just acknowledged to exist! Any other conception of consciousness—such as Block’s ‘access consciousness’ or Schooler’s ‘meta-consciousness’—is irrelevant for the hard problem: it still leaves us with having to explain how raw experience, whether metacognitively represented or not, arises from an allegedly non-experiential substrate.

Frankish thus faces an impossible dilemma, which he can only tackle by systematically contradicting himself. He deserves our sympathy, for the job of manufacturing even a smidgen of plausibility for what is the most incongruous maneuver conceivable to the human mind—that of denying itself—is not exactly easy. On the one hand, he must acknowledge that “illusionists don’t deny that we are conscious,” otherwise they would just be crazy. On the other hand, he also has to claim that
Illusionists reject the qualitative conception of consciousness. They hold that qualia, and the private show they constitute, are illusory; they seem to exist but don’t really. This is the core claim.
How are we to square this circle? Frankish seems to be making a distinction—which he conspicuously doesn’t elaborate upon—between experience or phenomenality on the one hand, and felt qualities on the other. He acknowledges the former while, bizarrely, denying the latter. Yet, to reject the “qualitative conception of consciousness” is to deny experience, phenomenality, phenomenal consciousness itself; after all, the latter is defined as entailing the felt qualities of experience.

Is Frankish playing some silly game of words? In what sense is he acknowledging that we have pain and emotion if he is denying the qualities that pain and emotion are? Granted, pain and emotion are associated with certain functions and behaviors, but this has nothing to do with consciousness. By focusing on function and behavior to the exclusion of qualia, Frankish is merely ignoring the hard problem, closing his eyes to it, not tackling or circumventing it in any meaningful sense.

When he reassures us that “illusionists don’t deny that we are conscious” and thus aren’t outright crazy, Frankish is appealing to our intuitive understanding of conscious states as felt qualities. But then, having accomplished that, he immediately turns around and rejects the “qualitative conception of consciousness” so as to portray his approach as relevant to addressing the hard problem, instead of something utterly trivial. Which one is it? He can’t have it both ways. Either he is sane, or his work is relevant when it comes to the hard problem.

Explanation by redefinition of terms

Contrary to what Frankish suggests, the qualitative dimension of experience isn’t a merely conceptual reality, but a felt and immediate one. It is very important that we keep this in mind.

You see, there are many entities in science whose only accessible reality is conceptual: think of imaginary numbers in mathematics or quantum fields in physics, for instance. The world behaves as though these conceptual entities existed and, as such, it is very useful to imagine that they do. But we have no immediate, felt access to them; all we know about them is our conception of them.

Therefore, these conceptual entities are perfectly amenable to being redefined, if doing so helps to make sense of things. For instance, it has been useful to redefine gravity as a curvature of spacetime, instead of an invisible force acting between two bodies from a distance. We have no direct acquaintance either with the curvature of spacetime or the invisible force, so we might as well feel free to redefine gravity based on theoretical convenience.

However, an analogous rationale does not apply to phenomenal consciousness, for the qualities of experience aren’t merely conceptual; they are immediately felt. By rejecting “a certain conception of what consciousness is” illusionists aren’t making these felt qualities disappear; they are merely ignoring them, pretending that they don’t exist.

Indeed, whatever definition of consciousness we choose to use in our conceptual games, there remains this thing—this undeniable thing immediately accessible to us prior to all conceptual reasoning—that will continue to exist whatever we call it. The hard problem of consciousness is essentially about this thing, not the word ‘consciousness.’ If you think the label ‘consciousness’ shouldn’t be applied to it, fine, I don’t care, call it something else; call it… well, the ‘thing.’ But the thing won’t cease to exist just because you renamed it. Even if we can’t appropriately define it in words, it won’t be affected; it will remain what it is and has always been. Terminology games don’t change reality, no matter how hard we wish they did.

Frankish, however, seems to think that he can make the felt qualities of experience—the thing—disappear simply by redefining terms. Consider the following passages from his reply:

“experiences are physical states of the brain”

“consciousness consists, not in awareness of private mental qualities, but in a certain relation to the public world”

“It is this global broadcasting and its effects that constitute consciousness”

“I am proposing that consciousness is this complex of informational and reactive processes”

Hey, I can play this game too. How about ‘consciousness is the involuntary microscopic twitching of my left big toe’? Or—just a little more seriously—‘consciousness is the collapse of the quantum wave function in the synaptic clefts of my prefrontal cortex’? In terms of explanatory power, are these statements really so different from “consciousness is a complex of informational and reactive processes”? Are they any less arbitrary? Do definitional statements have any explanatory power at all? Do they solve any problem?

The bottom-line is this: We know first-hand what consciousness is, regardless of how the word is defined. It doesn’t matter how often and how passionately Frankish repeats his statements of faith, it is this thing we know that matters; it won’t disappear because of semantic games. Substituting redefinitions of terms for actual argument just won’t do. Otherwise, I would have won the Fields Medal long ago by merely redefining yet-unsolved problems in such a way that the solution would be trivial.

Failure to grasp the criticism

Frankish’s central point is that our introspective re-representations of our own physical brain states are illusory in the sense that they don’t accurately portray said brain states. That’s why—in his view—we mistakenly think we have qualia, instead of just physical brain states: the latter are metacognitively misrepresented as seeming qualia, which is the illusion in question.

My original refutation of this argument was as simple as it was generic: if the misrepresentations seem qualitative, then the very seeming is already a quality, regardless of what the misrepresentations seem like. After all, an illusion is already a felt experience in and of itself, regardless of its lack of representational accuracy. The implication is that we do have qualia, not despite our re-representations being inaccurate in the way Frankish claims them to be, but precisely because of it.

Yet, Frankish failed to understand this simple point. He misconstrues and misportrays it as something unnecessarily more restrictive, which can be seen in the following passage (if you find it too difficult to follow his reasoning, no worries, I summarize it in simpler words below):
Could we seem to have qualia without really having them? Kastrup thinks not. ‘Good Lord,’ he exclaims, ‘the ‘seeming’ is already an experience in and of itself.’ Does this simple point blow illusionism out of the water, as Kastrup supposes? There’s one way it might. Suppose that … seeming to perceive a thing involves being aware of the mental qualities one would have been aware of if one were really perceiving it. Then, by analogy, seeming to introspect a mental quality would involve being aware of the mental quality one would have been aware of if one were really introspecting it. And that, presumably, is the very same mental quality. The illusion would involve a real instance of the thing that was supposed to be illusory! … The flaw in this objection is obvious: it assumes that experience involves awareness of mental qualities.
What Frankish is saying here is that my criticism holds if, but only if, our alleged misrepresentations of perceptual brain states correspond to “the mental qualities one would have been aware of if one were really [consciously] perceiving.” But such constraint is not at all necessary for my criticism to hold: whether the alleged misrepresentations match what would have been the actual qualia of perception or not is irrelevant, as long as the misrepresentations seem like something; anything; it doesn’t matter what. The seeming alone already entails felt qualities—whatever they may be—and, therefore, felt qualities must exist.

Even if what is misrepresented are physical brain states—as opposed to experiential qualities—the corresponding seeming, in and of itself, is already an experience entailing its own (illusory) felt qualities. Therefore, contrary to what Frankish claims, the only assumption my criticism makes is that there is seeming, which is precisely what illusionism requires (otherwise one cannot speak of illusions to begin with).

Final reflections

I earn my living doing corporate strategy in the high-tech industry, perhaps the most rewarding but also most unforgiving environment for analytic thinking. In that world—my world—even subtle and understandable failures of reasoning are very quickly—and often disproportionately—punished, either by management or by the market. Reality can always be counted upon to settle all questions in a rather brutal but objective manner; something I have grown to appreciate over the years, for it forces me to be constantly critical of my own narratives.

It strikes me, though, that in philosophy one seems to be able to get away with incoherent thinking indefinitely. If one cannot clearly and substantively argue for one’s own position, verbose misdirection, ambiguity and handwaving often sustain just enough doubt about whether one is actually wrong. And so, nonsense can survive ad infinitum. There is always the lingering doubt that, hidden behind impenetrably obscure language constructs and indecipherable conceptual acrobatics, there might just be some deep, non-obvious philosophical insight. Yet, often there is none; often things are precisely what they seem to be: very confused and self-contradictory thinking. Perhaps this is the reason why philosophy doesn’t seem to make progress.

Although I have made a deliberate effort in this essay to patiently meet the illusionists where they are—so as to do something different than just repeating my original criticisms, most of which Frankish didn’t even address, such as my claim that he falls for the fallacy of infinite regress—it remains my position that illusionism is the most ludicrous and self-defeating view conceivable. Nothing in the history of human thought is, or can be, more preposterous than it. That some otherwise intelligent people espouse it is, in my view, merely a psychological artifact—a desperate attempt to salvage an untenable metaphysics many have associated their very identity with—not the outcome of clear, rational thought.

My willingness to engage in an extensive, detailed and protracted debate about illusionism should, therefore, not be construed as a sign of respect for it; I have precisely none. In fact, I find it embarrassing to be in a position of having to argue against it. My doing so reflects merely a begrudging acknowledgment that our philosophy is in a lamentable state and that, if anything is to be done about it, it must be done from within our present circumstances.

In a less confused world, illusionism wouldn’t even be a joke. Perhaps we will get there one day. In the meantime, however, brutally honest, even scathing public criticism may be the only system of checks-and-balances available to preserve the sanity of philosophy. The present essay has been written in this ultimately well-meaning spirit.
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The new corona virus: Opportunity in catastrophe


The news are now dominated by the new corona virus pandemic. And for good reason, for the pandemic touches almost every aspect of our lives: our jobs, our social interactions, our schools and even our ability to stay in touch with family. For most professionally active adults in the West, who were born after the last great war and have never lived under armed conflict, what is happening now is the greatest disruption of commercial, social, financial and health care systems they've ever witnessed.

Indeed, our present situation is a very serious one. Should the pandemic be allowed to spread in an uncontrolled fashion, most of the work force could fall ill concurrently, compromising our most essential systems. Who would be there to deliver our food, maintain our basic utilities—water, gas, electricity—in working order, or even take care of us in case we fell ill ourselves? However limited the mortality rate of COVID-19 may be, if the disease makes a large percentage of the population ill at the same time, dramatic social break down could follow.

Yet, despite the seriousness of our situation, there are good reasons to think that not only did we get lucky, but an opportunity has forced itself upon us that may be of enormous value in the future. As Bill Gates and many others had been warning us—see video insert below—a global viral pandemic was an inevitability. Things like this are bound to happen in an interconnected, globalized economy in which people travel around the world regularly for both work and leisure; where basic supply chains span the globe. So the basic question has never been 'if,' but 'how bad' it was going to be.




Indeed, the last major viral pandemic, in 1918, was also propelled by the massive movement of people—armies—around the world for the purpose of waging war. Today, the movement of people and goods is vastly larger and farther-reaching. So only naive wishful thinking and an ostrich attitude—that of burying one's head in the sand to avoid seeing the obvious—prevented us from acknowledging that what is happening now was inevitable.

Given this context, we have been tremendously lucky: the new corona virus has a relatively low mortality rate, compared to the likes of ebola or the 1918 "Spanish flu" virus (which, by the way, didn't come from Spain, but likely from the USA, France or China). Moreover, unlike the "Spanish flu"—which affected young, professionally active adults most severely—the new corona virus affects mostly the elderly, retired part of the population.

I am not saying that the lives of older people are any less valuable than those of younger ones. In fact, a case could be made that, if anything, the reverse statement might hit closer to the mark. However, the social disruption of incapacitating professionally active people—who deliver our food, ensure our utilities keep on working, and take care of us in case we fall ill—is certainly higher than incapacitating retirees. This is merely an objective observation, not a value judgment.

I am also not trying to minimize the drama and loss caused by the new corona virus. For those who perished from it, as well as their families, the current pandemic is as bad as any pandemic could possibly be. For them it is—for very legitimate reasons—offensive to minimize its impact, for they've already lost what was dearest to them.

But it could have been a lot worse. The present pandemic is serious enough to force us to prepare ourselves better for the next, potentially much more destructive one. Yet, it is not a force that can decimate our civilization. As such, it serves as a kind of wake up call, a painful warning that should force us to get our act together. Without it, the next time round our civilization could collapse.

There is another potentially positive side to the drama we are undergoing: the present pandemic offers us an opportunity to revise our unsustainable way of life and experiment with alternatives. In fact, it forces us to try the alternatives, which we would probably have never done otherwise. For instance, we are now forced to dramatically reduce the out-of-control travel binge we have been indulging in for decades. In an era of highly effective and ubiquitous telepresence technology and video conferencing, hundreds of thousands of corporate managers have nonetheless been traveling half way around the globe—multiple times a year—for business meetings. Airplane tickets have become so ridiculously cheap—far cheaper than the actual cost of flying, if we take sustainability and carbon footprint into account—that, every year, multiple and massive human migrations take place: we call them 'holidays.'

Now, the new corona virus is forcing us to think and act more locally; to work more from home as opposed to clogging highways, practically eliminating traffic jams. This sudden change is dramatically reducing pollution and perhaps even forcing us to connect more with our homes, families and immediate environment. It is forcing us to rediscover the richness of what is immediately around us, as opposed to exotic, far distant lands. These aren't bad things. Hopefully, we will have the wisdom to keep some of it after we come out of this painful exercise, as opposed to going back to our crazy old ways. We can turn our present misery into something of tremendous long-term value, on which the sanity and lives of future generations may very well depend.

At an economic level, the devastating effect of the present pandemic is plain to see. Businesses are struggling to keep going. On a more personal note, my pension fund has shrunk to levels comparable to those of several years ago, which certainly isn't fun. However, even here there is an opportunity, if we only pay attention: for decades we have—insanely—linked economic health with growth. The reigning corporate wisdom has been that a business that doesn't grow is a dead business. Yet, our planet isn't growing; it has the same basic resources today that it had millions of years ago. And it also has the same capacity for absorbing pollution without unpleasant consequences. So growth just can't go on forever.

Eventually, we will have to find a way to break our economic dependence on growth. This conclusion is as obvious as it is inescapable. The problem is that we live under a system that stimulates irresponsible pillaging until the eleventh hour: we know we will have to stop doing it at some point but, until then, we will rush even more and try to pillage more than the next guy; just like the race driver who tries to brake at the very last moment before the curve, risking life and limb in the process. This is the reigning psychology of Western capitalism, a psychology of collective suicide. Perhaps the present pandemic will force us to break away from it, to look into the possibility of separating economic health from growth. If it does, then this, too, is a good thing.

For now, our focus must be on surviving the outbreak with the minimum possible level of loss and suffering. But as we do so, it doesn't hurt to pay attention to the changes being forced upon us, and think about whether these changes are worth keeping for the long run, even after the pandemic subsides. For instance, we have the technology to continue to embrace remote work and video conferencing, which we haven't done more broadly thus far merely because of prejudice and force of habit. But now that we are being forced to make this option work, we can learn a thing or two. A lot of good can come out of an otherwise very difficult and painful situation, if only we pay attention.
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PBS's Spacetime: The role of consciousness in quantum physics


It is no secret that one of my favorite shows online is PBS's Spacetime. They found a unique combination of rigor and accessibility, spicing the whole thing up with a certain 'coolness' factor that makes the show very enjoyable to watch. Only very rarely do they seem to make mistakes—a surprising achievement given the complexity of the subjects explored.

In this context, many of you brought to my attention a very recent episode of Spacetime—see video insert below—in which they discuss the role of consciousness in quantum physics. This is a topic very close to my heart, about which I have written extensively (for instance, on Scientific American). But some of you were quite critical, thinking that Spacetime weren't fair in their portrayal of the relationship between consciousness and quantum mechanics.


I did watch the episode in question only a couple of hours after it was released, so by the time your comments began streaming in, I already had an opinion. And, perhaps surprisingly to some of you, my opinion is... well, quite positive.

Granted, Spacetime were critical of the idea that quantum mechanics—through the notion that consciousness causes wave function collapse—somehow permits us to "manifest" our preferred reality by thinking it into existence. But insofar as the consciousness in question is understood to be our personal, egoic, introspectively accessible consciousness, neither do I think this is the case. Perhaps our subliminal mental attitudes—at a deeper, even transpersonal level, below the threshold of metacognitive introspection—do influence things in some yet-unsuspected way, but that doesn't entail or imply that we can personally and deliberately choose, "manifest" or "attract" things; otherwise there would be no consensus about our inhabiting the same world. Therefore, I don't think the skepticism shown by the Spacetime crew is unjustified or inappropriate.

Neither do I naively think that quantum mechanics hasn't been the target of abuse by non-physicists. Although I defend—in an upcoming paper in the Journal of Near-Death Studies—some statements about quantum mechanics made by non-experts in the fields of parapsychology and integrative medicine, I do acknowledge that extensive abuse has happened; also in those fields. For instance, not long ago, in my role as consulting publisher at Iff Books, I've had to review a manuscript that not only betrayed extraordinary ignorance of what quantum mechanics is or says, but also displayed an atrociously confident tone suggesting the contrary. It literally made me feel sick in my stomach. So abuse does happen and must be countered. That Spacetime decided to do this is, in principle, perfectly okay with me; even though I reserve judgment about some of the specific books they chose to name explicitly as instances of abuse.

As a matter of fact, I was very positively surprised by a number of statements made in the episode that not only admitted to a possible link between quantum physics and consciousness (the latter meant here in a transpersonal, naturalistic sense), but also persuasively explained the basic rationale for postulating such a link in the first place.

Indeed, Spacetime were clear (at just after the 12-minute mark) that their criticisms don't apply to what they called a "global consciousness." Significantly, they've also spent most of the episode thoroughly explaining 'von Neumann chains' and the 'Wigner's friend' thought experiment: two of the reasons to suspect a link between consciousness and quantum mechanics. Even more importantly, they did not attempt to refute the rationale behind either notion. In a strong sense, thus, they've actually made a persuasive case for the role of consciousness. At the 12:24-minute mark, they've even explicitly stated that "conscious observation may play a role" in the transition from quantum states to classical reality, although that role isn't compatible with the notion that we can personally and deliberately choose our own reality.

The only point about which I am mildly critical of the episode is this: Spacetime came through too strongly in favor of a completely objective external reality. Recent evidence shows that, at some level, this isn't true. That said, and as Spacetime illustrates with their modified version of the 'Wigner's friend' thought experiment at the 11:05-minute mark, we clearly seem to inhabit the same world, consistently experienced by each of us. So it cannot be the case that we are each creating our own reality independently of everybody else; at least not at all levels.

I also regret a bit that they too strongly associate the link between consciousness and quantum physics with mysticism, as opposed to a natural process. Consciousness, after all, is natural; it's an undeniable aspect of nature, the prime datum of existence. Having said that, insofar as what they mean by 'mysticism' is related to the notion that the executive ego can wish a preferred reality into existence, I am okay even with that.

What we have to guard against is the tempting but almost certainly false notion that, by granting a fundamental role to consciousness in the fabric of reality, we are granting our personal, individual, introspectively accessible consciousness magical powers. This is not, for instance, what analytic idealism entails or implies. When Wigner's characterized the role of consciousness in physics as a "solipsistic view," he was denying precisely this, not the hypothesis of a universal consciousness underlying physics.

All things considered, I salute Spacetime on another beautiful and fairly well balanced episode. May they keep on coming!
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Echoes and reflections


Echoes and reflections

The inscrutable mysteries we seek to understand,
are but the outer appearance of our effort to understand.
The baffling complexities we inquire into,
are but the inner structure of our inquiring.
Thus those who inquire simply,
suspect simple answers.
But those who inquire deeply,
may become lost in the labyrinth of their inquiry.

All mysteries are returning echoes of ourselves:
should we stop the effort to fathom,
nothing would be left to be fathomed.
For the universe is a mirror.
That which is familiar in awareness,
is close by in space.
But that which is alienated in awareness,
is far away.

Blackholes, quasars and supernovae at the edge of space:
returning echoes
of the impersonal within us;
reflected images
of the bizarre foundations of our true being;
remote whispers
from the most alienated parts of ourselves.

As our instruments of inquiry improve,
so the mystery recedes beyond the event horizon.
For there is but one thing to be grasped:
that which is trying to grasp.
If the mystery were solved,
existence would cease.
And thus, as Gödel hinted, there shall always be a mystery;
one mystery.

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Dim-witted biologist: consciousness is accidental

Daphnia (crustacean water flea).
It's finally Friday evening and my week's work is done. The past few days have been very productive at all levels, both in my day job in corporate strategy and my evening pursuits in philosophy and science. And so I feel entitled to indulge a bit in something utterly unnecessary but nonetheless fun: to comment on Jerry 'Berry' Coyne's latest attempt to criticize my work.

Indeed, Jerry Berry has found time to post about me not once, but twice in only a few days, in between his demanding, prolific and essential work commenting on the "best and worse Oscar dresses," "six pounds of steak in 13 minutes (not to mention salad, fries, and onion rings)," and the "words and phrases [he] hates." I feel honored to deserve so much attention from such a distinguished polymath, versed in so many distinct fields of scholarship.

The target of Jerry Berry's latest rant and rage has been an essay I wrote claiming that, under the premises of mainstream physicalism, phenomenal consciousness—that is, subjective, qualitative experience—cannot have been the result of Darwinian evolution. The gist of my argument is that, according to physicalism, only quantitative parameters such as mass, charge, momentum, etc., figure in our models of the world—think of the mathematical equations underlying all physics—which, in turn, are putatively causally-closed. Therefore, the qualities of experience cannot perform any function whatsoever. And properties that perform no function cannot have been favored by natural selection.


Jerry Coyne implicitly but unambiguously acknowledges my point that consciousness, under physicalism, doesn't perform any function.


Jerry Berry offers a number of alleged refutations of my claims. He starts by arguing that the qualitative, subjective experiences that accompany the cognitive data processing taking place in our brain may have been merely "byproducts ('spandrels') of other traits that were selected," or "they could have been 'neutral' traits that came to predominate by random genetic drift."

Let us take stock of what he is saying here. To begin with, he is implicitly but unambiguously acknowledging my point that consciousness, under physicalism, doesn't perform any function; it's useless (thank you for admitting to this, Jerry Berry, as this is the critical point). Then, he argues that consciousness could have evolved as a byproduct ("spandrel") of the complexity of the brain or even be a merely accidental feature.
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A materialism of qualities?


In a previous post, I suggested that some people who proclaim to adhere to the materialist metaphysics in fact misapprehend what materialism is. One example of misapprehension I mentioned was the implicit notion that, although the brain produces the felt qualities we call thoughts and emotions—that is, endogenous experiences—the qualities of perception, such as color, flavor, smell, etc., are thought to really exist out there in the world, not inside our skull. These people subliminally assume that the physical world is the qualities displayed on the screen of perception, which contradicts mainstream materialism.

Indeed, according to materialism all qualities, including those of perception, are somehow—materialists don't know how—generated by the brain inside our skull. The external world allegedly has no qualities at all—no color, no smell, no flavor—but is instead constituted by purely abstract quantities, such as mass, charge, spin, momentum, geometric relationships, frequencies, amplitudes, etc.

Triggered by my post, a long-time reader of mine, who also writes about philosophy, wondered if we could conceive of an alternative form of materialism precisely along the lines above. That is, can we devise a coherent 'qualitative materialism' according to which the qualities of perception are really out there in the external world—whether they constitute that world or are merely objective properties of it—while only non-perceptual experiences, such as thoughts and emotions, are generated by the brain? The answer is no, but if such a smart and well-informed reader felt tempted to entertain the thought, I think it is worthwhile to elaborate more here.

For starters, notice that the qualities of perception—color, smell, flavor, etc.—also appear in dreams, imagination, visions, hallucinations, etc. Many dreams and hallucinations are qualitatively indistinguishable from actual perceptions, something I have verified multiple times—to my own satisfaction—during lucid dreams and psychedelic trances. So if colors and other perceptual qualities are really out there in the external world, then somehow our inner mental imagery can also incorporate the exact same qualities independently of the external world.

This is problematic for qualitative materialism, for it entails postulating two fundamentally different grounds for the same qualities: in one case, the qualities are inherent to the matter out there in the world; in the other case, the exact same qualities are somehow generated by material arrangements in our brain, which themselves do not have those qualities.

For instance, the brain—that reddish object inside our skull—does not itself display the colors of the rainbow when we look at it on an operating table. Yet it can generate—under the premises of qualitative materialism—the dream-imagery of a rainbow. Analogously, the brain itself does not sound like anything. Yet, it can generate—still under the premises of qualitative materialism—the dream of a lovely concert. So the same qualities must be both fundamental to matter when they occur outside our skull, and also epiphenomena of material arrangements when they occur inside. This doesn't seem coherent to me.

You see, even if the perceptual qualities of our inner mental imagery are just remembered from earlier perceptions, under qualitative materialism the brain still has to epiphenomenally generate the experience of re-living the memories, despite not having the entailed qualities in its own matter. For instance, the brain has to epiphenomenally generate the re-experiencing of a rainbow—which entails experiencing many colors—without having all those colors in its own matter. So we still end up with two fundamentally different grounds for the same qualities.

But that's not all. The defining principle of all formulations of metaphysical materialism is that the classical, macroscopic world beyond our private mentation, as it is in itself, is objective; that is, its properties are independent of observation. Under qualitative materialism, this means that the perceptual qualities of an object—such as e.g. its color—are objective, intrinsic to the object itself, not private creations of our personal mind. Therefore, these qualities can only change if the object itself changes.



Let's make this more specific with an example. Consider the squares marked and B, respectively, in the figure above. We clearly perceive square A as dark grey and square B as light grey. Under qualitative materialism, these perceived qualities are in the squares themselves; their colors are objective, beyond our personal mentation; dark grey is a property intrinsic to square A as it is in itself, whereas light grey is a property intrinsic to square B as it is in itself. Therefore, for as long as we don't change anything about squares A and B themselves, their colors should remain the same.

In the figure below, squares A and B are shown again, with no modification except for some zooming; only the rest of the original figure above has been removed (if you can't believe it, watch this). Can you still perceive the light grey color? If by altering merely what was going on around squares A and B, without touching the squares themselves, we managed to make a color disappear, how could this color—this perceived quality—have existed 'out there,' beyond our personal mind, to begin with? How could it have been objective in the first place?
Mainstream materialism preserves the objectivity of the classical, macroscopic world around us by stating that the colors—or any other quality, for that matter—we perceive are generated by our brain, inside our skull. This internal generation of qualities depends not only on the internal characteristics of our visual system, but also on the external context of observation. This is why we perceive the colors of the squares differently depending on context.

Qualitative materialism, on the other hand, has problems accommodating not only color illusions, but any perceptual illusion. Do you see the circles in the figure below rotate? (Click on the figure for a higher resolution version, where the effect is more powerful.) If so, qualitative materialism would presumably say that this perception is objective; that the circles on the screen, outside your private mental life, are themselves moving. Yet, this would contradict myriad other ways of observing the circles (e.g. through instrumentation), which would destroy the illusion of movement. Thus the qualities associated with experiencing the rotation cannot be objective.


Qualitative materialism can't work. Self-declared materialists who unwittingly associate the plausibility of their position with this misapprehension of what materialism means should rush to review their worldview.
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There is method to the condescension


My previous post has gotten a lot of comments—some positive, some negative—particularly in my forum. On the negative side, a criticism often leveraged against my essay writing style has, unsurprisingly, returned: some of you dislike the condescending tone of my criticisms of materialism, preferring me to stick to purely objective, sober argumentation without scornful overtones. I understand the point and acknowledge that my essay writing sometimes is indeed a little disparaging.

However, contrary to what some might assume, this isn't a reflection of my evil personality (I actually tend to be quite kind in person); it is and has always been deliberate, aiming to achieve something very specific that I consider integral to my work. Allow me to explain.

Since at least the late 19th century, the western intellectual establishment has placed materialism on the high-ground of reason and plausibility (how and why this happened is something I discussed here). The attitude of most academics, for instance, is that the burden of argument and evidence rests squarely on those who do not endorse materialism, even though the latter has devastating—even insoluble—problems of its own.

Consequently, idealists such as myself must fight an uphill battle against entrenched prejudices. Throwing rotten tomatoes down from the high-ground of rationality they believe to occupy, many materialists feel they don't even need to bother acquainting themselves with the opposing argument before mocking and dismissing it. When an entire intellectual establishment is biased in your favor, I guess it is hard to avoid this kind of entitlement complex.

And indeed, the entrenched metaphysical bias that plagues our intellectual establishment manifests itself in the derogatory manner in which materialists feel entitled to criticize other metaphysics. Such derogatory behavior, in turn, reinforces and perpetuates the entrenched bias. The result of this vicious circle is a normalization of conceit, indolence and condescension; provided that they are expressed by materialists. The more we see non-materialist views being disparaged, the more the notion is subliminally inculcated in our minds that materialism is the default metaphysics; the most plausible, coherent and 'serious' view of reality.

The problem is that materialism is neither plausible nor coherent. As a matter of fact, the only reason it isn't considered bonkers is the peculiar intellectual habits developed by our western culture since the early Enlightenment, in the 17th century. The rational high-ground materialists believe they occupy is a fiction without basis on fact or reason, a mere cultural artifact of our ephemeral age.

And this is why I deliberately adopt a condescending tone in my criticisms of materialism and the incoherent arguments of its spokespeople: to level the playing field; to restore some semblance of balance; to help legitimize and normalize a hard-nosed critical attitude towards materialism as well.

Through my own rather uncompromising and vocal example, I want to help others give themselves intellectual permission to overtly break with the mainstream storyline if they can't buy into it. By getting accustomed to seeing materialists being as disparaged as they disparage others, and on solid grounds, perhaps our intellectual establishment will eventually realize that its favorite metaphysics is just a tentative story full of holes; something far, very far from an unassailable fact.

I deliberately emphasize my utter lack of reverence for materialism in an attempt to help dispel its religious aura of untouchable metaphysical superiority. I want to grab the pretentious little impostor by the hair, pull it down to the earth and drag it through the mud in full view of everybody, so people see that materialism isn't a god in the pantheon of reason, but just a very vulnerable conjecture—a mere opinion—full of holes. My overt scorn for materialism aims to get us slowly accustomed to the fact that it is as legitimate a target of rational criticism—and yes, even disdain—as any other metaphysics might be.

The equations 'evidence + reason = materialism' and 'science = materialism'—nonsensical as they are—are very prevalent in our culture and have very real effects. In philosophy circles, for instance, I feel that dualists, panpsychists, cosmopsychists and idealists alike tend to be somewhat shy, submissive, apologetic, even reverential, when submitting their case to the scrutiny of an overwhelmingly materialist intellectual establishment. They seem to implicitly concede that materialism has some kind of head start, so that the full burden of argument and evidence falls on them alone. I find this an extremely counterproductive attitude without any basis on fact.

I make a point of conceding nothing to materialism that it hasn't earned on the basis of good argument and evidence, as opposed to mere intellectual habit; and I explicitly reject the materialists' presumptuous claim of rational high-ground: they have the same burden of argument and evidence as the rest of us. My tone aims at illustrating this attitude by example, so to help non-materialists vanquish their needless inferiority complex.

Only by publicly desecrating the false god—dragging the bully by the ear and then scolding it—can we reveal to the world the weakling it has always been. By subjecting materialists to scornful criticism—the same kind they liberally dish out to others—whenever I have a strong, substantive basis to do so, I am trying to empower those who are skeptical of materialism but fear being taken for irrational 'mystics.' I want to help intelligent people give themselves permission to feel proud—not insecure or shy—of repudiating materialism on rational grounds.

A cultural game as this admittedly is, I believe it is as integral a part of my work as elucidating and promoting idealism, for I have never seen others playing the role I've described above; at least not as explicitly as I've been trying to. The substance of my arguments has always been, and shall always remain, the foundation of everything I do; I have never replaced, and shall never replace, substance with empty rhetoric. But whenever the foundation is solid and the chance is presented to me, I shall not be shy to leverage it for maximum rhetorical effect. I believe this to be necessary to restore a semblance of metaphysical balance to our culture and I wish others would join me in the effort.
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