A liturgy of riddles

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First, there is the great illusion,
teeming with the dust and rocks
of planets and stars and galaxies, 
the vaster spaces of seeming 
things, each spinning in its place, 
evolving in a light cone of its own 
distant now, declaiming 
manifold and epic tales
on the grand stage,
without which the all
would not be what is 
and could not become 
what will be.

Second, there is the process
that creates the wonderment,
more profound and fundamental
than any seeming thing could ever be, 
a ubiquitous, unremittingly recurrent 
event that transmutes the possible
and resolves the probable 
into broken, discontinuous, 
irreversible moments, 
outcomes that purge 
every chance but one,
that take from the all
to make the many,
and from the many
take a moment
and make it one.

Third, there is the choice
that can never be unmade,
a seemingly random 
selection, a leap, a whim,
an indeterminate decision 
outside of cause or reason,
birthing unexpectedly
rebellious particles,
tiny freedom fighters
soaring unseen paths
to unforeseen destinations,
their mysterious appearances,
each as unlikely as each,
together forming precisely
the shape of a wave,
all as likely as all.

Fourth, there is the becoming,
the embrace of the unexpected, 
the rolling of dice, the possible
meaning of the whole production—
illusion, process, choice—a drama 
of probabilities, the grand 
theatrical illusion enabling 
what is to imagine what could be, 
the determined wave steering 
the plot precisely without measured 
conviction, the choice injecting 
mystery and happenstance
into every scene and act,
while the author watches 
excitedly, marveling 
at illusory moments, 
the tattered script 
almost forgotten, 
riddled with omissions, 
strikethroughs, placeholders,
each marking an unforeseen 
turn of the plot, a dropped
line, a sudden improvisation—
because the all does not know all, 
can see barely beyond the peaks 
and troughs of the next wave, 
a wave whose shape even 
the most humble player 
could alter with a decision, 
a whim, a swerve that subtly
bends the arc as it converges
ineluctably on an ever evolving,
surprisingly dynamic mean.

Finally, there is only unity,
unbroken, undivided,
no lines, no separation,
only borderless connection
from the nearest here
to the most distant there,
for it is us and we are it,
one illusion, one process,
one choosing, one becoming,
and beneath, above, within,
infinite fields of everything 
and nothing, the one all.

City on a hill

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Imagine now the red waters,
the boiling flow cooled with time,
watchful centaurs long gone,
tyrants and warmongers mingling
among the crowd, unrecognized,
souls gathering on the banks
for solemn rituals of cleansing,
white baptismal gowns sheer
and glowing against the late sun,
the leering elders and sneering
passers by watching as our bare
feet step gingerly into pink
shallows, the flow leaping to catch
the hem, seeping readily into dry
white fabric, now bleeding, floating
on the surface as our toes grope
for rocks on the river’s bottom,
chills climbing up our legs,
creeping to our shocked loins,
our pricked-up waists and chests, until
we lie back in the preacher’s arms,
immersed finally in the thick
flood, holding our breath with closed
eyes, not seeing the mimicking
hand in the air above, pretending
to make the holy sign, pressing
us down—shivering dark, frightened,
suspended, listening—just long
enough so that we rise gasping,
dark and dripping, the heavy gown
clinging to our dyed shapes, wild eyes
turned up, searching the dimming skies,
waiting desperately for saving
waters to rain down and cleanse us
until we stand upon the shore
spotless again, glistening white.

How many

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We do not know,
because we do not count.
We do not count
because we do not want to know.

Because we do not count,
they do not count.
That is all we want to know
of those we do not count or know.

Is consciousness both emergent and fundamental?

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Among philosophers and scientists there is a persistent dispute about the nature of consciousness that seems to recur more often than almost any other.

Is consciousness an emergent by-product of brain states, an epiphenomenon of matter, or is consciousness a fundamental element of existence?

Most contemporary scientists and analytic philosophers support the first position. They point to the impressive discoveries of neuroscience and the long, slow evolution through natural selection of what we know as consciousness. Nonmaterialist philosophers tend to respond that such explanations are overly reductionist and do not account for the everyday subjective experience of consciousness or its deep metaphysical significance.

Their entrenched positions seem to allow for little common ground. Nevertheless, is it possible that this long-running dispute has an almost obvious resolution? Could both sides be correct in some important sense? Could consciousness be both fundamental and emergent?

Philosophers and scientists such as Dennett[1], Ismael[2], and Seth[3] offer convincing descriptions of how natural selection results in the emergence of brain functions from the raw materials of molecules and cells. They present logical arguments for why consciousness does not exist at a fundamental level of particles and forces but emerges at a higher level among biological entities. The conscious organisms whose evolution they describe look and feel like the self-aware entities that we recognize as human beings. Yet their consciousness arises solely in emergent systems constructed from the interactions of more fundamental particles and forces.

Does that mean that those fundamental particles and forces must hold the seeds of consciousness?

Mitchell[4] constructs a theory of emergent consciousness on a foundation that rests squarely on fundamental physical interactions. He argues that free agency in living organisms arises from the inherent indeterminacy of quantum evolution. Randomness built into the probabilistic physics of the wave function breaks the chain of deterministic causation, enabling emergent systems to exercise causal influence.

Penrose theorizes that noncomputable elements of consciousness arise from the same fundamental processes. He argues that the quantum reduction phase of quantum evolution, in which quantum probabilities resolve into unique outcomes, results in moments of “proto-consciousness” that can be orchestrated into complex consciousness like our own.[5]

Both Mitchell and Penrose recognize that human-like consciousness depends on evolution of brain processes over billions of years, but both also ground the emergence of consciousness in the most fundamental process in the universe—the time evolution of the quantum wave function.

The quantum reduction element of time evolution results in uniqueness and separability, prerequisites for the emergence of distinct systems with separate “selves” capable of self-awareness or self-reflection. Could that fundamental process of resolving quantum probabilities into unique outcomes be the spark of consciousness and free agency? Does the “magic” of consciousness depend on the seeming “magic” of quantum evolution?

If so, consciousness is both emergent and fundamental. Not in some mystical sense, but in an entirely physical sense. Consciousness emerges from the interaction of particles and forces as physicalists describe precisely because those interactions are the origin of consciousness. At its most basic level, the mechanistic requirement for the universe to choose—intrinsic to the resolution of quantum probabilities into unique outcomes—may be the building block, both physically and philosophically, for consciousness and free agency.

So yes, this perennial dispute among philosophers and scientists may have a resolution, one that requires neither supernatural assumptions nor rejection of the fundamental role of consciousness in the universe. Consciousness may be both completely physical and also a fundamental element of existence.

[1] Dennett (1991).

[2] Ismael (2016).

[3] Seth (2021).

[4] Mitchell (2023).

[5] Penrose (1994).

What is it like to be an electron? (Part II)

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Is it possible to know what it is like to be an electron? On the face of it, the question seems ridiculous. Humans are far distant from electrons on the ladder of existence. We place ourselves at the top, and electrons near the bottom. As far as we know, there is nothing that it is like to be an electron. An electron does not have the self-awareness necessary for a sense of what it is like to be anything.

So logically it is impossible for us to know what it is like to be an electron, as impossible as knowing what it is like to be an atom, or a molecule, or a cell, or a blood vessel, or even an arm or a leg. There is nothing that it is like to be any of these things.

Yet we are comprised of all these things. There is something that it is like to be these things together. We are conscious of the combination into what we experience as a nebulous sense of self. And that self has a sense of what it is like to consist of separate components. We reach for things and appreciate having arms, hands, fingers. We walk and feel what it is like to have legs, feet, and toes. We experience pain when a part of us is injured. We are aware intellectually of cells, proteins, and the function of DNA. We are aware even of molecules, atoms, and quantum wavicles.

So why does our sense of self seem to exclude awareness of what it is like to be these separate things? How can it be that we are not aware at all of what it is like to be the things of which we are made?

The seeming hierarchy of awareness

We often think of awareness and consciousness as binary experiences. You are either conscious or not conscious, aware or not aware. But the metes and bounds of awareness and consciousness—what it is like to be something—may be as nebulous as our sense of self. Awareness is not constant and unchanging. There are different types of awareness, different degrees of awareness, and different moments of awareness that shift with circumstance.

We like to think that our nebulous selves have active awareness and control of our bodies. We stand and walk; we pull up a chair and sit; we think and write. Yet we know that active awareness and control do not extend to all physiological functions. Knees jerk without permission when a doctor taps the patellar tendon. We breathe without instruction. We can stop breathing for a while but eventually breathe anyway. Our active awareness has only partial control of involuntary action. And yet we watch and feel our knees kicking out; we experience air coming into our lungs and then out again; we feel our chests and bellies rising and falling. We are aware.

We have less active control of other involuntary functions. Blood flows automatically. We can’t stop it in the way we pause our breathing. Yet we feel our hearts beating; we see the blue and red vessels; we touch our wrists and count the pulses. We remain somewhat aware.

We are not aware continuously of all our organs. Yet we know when our stomachs and bladders are full or empty; we know when our skin is burned or pale; we know when an appendix causes pain; the same for a gall bladder or a pancreas. Our awareness is variable with time and circumstance.

We are not actively aware of our trillions of cells. Yet our nervous systems monitor cellular activities. Our immune systems look for unfriendly bacteria or viruses. We have physiological awareness of these activities, but no active awareness unless we feel tired, fevered, or ill. We are not aware of water, organic molecules, or inorganic ions in our cells unless we suffer from dehydration, malnutrition, or ion deficiencies.

We are not actively aware, nor even physiologically aware, of the subatomic particles that comprise the atoms and molecules of our cells. Yet we have intellectual awareness. We perform experiments to determine the properties of subatomic particles. We know they engage continuously in quantum interactions that enable larger particles to form and construct cells and organs. We know that we are products of these interactions.

We have only the dimmest intellectual awareness of the quantum fields that vibrate throughout the universe and generate these interactions. Yet we know that every particle and every physical thing is a temporary excitation of these vast and interconnected vibrating fields.

In this continuous hierarchy of levels of awareness, can we ever know exactly where our consciousness begins and where it ends?

Where do “we” begin and end?

We generally assume that “consciousness” extends only to the thin layer of experience of which we are actively aware. We define consciousness as limited to the bounds of subjective awareness. But what if the supposed border of consciousness is more porous than it seems? What if the assumed line of demarcation is entirely of our creation, constructed not on a foundation of biology or physics but only on our fuzzy, subjective experience of the nebulous self?[1]

We know that awareness is not binary, that we experience awareness in different kinds and degrees, that awareness is variable and dynamic. We know that humans can expand awareness. Athletes train themselves to be aware of physical capacities that most do not experience. Mystics and ascetics achieve voluntary control over autonomic body functions through meditation and breathing.

Is it possible that humans have actual or potential awareness of a broader range of physical experience than we usually include within the bounds of consciousness?

I am my body

It is a simple fact that I am a physical being. I am not a supernatural presence that inhabits my body. I do not reside in a magic place somewhere in my brain. I do not preside over a central control room where I oversee the rest of me. There is no physiological or psychological border where I end and the rest of me begins. This organic lump of clay—all of it—is me. All the way down to the quantum wavicles and fields that make me what I am.

I do not have the same awareness of every part of me or every level of my existence. But regardless of my degree of awareness, all these things are part of me. My consciousness includes what it is like to be a combination of these levels of awareness into one nebulous sense of self.

What if that feeling of being me unconsciously or subconsciously includes what it is like to be all of me? We know it does in a literal sense, because that is what “I” am. But what if my actual nebulous sense of self includes partly a nebulous sense of what it is like to be each of the parts of me?

I am what I am made of

I am my brain and arms and legs and heart and lungs and cells. I am the molecules and atoms that comprise my cells and the subatomic particles that comprise my atoms. I am the quantum fields that generate those particles.

Whether I understand it or not, I already know what it is like to be all of the parts of me. Perhaps the sum total of my nebulous sense of self includes a partial sense of what it is like to be a hand, a heart, a lung—what it is like to be a cell or a molecule—what it is like to be a subatomic particle or quantum field. Perhaps my sense of what it is like to be me somehow includes what it is like to be “them”—each of the parts of me.

There are those who believe that consciousness is fundamental to physical existence and that all matter has some consciousness associated with it. They view consciousness as a general property of matter, not exclusive to complex organisms. Others theorize that the ubiquitous process of quantum reduction generates moments of proto-consciousness that can be orchestrated into complex consciousness. They hypothesize that the “choices” made by electrons and the universe through quantum reduction create the foundation for consciousness. That what it is like to be an electron is part of what it is like to be ourselves. Because that is where consciousness begins. That is what we are.

I am my universe

The interconnectedness of the universe is rapidly becoming a truism. It is an accepted fact that the quantum fields underlying all things form a vast network extending across the universe. We are not ultimately separate from each other or from anything else. We are all temporary vibrations of the same quantum fields.

Spiritual philosophers, both religious and secular, talk about connecting with a deeper reality, a sense of “pure consciousness”. Do the quantum fields that comprise and connect all things constitute that deeper reality? Is pure consciousness an awareness of what it is like to be part of that vast interconnected universe? Is it the simple experience of what it is like to be?

What is it like to be an electron?

On its face the question seems ridiculous. But whether we realize it or not, we may already know exactly what it is like to be an electron.

[1] Something like what Daniel Dennett calls a “center of narrative gravity”. Dennett (1991).

The no longer unknown

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Do you ever wonder
what it might be like
to accept without breath
the no longer unknown?

What it might be like
to arrive at the end
and discover the world
where it was before,
where it always has been,
to know again
what we knew before,
what we always have known,
to be again
what we always were.

Before this interregnum
of seeming moment.

What is it like to be an electron?

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In 1974 philosopher Thomas Nagel famously asked, “What is it like to be a bat?”.[1] His question was meant to illustrate a point about consciousness, namely that a living thing is conscious only if there is something that it is like to be that living thing from the perspective of the thing itself. He argued that humans cannot understand what it is like to be a bat because we can describe the bat externally, and we can imagine being a bat, but we can never describe the experience of a bat from the perspective of the bat. That is in large part what many philosophers call the “hard problem” of consciousness. In this view, consciousness is the subjective experience of “what it is like to be” something, whether a human or another living entity.[2] Consciousness requires a sense of self, something that creates a perspective on what it is like to be that particular thing. And that something—subjective experience—cannot be fully described from any external or objective perspective. Therefore, since humans cannot share the subjective experience of a bat, it is impossible to fully describe a bat’s consciousness.

Yet we have much in common with a bat. We are both carbon-based life forms that breathe air and consume organic material. We are both mammals. We both experience life and death as physical creatures seeking to survive, mate, and persist. More fundamentally, we are both composed of molecules, atoms, and smaller quantum particles or waves that emerge from quantum fields. Our momentary existence owes itself entirely to the ability of superpositioned quantum fields to generate discrete macroscopic events through a physical process known as quantum reduction. Humans, bats, and all the seemingly discrete things in the universe manifest temporarily as separate and distinct, but exist permanently as vibrations of infinitely connected and constantly interacting quantum fields. In other words, our objective physical existence is shared almost entirely with a bat. And the core of it is shared even with an electron.

Why do we define consciousness only by subjective experience?

We take pride, of course, in that sliver of identity that we consider distinctive. We relish being different, unique, or even superior to the rest of the universe. But is that veneer of difference the sole pillar of our consciousness? Should our understanding of consciousness be founded on subjective experience alone? Given the physical realities of existence and our profound connections to literally everything in the universe, is it realistic or even intellectually honest to suppose that consciousness is based solely on what separates us? Should we instead savor our temporary distinctiveness, without denying the reality that we are not truly separate, and the subjective experience we prize, our fragile sense of self, may be an illusion?

Is consciousness grounded on subjective experience an illusion?

That is precisely what many of our most prominent philosophers and scientists believe. They disagree with Nagel that consciousness is ineffable and “hard”. They offer objective, physicalist explanations for our sense of self, explanations that directly link consciousness to the physical substrate from which we emerge. They argue that consciousness and self are illusions, useful illusions perhaps, but nonetheless illusions. All that really exists is what lies beneath the illusion—the objective physical substrate of existence. Our consciousness and sense of self equate to the completely physical biological factors that create brain states, perceptions, and ideas, i.e., neurons, neuronal networks, and all the neural behavior that has evolved in living things over millions of years of natural selection.

Yet despite disagreeing with Nagel about the ability to describe consciousness objectively, physicalists almost invariably accept subjective experience as a defining characteristic of consciousness. They assume that subjective experience, as illusory or delusional as it is, is an essential element of consciousness. So, if the subjective self is an illusion, then consciousness also is an illusion. Consciousness cannot be real or objective because it arises from a subjective illusion. The obvious presumption is that consciousness does not and cannot arise from objective experience. Natural selection operating on the physical substrate can give rise to the illusion of consciousness but cannot give rise to actual consciousness.

Does objective consciousness exist?

The conclusion that consciousness does not exist, however, both begs the question and is inconsistent with physical explanations for the evolution of consciousness. It relies on an assumption that subjective experience defines consciousness, but if consciousness equates to the physical and biological factors that create brain states, then those physical factors and brain states are consciousness. It is not the illusion of the subjective self that comprises consciousness, but the physical factors and processes engineered by natural selection.[3] Those natural processes drive organisms to become aware of their physical existence and the biological facts that inform that existence. Millions of years of evolution give organisms the empirical experience of self-awareness and self-directedness. A biological organism, therefore, has an objective experience of something like consciousness, whether or not it experiences the illusion of subjective self.

That natural objective experience of consciousness aligns well with the ideas of many religious philosophers.[4] We humans have a long history of understanding consciousness as something other than subjective experience alone. Religious philosophers often agree with physicalists that the subjective self is an illusion. They argue that reality lies beneath the subjective experience of thoughts and desires. But beneath the illusion they see more than the absence of self and the presence of physical factors creating brain states. They also see an awareness that is deeper than the self and subjective experience. They see what some call “pure consciousness”.

Is there such a thing as pure consciousness?

Both secular and religious philosophers talk about learning to live without the reification of subjective experience. They talk about life without illusion, the acceptance of who and what we are as physical beings. Is that the deeper experience described by religious philosophers? Is it a state of calm and acceptance in which random thoughts and desires are quieted in the brain? Or is it more? Does it encompass awareness not based on the subjective self, but on direct objective experience? Is that “pure consciousness”?

Can humans experience objective consciousness?

Natural selection has given even simple organisms an objective, physical experience of self-awareness and self-directedness, even without the illusion of a subjective self. Is it possible, therefore, to know what it is like to exist without subjective experience? Is human consciousness, which we attribute solely to subjective self, also based partly on objective, physical experience? Does our complex consciousness incorporate the rudimentary consciousness common to all forms of biological existence?

Perhaps more fundamentally, if the rudimentary experience of consciousness is shared by even the simplest organism, is it a biological version of something more essential still? At its most basic level, is the objective experience of consciousness simply the experience of being a physical thing?

What is it like to be a physical thing?

We and all biological organisms are first and foremost physical things. We experience being a physical object every moment of our existence. It is what we are. It is all we ever are. If our consciousness incorporates the objective experience of consciousness shared by every organism, does it also incorporate the experience of being a physical object or mechanism? Does some part of us know what it is like to be a physical thing without subjective experience? Is it even possible for us not to know what it is like to be what we in fact are?

Is consciousness the opposite of a purely subjective experience?

There are both secular and religious philosophers who believe that matter in its most basic form consists of consciousness. That even electrons, as part of the core fabric of existence, contain a germ of consciousness. Should we view a theory such as panpsychism as an acknowledgement and affirmation that we are physical beings? That our consciousness is the consciousness of physical things?

If what it is like to be a physical thing is objective consciousness, that experience would encompass being a collection of atoms, cells, and neurons, whether or not they generate an illusion of subjective experience. It would encompass what it is like to be a mechanism or a robot, with or without subjective sentience. It would include what it is like to be a stone, a molecule, or an atom. It would encompass even what it is like to be an electron.

What if Thomas Nagel and so many others are wrong about subjective experience and consciousness? Perhaps consciousness is not unique to our subjective point of view but the experience of something physically universal. Maybe the pure consciousness lying beneath our subjective selves is the simple experience of what it is like to be.

[1] Nagel (1974).

[2] Nagel’s article assumes, without discussion, that only living things have subjective experience of “what it is like to be” something. From that perspective, there is nothing that “it is like to be” an electron, because an electron is not an organism and has no subjective experience of itself as a living thing. Other than animists, pantheists, and panpsychists, most philosophers and scientists today likely would agree that an electron, or any other non-living thing, does not have consciousness.

[3] What exactly has been happening over millions of years of natural selection, if not the evolution of some objective sense of consciousness with its basis in physical biological existence?

[4] Of course, many religious conclusions are dualist and supernatural in nature. But that is not the path that interests us here. And it is not the path taken by all our most prominent religious philosophers. See, e.g., the non-dualism of Advaita Vedanta.

The probabilistic process of becoming

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In this blog we have theorized that consciousness and free agency connect to the fundamental process of quantum evolution. We also have theorized that quantum reduction, that phase of quantum evolution in which the microscopic quantum world meets the macroscopic classical world, is the physical process that creates macroscopic reality. If these things are true, what is the underlying meaning of quantum evolution? What is the function of that process in the mechanism of the universe?

As far as we know, the quantum and classical worlds represent two divergent realities, a connected microcosm of all things in superposition and a seemingly disconnected macrocosm of unique, localized events in spacetime. The divergent reality in which we live is the world of spacetime. Our world is linked to the microscopic quantum world through quantum reduction. It is through that process that the continuous wave function of the quantum world transforms into unique, discontinuous moments in spacetime, generating and regenerating a macro world that seems almost a holographic projection from quantum fields below.

The process that generates that projection is almost metaphysical in its materiality—involving infinite possibilities in microscopic superposition, weighted amplitudes determining probabilities, and random indeterminacy transforming probabilities into unique macroscopic events. The universe performs this recurring physical process through the evolution of the wave function—both the continuous evolution described by the Schrödinger equation and the discontinuous transformation of quantum reduction.

This process of quantum evolution is integral to the core engineering of the universe. It enables the universe to create its future constantly through random, indeterminate selection among infinite possibilities, subject only to the laws of deterministic probability. It is the mechanism that results in the two divergent planes that characterize the universe—the quantum plane in which anything is possible and the classical plane in which some things are more likely than others. Although an entirely mechanistic and physical process, it might best be described as what philosophers call a process of becoming.

That process of becoming is what makes our world. The universe is built on constant change and evolution through which macrocosmic events congeal and emerge from an ocean of quantum possibilities. Despite Einstein’s objections, the universe is engineered to “roll the dice” in its own probabilistic evolution. The function of quantum evolution in the mechanism of the universe may be to enable that probabilistic process of change and becoming.

In our own small corner of the universe consciousness and free agency may play a role in that probabilistic evolution. Consciousness may be a local instantiation of the universal process of resolving probabilities into outcomes. Free agency may be how we select indeterminate outcomes from possibilities shaped by deterministic probability. Both consciousness and free agency may contribute to the probabilistic evolution of the universe by enabling localized moments of choice in a universal process of becoming.