Thinking of Consciousness as Waves

First written: Dec 14, 2018, Last update: Jan 2, 2019.

 

How can we think about the relationship between the conscious and the physical? In this essay I wish to propose a way of thinking about it that might be fruitful and surprisingly intuitive, namely to think of consciousness as waves.

The idea is quite simple: one kind of conscious experience corresponds to, or rather conforms to description in terms of, one kind of wave. And by combining different kinds of waves, we can obtain an experience with many different properties in one.

It should be noted that I in this post merely refer to waves in an abstract sense to illustrate a general point. That is, I do not refer to electromagnetic waves in particular (as some theories of consciousness do), nor to quantum waves (as other theories do), nor to any other particular kind of wave (such as Selen Atasoy’s so-called connectome-specific harmonic waves*). The point here is not what kind of wave, or indeed which physical signature in general, that mediates different states of consciousness. The point is merely to devise a metaphor that can render intuitive the seemingly unintuitive, namely: how can we get something complex and multifaceted from something very simple without having anything seemingly spooky or strange, such as strong emergence, in-between? In particular, how can we say that brains mediate conscious experience without saying that, say, electrons mediate conscious experience? I believe thinking about consciousness in terms of waves can help dissolve this confusion. 

The magic of waves is that we can produce (or to an arbitrary level of precision approximate) any kind of complex, multifaceted wave by adding simple sine waves together.

 

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Sine waves with different frequencies.

 

In this way, it is possible, for instance, to decompose any recorded song — itself a complex, multifaceted wave — into simple, tedious-sounding sine waves. Each resulting sine wave can be said to comprise an aspect of the song, yet not in any recognizable way. The whole song is in fact a sum of such waves, not in a strange way that implies strong emergence, but merely in a complicated, composite way.

Another way to think about waves that can help us think more clearly about emergent complexity is to think of a wave that is very small in both amplitude and duration. If this were a sound wave, it would be an extremely short-lived, extremely low-volume sound. On a visual representation of an entire song file, this sound would look more akin to a dot than a wave.

 

Image result for a point math
A dot.

 

And such simple sound waves can also be put together so as to create a song (for instance, one can take the sine waves obtained by decomposing a song and then chop them into smaller bits and decrease their amplitude). It will just, to make a song, take a very great number of such small waves superimposed (if the song is to be loud enough to hear) and in succession (if the song is to last for more than a split-second).

 

The deeper point here is that waves are waves, no matter how small or simple, large or complex. Yet not all waves comprise what we would recognize as music. Similarly, even if all physical states are phenomenal in the broadest sense, this does not imply that they are conscious in the sense of being an ordered, multifaceted whole. Unfortunately, we do not as yet have good, analogous terms for “sound” and “music” in the phenomenal realm — perhaps we could use “phenomenality” and “consciousness”, respectively?

The problem is indeed that we are limited by language, in that the word “conscious” usually only connotes an ordered, composite mind rather than the property of phenomenality in the most general sense. Consequently, if we think all that exists is either music or non-sound, metaphorically speaking, we are bound to be confused. But if we instead expand our vocabulary, and thereby expand our allowed ways of thinking, our confusion can, I think, be readily dissolved. If we think of the phenomenality of the simplest physical systems as being nothing like consciousness in the usual sense of a composite mind but rather as a state of hyper-crude phenomenality — i.e. “phenomenal noise” that is nothing like a song but more akin to a low, short-lived sound; and yet unimaginably more crude still — then the problem of consciousness, as commonly (mis)conceived, seems to become a lot less confusing.**

Avoiding Confusion Due to Fuzziness

A more specific point of confusion the wave metaphor can help us dissolve is the notion that consciousness is so fuzzy a category that it in fact does not really exist, just like tables and chairs do not really exist. As I have argued elsewhere, I think this is a non sequitur. The fact that the categories of tables and chairs are themselves fuzzy does not imply that the physical properties of the objects to which we refer with these labels are inexact, let alone non-existent. The objects have the physical properties they have regardless of how we label them. Or, to continue the analogy to waves above, and songs in particular: although there is ambiguity about what counts as a song, this does not imply that we cannot speak in precise, factual terms about the properties of a given song — for instance, whether a given song contains a 440 Hz tone.

Similarly, the fact that consciousness, as in “an ordered, composite mind”, is a fuzzy category (after all, what counts as ordered? Do psychotic states? Fleeting dreams?) does not imply that any given phenomenal state we refer to with this term does not have exact and clearly identifiable phenomenal properties — e.g. an experience of the color red or the sensation of fear; properties that exist regardless of how outside observers choose to label them.

And although our labels for categorizing particular phenomenal states themselves tend to be fuzzy to some extent — e.g. which part of the spectrum below counts as red? — this does not imply that we cannot distinguish between different states, nor that we cannot draw any clear boundaries. For instance, we can clearly distinguish between the blue and the red zones respectively on the illustration below despite its gradation.

 

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A linear representation of the visible light spectrum with wavelengths in nanometers.

 

Just as we can point toward a confined range of wavelengths which induce an experience of (some kind of) red in most people upon hitting their retinas, we can also, in principle, point to a range of physical states that mediate specific phenomenal states. This includes the phenomenal states we call suffering, with the fuzziness of what counts as suffering contained within and near the bounds of this range, while the physical states outside this range, especially those far away, do not mediate suffering, cf. the non-red range in the illustration above.

Thus, by analogy to how we can have precise descriptions of the properties of a song, even as an exact definition of what counts as a song escapes us, there is no reason why we should not be able to speak in factual and precise terms about the phenomenal aspects of a mind and its physical signatures, including the “red range” of wavelengths that comprise phenomenal suffering, metaphorically speaking. And a sophisticated understanding of this notional range is indeed of paramount importance for the project of reducing suffering.


* Note that these seemingly different kinds of waves and theories of consciousness can be identical, since connectome-specific harmonic waves could turn out to be coherent waves in the electromagnetic quantum field, as would seem suggested by a hypothesis known as quantum brain dynamics (I do not necessarily endorse this particular hypothesis).

** Another useful analogy for thinking more clearly about the seemingly crazy notion that “everything is conscious” — or rather: phenomenal — is to think about the question, Is everything light? For in a highly non-standard sense, everything is indeed “light”, in that electromagnetic waves permeate the universe in the form of cosmic background radiation, although everything is not permeated by light in the usual sense of visible electromagnetic radiation (wavelengths around 400–700 nm). We may thus think of consciousness as analogous to visible light (they can also both be more or less intense and have various nuances), and electromagnetic radiation as analogous to phenomenality — the more general phenomenon that encompasses the specific one.

 

Why the Many Worlds Interpretation May Not Have Significant Ethical Implications

At first glance, it seems like the many worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics (MWI) might have significant ethical implications. After all, MWI implies that there are many more sentient beings in the world than one would think given a naive classical view, indeed a much greater number of them. And so it seems quite plausible, at least on the face of it, that ethical considerations pertaining to MWI should dominate everything else in expectation, even if we place only a small credence on this interpretation being true. In this post, I shall outline some reasons why this may in fact not be the case, at least with respect to two commonly supposed implications: 1) extreme caution, and 2) exponentially greater value over time. However, questions concerning the ethical implications of our best physical theories and their interpretations remain open and worth exploring.

Would Branching Worlds Imply Extreme Caution?

“I still recall vividly the shock I experienced on first encountering this multiworld concept [MWI]. The idea of 10100 slightly imperfect copies of oneself all constantly splitting into further copies, which ultimately become unrecognizable, is not easy to reconcile with common sense.”

Bryce DeWitt

This is a common way to introduce the implications of MWI, and it seems plausible that this radically different conception of reality, if true, should lead us to change our actions in significant ways. In particular, it may seem intuitive that it should lead us to act more cautiously, as David Pearce argues:

So one should always act “unnaturally” responsibly, driving one’s car not just slowly and cautiously, for instance, but ultracautiously. This is because one should aim to minimise the number of branches in which one injures anyone, even if leaving a trail of mayhem is, strictly speaking, unavoidable. If a motorist doesn’t leave a (low-density) trail of mayhem, then quantum mechanics is false. This systematic re-evaluation of ethically acceptable risk needs to be adopted world-wide.

Yet, while intuitive, I would argue that this actually does not follow. For although it may be true that we should generally act much more cautiously than we do, this conclusion is not influenced by MWI, for various reasons.

First, if one is trying to reduce suffering, one should not “aim to minimise the number of branches in which one injures anyone”, but rather seek to reduce as much suffering as possible (in expectation) in the world. At an intuitive level, these may seem equivalent, yet they are not. The former is in fact impossible, as we are bound to injure others, even assuming the existence of just one world, whereas the latter — reducing the greatest amount of suffering possible throughout all branches — is possible by definition.

In particular, this argument for being highly cautious ignores the fact that such caution also carries risks — e.g. extreme caution might increase the probability that we will bring about more suffering by omission, by rendering our efforts to reduce suffering less effective. And these other risks may well be much larger, and thus result in the realization of a larger amount of suffering in a larger measure of branches. In other words, since it is far from clear that being ultracautious is the best way to reduce suffering in expectation throughout all branches, it is far from clear that we should practice such ultracaution in light of MWI.

Second, and quite relatedly, I would argue that, whether we live in many worlds or one, we should seek to minimize expected suffering regardless. For if we happened to exist in one world, a small probability of a very bad outcome would be equally worth avoiding, in expectation, as it would be if we happened to live in a quantum multiverse. Whether we do just one or an arbitrarily large number of “trials”, we should still pursue the same action: that which reduces the most suffering in expectation. 

Third, any argument of the kind made above concerning how all slightly probable outcomes will be realized can also be made by assuming that the multiverse of inflation exists. Thus, if one already believes that we live in a spatially infinite, or indeed “merely” extremely large universe, then the radical conclusions supposed to follow from MWI would already be implied by that belief alone (as we shall see below, many prominent proponents of MWI actually consider MWI not only equivalent but identical with the multiverse of inflation). And if one does not think a spatially very large universe should change how we act, then why think that a large, in many ways equivalent, quantum universe should? As argued above, it seems that no radical conclusions should follow either way. One world or many, we should still do what seems best in expectation.

Another way to arrive at the same conclusion is by embracing Stuart Armstrong’s Anthropic Decision Theory, according to which we, as altruists aiming to reduce suffering, should act the same way regardless of how many similar copies of us there may be in the world.

Would Branching Worlds Imply More Value Later?

Following Bryce DeWitt’s quote about rapidly splitting copies, one can reasonably wonder whether MWI implies that the net amount of value in the world, and hence the value of our actions’ impact on the world, is increasing exponentially over time. Indeed, if we naively interpret DeWitt’s claim to mean that the number of sentient beings that exists is multiplied by 10100 just about every second, this would imply that the value of the very last second of the existence of sentient life should massively dominate every thing else. If this interpretation of MWI is correct, it would have extremely significant ethical implications. Yet is it? It would seem not. Here is Max Tegmark:

Does the number of universes exponentially increase over time? The surprising answer is no. From the bird perspective, there is of course only one quantum universe. From the frog perspective, what matters is the number of universes that are distinguishable at a given instant—that is, the number of noticeably different Hubble volumes. Imagine moving planets to random new locations, imagine having married someone else, and so on. At the quantum level, there are 10 to the 10118 universes with temperatures below 108 kelvins. That is a vast number, but a finite one.

From the frog perspective, the evolution of the wave function corresponds to a never-ending sliding from one of these 10 to the 10118 states to another. Now you are in universe A, the one in which you are reading this sentence. Now you are in universe B, the one in which you are reading this other sentence. Put differently, universe B has an observer identical to one in universe A, except with an extra instant of memories.

Thus, it seems one should think about MWI in terms of an intertwining rope rather than a branching tree. A good way to gain intuition about it may be to think in terms of the multiverse of inflation instead. Indeed, according to prominent proponents of MWI, the many-worlds of quantum mechanics and the multiverse of inflation are not only closely related notions but indeed the same thing, cf. (Aguirre & Tegmark, 2010Nomura, 2011Bousso & Susskind, 2011). In that case, not only is thinking about copies of ourselves in worlds spatially far away from us a great way to gain intuition about MWI; it is the correct way to think about it.

And when we think about it in these terms, it suddenly all becomes quite straightforward and intuitive, at least relatively speaking. For on the inflationary model, there are copies of us in the universe located far away with whom we share our entire history from the big bang up until now. Yet as time progresses, and more different outcomes become possible, the distance to the copies of us that share our exact history becomes ever greater, at a rapid pace, cf. (Garriga & Vilenkin, 2001). Thus, there is indeed a rapid branching in a very real sense, only, this branching consists in departing from “nearby” copies of us who had been just like us up until this point. No new worlds are really added. The “other worlds” were always there, and then merely went their separate ways.

Hence, given the assumptions made here, the number of sentient beings in our world does not in fact increase exponentially in the way naively supposed above, unless one keeps on aggregating over an exponentially larger fraction of the space that already existed. (There is, however, an exponential increase in the number of new universes created by inflating regions of the universe, assuming inflationary theory is correct. Yet this process does not create an exponentially greater number of sentient beings from our point in space and time, i.e. Earth, 13.8 billion years after the big bang. Rather, these new worlds are all created “from scratch”.) In short, MWI does not appear to imply greater value later.

 

In sum, I have argued that we seem to have good reason to maintain something akin to one world common sense in most of our decisions (decisions that may influence the creation of new universes seem an exception). This conclusion may, however, be strongly biased given that it comes from a brain that very much wants to preserve common sense. The upshot of all of this, I think, is that we should 1) primarily seek to minimize suffering in expectation in the one, concrete world we appear to inhabit, while 2) still further explore ways in which this first, rather convenient conclusion may be confounded.

Explaining Existence

First written: Aug 2018, Last update: Nov 2018.

 

“Not how the world is, is the mystical, but that it is.”

(“Nicht wie die Welt ist, ist das Mystische, sondern dass sie ist.”)

Ludwig Wittgenstein

 

Why is there something rather than nothing? How can we explain the fact of existence?

This most fundamental question may be worth pondering for various reasons. Such pondering may help sharpen our thinking about the nature of the world, our place within it, and the scope of our understanding. And it may also just lead us to some significant answers to the question itself.

Is Non-Existence Coherent?

I would argue that the key to (dis)solving this mystery lies in questioning the coherence of the idea that there could be nothing in the first place — the notion that non-existence could exist. For existing is, after all, exactly what non-existence, by definition, does not. Non-being, by definition, cannot be. Yet, in asking why there is not nothing, we are indeed, somehow, imagining that it could. Essentially, what we are asking is: why is there not “non-isness“? Why could non-being not have been? The answer, I submit, is that the being of non-being is a contradiction in terms.

If existence were not the case, this would imply non-existence being the case, which is an incoherent notion. More specifically, to say that non-being could be is to contradict the principle of non-contradiction, as one then asks for something, or rather “nothing”, to both be and not be at the same time.

As David Pearce put it:

“One can apparently state the epistemic possibility of nothing having existed rather than something. But it’s unclear how it could make cognitive sense to talk of the epistemic possibility of nothing-or-other having even been the case. For the notion of something-or-other being the case is about as conceptually primitive as one can get. For just what is the (supposedly non-self-refuting) alternative with which one would be contrasting the generic notion of existence – in the sense of something-or-other being the case – that we have at present? The notion doesn’t seem to make any sense. It’s self-stultifying.”

Why Does Anything Exist“, section nine.

Philosopher Bede Rundle made a similar point: “We cannot conceive of there being nothing, but only of nothing being this or that” (p. 113).

Furthermore, even if we were to assume that non-existence could be the case, we would still end up with the conclusion that it actually cannot. For if non-existence were the case, then its being the case would, quite obviously, be a truth, which implies that this truth would at least (also) exist. And yet this truth is not nothing. In other words, it implies the existence of (more of) something. And such a supposedly empty state would in fact imply other properties as well, such as the property of being one (not two or more, as it contains no separation, nor zero, since it does exist by assumption), as well as the property of being free from contradictions (genuine contradictions could not possibly exist in any possible state of existence, much less one that is purportedly empty). Thus, even the notion of a state with no properties other than its mere being is incoherent.

Another way to realize that there could not possibly be nothing, even if we were to pretend that the notion is coherent, is to think in terms of necessary and contingent facts (following the reasoning of Timothy O’Connor found here). For the suggestion that there might have been nothing amounts to the claim that existence might merely be a contingent, not a necessary fact. Yet the fact that we are here proves that existence was, at the very least, a possibility. In other words, the reality of (at least) the possibility of existence is undeniable. And yet the reality of the possibility of existence is not nothing. It is, in fact, something. Thus, even if we assume that the fact of existence is merely contingent, we still end up with the conclusion that it is in fact necessary. The existence of the mere possibility of existence necessarily implies, indeed amounts to, existence in full, and hence the suggestion that existence may merely be contingent, and that there could instead have been absolutely nothing, is revealed to be impossible and indeed incoherent in this way as well.

This may be considered an answer to why there is something rather than nothing: the alternative is simply incoherent, and hence logically impossible. Only “something” could conceivably be the case. And thus, contra Wittgenstein, the real mystery to explain is indeed how the world is, not that it is; to explain which properties the world has, not that it has any. And part of this mystery is to explain why we ever considered the existence of non-existence — as opposed to a very different state of existence — a coherent possibility in the first place, and, by extension, why we ever considered the non-existence of non-existence any more mysterious than the non-existence of square circles.*

No Purpose or Reason Behind Existence, Only Within

The all-inclusive nature of existence implies that, just as there cannot be a mechanism or principle that lies behind or beyond existence, there could not be a reason or purpose behind it either, since behind and beyond existence lies only that which does not exist. And hence there could not possibly be an ultimate purpose, in this sense at least, behind our being here.

Yet this by no means implies, contrary to what may be naturally supposed, that reasons and purposes, of the most real and significant kinds, do not exist within existence. Indeed, it is obvious that they do. For instance, the ability to pursue purposes and act on reasons has clearly emerged over the course of evolution. Beyond that, it is also clear, at least to me, that some states of the world — especially states of extreme suffering — are truly more disvaluable than others, and hence, I would argue, that we have truly normative reasons to act so as to minimize the realization of such disvaluable states. Indeed, I would argue that this endeavor is our highest and ultimate purpose; how to best pursue it our highest and ultimate question.

 


*And if, and that arguably is a huge if, existence is identical with what we call “physical existence”, then the argument above shows that a physical world must exist, and that its absence is incoherent. Again, this is provided that we assume existence to be identical with “the physical”, which is just an assumption, although I believe one can make a decent case that we have no strong reasons to believe in such a thing as non-physical existence, and hence no strong reasons to doubt this assumption. And if one then further believes that “the physical” is identical with “the mental” — in other words, if one holds a monist ontology that considers both physical and mental descriptions of the world equally valid — then the argument above shows the necessity of the existence of this monist reality. And all that would then be left to explain, if this assumption happened to be true, is “just” what particular properties and relations that exist within this monist reality.

Beyond that, one can also use the contingency-versus-necessity argument we used above to argue for the necessity of physical existence without assuming that physical existence is coterminous with existence. For the claim that the non-existence of the physical world could have obtained also amounts to claiming that its existence is merely a contingent fact: a possibility that could have not obtained. Yet the fact that the physical world does exist proves that its existence is necessarily (at least) a possibility. Thus, by this reasoning, there must necessarily exist (at least) a potential for the physical world as we know it to emerge. And yet such a potential is not nothing, nor is it non-physical proper, at least not in the widest sense of the term “physical”, which includes not only physical actualities but also physical potentials, provided they exist.

One may here object that the notions of contingency and necessity ultimately do not make sense, or that they are just human ideas that we cannot derive deep metaphysical truths from. Yet it should then be noted that the notion of contingency is exactly what a claim such as “physical reality might not have been” itself rests upon. So if these terms and the argument above make no sense or have no bearing on the actual nature of reality, then neither does the problem that the argument is trying to address in the first place.

A Brief Note on Eternalism and Impacting the Future

Something I find puzzling is that many people in intellectual circles seem to embrace the so-called eternalist view of time, which holds that the past, present, and future all equally exist already, yet at the same time, in terms of practical ethics, these same people focus exclusively on impacting the future. These two positions do not seem compatible, and it is interesting that no one seems to take note of this, and that no attempt seems to be made at reconciling them, or otherwise examining this issue. 

For why, given an eternalist view of time, should one focus on impacting the future rather than the past? After all, the eternalist view of time amounts precisely to the rejection of the common sense view that the past is fixed while the future is not, which is the common sense view of time that seems to underpin our common sense focus on trying to impact the future rather than the past. So how can one reject the common sense view of time that seems to underlie our common sense practical focus, yet then still maintain this focus? If the past and the future equally exist already, why focus more on trying to impact one rather than the other?

The only attempted reply I have heard to this question so far, which came from Brian Tomasik, is that if, hypothetically, the present were different, then the future would be different, and hence it makes sense to focus on such changes that would render the future different. The problem, however, is that the same argument applies to the past: if, hypothetically, the present were different, then, for the equations of physics to be consistent, the past would also have to be different. Tomasik seemed to agree with this point. So I fail to see how this is an argument for focusing on impacting the future rather than the past given an eternalist view of time.

Possible Responses

There are various ways to respond to this conundrum. One can, for instance, try to argue that there is no conflict between eternalism and focusing only on impacting the future (which seems the prevailing assumption, but I have yet to see it defended). Another path one could take is to argue that we in fact should focus on impacting the past just as much as the future (something I find highly dubious). Alternatively, one could argue that it is just as senseless to try to change the future as it is to change the past (something few would be willing to accept in practice). Lastly, one could take the tension between these two widely esteemed views to imply that there may be something wrong with the eternalist view of time, and at the very least that we should lower our credence in eternalism, given its ostensible incompatibility with other, seemingly reasonable beliefs.

My Preferred Path: Questioning Eternalism

I would be curious to see attempts along any of the four paths mentioned above. I myself happen to lean toward the last one. I think many people display overconfidence with respect to the truth of eternalism. The fact that the equations of the theory of relativity, as they stand, do not demand an ontologically existing “now does not imply that no such thing exists (where this now, it must be noted, is not defined by “clocks all show the same”, as such a now clearly is impossible; yet there is no contradiction whatsoever in the existence of a unique, ontologically real “present” in which initially synchronized clocks show different times). In other words, although the equations of relativity do not demand the existence of such a now, they do not rule it out either. Yet it seems a widely entertained fallacy that they do, and people thus seem to accept that eternalist view as though it were a matter of logical certainty, when it is not. I think this is bad philosophy. And I think it is important to point this out, since false certainties can be dangerous in unexpected ways (for example, if the above-mentioned fallacy led us to falsely conclude that trying to impact the future is senseless).

Beyond that, as I have noted elsewhere, one can also question to what extent it makes sense to say — as eternalists often do, and as the name eternalism itself implies — that all moments exist “always”? After all, doesn’t “always” refer to something occurring over time? The meaning of claims of the sort that “every moment exists always” is, I believe, less obvious than proponents of eternalism appear to think, and seems in need of unpacking.

A General Note on Our Worldview

I think the tension explored here speaks to a more general point about our worldview, namely that we often do not derive the more practical views we hold (such as the view that we can influence the future but not the past), from our fundamental ontological theories of how the world works. Instead, such views are often derived mostly from tacit common sense notions and intuitions (which is not to say that they should necessarily be rejected, and certainly not on this ground alone). This means that sometimes — quite often, in fact — the views we hold on various subjects, such as the philosophy of time and practical ethics, are scarcely compatible. The project of bringing the various beliefs we hold across these different areas in concert is, I believe, an important and potentially fruitful one, for our theoretical views in themselves, as well as for our pratical efforts to act reasonably in the world.

“The Physical” and Consciousness: One World Conforming to Different Descriptions

My aim in this essay is to briefly explain a crucial aspect of David Pearce‘s physicalist idealist worldview. In particular, I seek to explain how a view can be both “idealist” and “physicalist”, yet still be a “property monist” view.

Pearce himself describes his view in the following way:

“Physicalistic idealism” is the non-materialist physicalist claim that reality is fundamentally experiential and that the natural world is exhaustively described by the equations of physics and their solutions […]

So Pearce’s view is a monist, idealist view: reality is fundamentally experiential. And this reality also conforms to description in physical terms. Pearce is careful, however, to distinguish this view from panpsychism, which Pearce, in contrast to his own idealist view, considers a property dualist view:

“Panpsychism” is the doctrine that the world’s fundamental physical stuff also has primitive experiential properties. Unlike the physicalistic idealism explored here, panpsychism doesn’t claim that the world’s fundamental physical stuff is experiential. Panpsychism is best treated as a form of property-dualism.

How, one may wonder, is Pearce’s view different from panpsychism, and from property dualist views more generally? This is something I myself have struggled a lot to understand, and inquired him about repeatedly. And my understanding is the following: according to Pearce, there is only consciousness, and its dynamics conform to physical description. Property dualist views, in contrast, view the world as having two properties: the stuff of the world has insentient physical properties to which separate, experiential properties are somehow attached.

Pearce’s view makes no such division. Instead, on Pearce’s view, description in physical terms merely constitutes a particular (phenomenal) mode of description that (phenomenal) reality conforms to. So to the extent there is a dualism here, it is epistemological, not ontological.

The Many Properties of Your Right Ear

For an analogy that might help explain this point better, consider your right ear. What properties does it have? Setting aside the question concerning its intrinsic nature, it is clear that you can model it in various ways. One way is to touch it with your fingers, whereby you model it via your faculties of tactile sensation (or in neuroanatomical terms: with neurons in your parietal lobe). You may also represent your ear via auditory sensations, for example by hitting it and noticing what kind of sound it makes (a sensation mediated by the temporal lobe). Another way, perhaps the clearest and most practical way for beings like us, is to model it in terms of visual experience: to look at your right ear in the mirror, or perhaps simply imagine it, and thereby have a visual sensation that represents it (mediated by the occipital lobe).

[For most of us, these different forms of modeling are almost impossible to keep separate, as our touching our ears automatically induces a visual model of them as well, and vice versa: a visual model of an ear will often be accompanied by a sense of what it would be like to touch it. Yet one can in fact come a surprisingly long way toward being able to “unbind” these sensations with a bit of practice. This meditation is a good exercise in detaching one’s tactile sense of one’s hands from one’s visual model of them. This one goes even further, as it climaxes with a near-total dissolution of our automatic binding of different modes of experience into an ordered whole.]

Now, we may ask: which of these modes of modeling constitute the modeling we call “physical”? And the answer is arguably all of them, as they all relate to the manifestly external (“physical”) world. This is unlike, say, things that are manifestly internal, such as emotions and thoughts, which we do not tend to consider “physical” in this same way, although all our sensations are, of course, equally internal to our mind-brain.

“The physical” is in many ways a poorly defined folk term, and physics itself is not exempt from this ambiguity. For instance, what phenomenal mode does the field of physics draw upon? Well, it is certainly more than just the phenomenology of equations (to the extent this can be considered a separate mode of experience). It also, in close connection with how most of us think about equations, draws heavily on visuospatial modes of experience (I once carefully went through a physics textbook that covered virtually all of undergraduate level physics with the explicit purpose of checking whether it all conformed to such description, and I found that it did). And we can, of course, also describe your right ear in “physics” terms, for instance by measuring and representing its temperature, its spatial coordinates, its topology, etc. This would give us even more models of your right ear.

 

The deeper point here is that the same thing can conform to description in different terms, and the existence of such a multitude of valid descriptions does not imply that the thing described itself has a multitude of intrinsic properties. In fact, none of the modes of modeling an ear mentioned above say anything about the intrinsic properties of the ear; they only relate to its reflection, in the broadest sense.

And this is where some people will object: why believe in any intrinsic properties? Indeed, why believe in anything but the physical, “reflective”, (purportedly) non-phenomenal properties described above?

To me, as well as to David Pearce (and Galen Strawson and many others), this latter claim is self-undermining and senseless; like a person reading from a book who claims that the paper of the book they are reading from does not exist, only the text does. All these modes of modeling mentioned above, including all that we deem knowledge of “the physical” are phenomenal. The science we call “physics” is itself, to the extent it is known by anyone, found in consciousness. It is a particular mode of phenomenal modeling of the world, and thus to deny the existence of the phenomenal is also to deny the existence of our knowledge of “physics”.

Indeed, our knowledge of physics and “the physical” attests to this fact as clearly as it attests to anything: consciousness exists. It is a separate question, then, exactly how the varieties of conscious experience relate to descriptions of the world in physical terms, as well as what the intrinsic nature of the stuff of the world is, to the extent it has any. Yet by all appearances, it seems that minds such as our own conform to physical description in terms of what we recognize as brains, and as with the ear, such a physical description can take many forms: a visual representation of a mind-brain, what it is like to touch a mind-brain, the number of neurons it has, its temperature, etc.

These are different, yet valid ways of describing aspects of our mind-brains. Yet like the descriptions of different aspects of an ear mentioned above, these “physical” descriptions, while all perfectly valid, still do not tell us anything about their intrinsic nature. And according to David Pearce, the intrinsic nature of that which we (validly) describe in physical terms as “your brain” is your conscious mind itself. The apparent multitude of aspects of that which we recognize as “brains” and “ears” are just different modes of conscious modeling of an intrinsically monist, i.e. experiential, reality.

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