A point about consciousness
Something that bothers me, when people talk about consciousness, and death, especially from materialists, is ignoring a certain dimension of discussion here that is very essential to understanding consciousness and its ’stability’. It is the 20th century take-home-and-study fact about ourselves that we should all keep in mind.
Imagine you are outside of a room, and on your side of one of its walls is a mailbox. Almost every minute, a piece of typed-on paper drops out of the mailbox for you to see. A message is written for you:
“My name is Walter Keats, I’m a man, age 25. I am in love with the world, the present is exciting and new, and I’m happy to begin.”
The message is unchanging. Keats, that man writing to you, is mostly consistent with the message. Of course, every now and then he’ll spell a word wrong, but that’s ok with you.
Inside of the room (you will never see the inside of the room), there is a typewriter, as you’d expect, and the room is mostly empty of other things, except a large stack of paper, a chair, and a man. The man, typing the message, first looks above the typewriter, on a script. The script contains the wording of the message you get every day, and asks the man, who is writing, to please type as accurately as possible. Then, when he is done typing, to please put the typed-paper into the mailbox, place a new sheet into the typewriter, exit the room by door opposite of the mailbox, and courteously invite the next person in.
You are not aware that the message you receive every minute or so is typed by a completely different person. The message is forward, consistent, and predictable, save for a few spelling errors, and perhaps a lacking or extra word, once or twice an hour. That’s OK. Walter Keats is simply not perfect, you presume.
This sense of identity is exactly what we see when we look at the brain. Throughout the course of a human life, blood cells, filled with nutrients from food, new oxygen, constantly enter into the brain. They do not, by popular understanding, simply “massage” the brain: atoms, chemicals, and cells from the new blood are exchanged: nutrients are provided, heat is dispensed, atoms switch and electrons bounce. The blood brings new life to the brain — literally. Blood is exchanging “older” parts for “newer” parts — old in this case means chemicals which adversely affect brain activity, or are simply not as integrated because of chemical reactions changing their structure; newer is generally the opposite of this.
The matter that generates consciousness in the brain — the combined experiences that make up a human mind, is always in a changing-of-hands process.
The sense of identity that a normal human has (as distinguished from multiple-personality brains) is a form of brain-structure: a binary system of neural routes, replicated from memorizing and evolving a model of what the brain has come to assume about itself. This idea of identity, for most of us, is distributed and networked many times throughout the brain. Every time you repeat something, you create another virtual copy of its information, accessible through different neural associations each time. Your sense of self is one of the most replicated of these forms.
The next man (the new blood) comes in for the previous typer (displaced or lacking chemicals/atoms/electrons), and begins with the same script (the structure).
Every now and then, of course, there is an error in identity. We all have our crises — though the sort I’m talking about are more or less mental ‘hiccups’ — a moment of unusual high or displacement. These ‘hiccups’ are most probably not errors of copy (a difference in metaphor), but are perhaps due to other inconsistencies, such as from the electricity that moves and activates, ‘experiencing’ the structure of the brain, through its travel blindly eliciting small neural irregularities.
Chemical reactions are high on the list of consistency; where lightning will strike tends to be a much more chaotic question.
But the ‘lightning’ is different all the time as well: each time it is a new bundle of electrons, spurred and continued from both the neurons interacting as well as from the fuse of the medulla: the helm of the experiencer changes hands.
We are what it is that experiences. That which is experiencing is always changing. The experience is determined by the structure — and of course, the structure also experiences.
What thought I encourage out of you is simple: do not look at yourself as so autonomous. You are a chemical reaction, and the chemicals involved are always different. Though from moment-to-moment the change is incredibly slight, you are the food you eat, the air you breathe, as much as the muscles that do their job are changing. You will cease to experience the structure of the brain well before the structure of the brain ceases to be continued. Keep this in mind, next time you wish to crush an incidental bug, or treat the breathing world as shit.
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You’re currently reading “A point about consciousness,” an entry on The Heliotrope
- Published:
- 8.18.07 / 9pm
- Category:
- Altruism, Biology, Consciousness, Educational, Epistemology, Ethics, Evolution, Life, Mind, Ontology, Philosophy, Religion, Science
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