So, let me get this straight –
it’s an irreducible biological process. I like John Searle’s manner – the
irritable, baggy-trousered old philosopher thing works well for him. He is best
known for his Chinese
room thought experiment: an argument against the
possibility of true artificial intelligence (AI). He used an elaborate metaphor
involving Chinese characters written on bits of paper being passed into a
locked room where they are interpreted, using a set of logical rules, by a
person who does not speak the language. The set of rules also enables the
person in the room to respond in kind.
The argument, as you can see, is
to do with ‘actual’ understanding. Searle was claiming that there would
be no understanding of the language going on within the locked room; ergo,
there would be no understanding going on inside even the most sophisticated AI
subjected to the Turing
test. I’ll admit that I’m a little biased against
Searle’s argument, having seen it systematically disassembled by Daniel
Dennett, in his book Consciousness Explained, but I don’t think it would
be unfair to say that some of Searle’s claims about the nature of consciousness
seem to be somewhat lacking in levels.
We know that the phenomenon of
consciousness arises from the biological substrate of the brain. It’s a
dualistic waste of time to argue otherwise. Searle is clearly frustrated by the
endless philosophical debates over its real or illusory nature, and I’m with
him on that, but not because I think we must unequivocally brand it as real;
I’m frustrated by that debate because I think both words are wrong.
We often forget that there is a
vast range of phenomena in the Universe for which we have no semantic
classifications: What do you call that feeling of rocks changing shape by the
process of erosion? What do you call that sense of thirsty tree root seeking
water? You may argue that these examples have nothing to do with human consciousness.
Nevertheless, there are all kinds of micro-processes going on inside you that
you don’t ‘experience’ directly but which have some kind of teleonomic ‘direction’ to them.
Terrence Deacon’s Incomplete Nature has most recently
influenced my thoughts on this. The book is hard going sometimes, but I’m
excited by his formalisation of the idea of a kind of ‘figure-ground reversal’
– what may be important about phenomena like consciousness is not what is present
but what is absent. It is a theory of constraints: a whirlpool is a phenomenon
produced by the constraining of water molecules to follow a range of
downward-spiralling trajectories; perhaps consciousness is an inevitable
result of constraint of molecules into a very specific biological
configuration. What is absent, in both these cases, is the near-infinite range
of trajectories and configurations that those molecules might otherwise have
followed or taken on.
Deacon’s ‘essential absences’ –
‘absentials’ – resonate with me. I think it is partly because they demonstrate
just how inadequate our semantic modes in the consciousness debate have been.
It’s also because I like the idea of being an absential rend in the
fabric of the not-me Universe. For many, though, talk of essential absence
induces a kind of existential trypophobia – an irrational fear of holes – rendering them confused,
frightened, or even disgusted by the notion.
So what about the Chinese room?
Well, you just fill it with a vast number of people who don’t understand the
symbols, give them the correct rules, and set them to work. If it is correctly
set up, the room will produce the correct answer. But, surely, the
understanding is still missing. Exactly. There are many things missing from
this setup – understanding is an essential one of them. It is a kind of
phenomenon that is being generated despite its absence as a specific
phenomenon. That is why it looks irreducible.
Strange? Yes, very. But cogito
ergo sum! I suppose it’s a good enough shorthand for this: something is
producing a phenomenon that other somethings producing this phenomenon and the
something producing the phenomenon call ‘thinking’. Constraint steers that
clumsy definition towards an essentially useful I.
As I am an inveterate
reductionist, you might think I should be more concerned about the biological
mechanisms that make this possible. Certainly, the mechanisms fascinate me.
However, that does not mean that I expect to be able to tap my finger on a
screen and say, ‘Look, that’s consciousness right there.’ I may be able to say,
‘Those are the structures from which the state of consciousness emerges’, but
that’s not quite the same. Phenomenal states emerge, and they have many
different characteristics. Try pinpointing the vorticity in a whirlpool.
Before I am dragged under, I’d
better round this off. If this were a letter, I think it would be pleasing to
sign it off with a warmly heartfelt...
...absentially, consciously
yours,
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