the human virtuality…

Tuesday, January 15th, 2013

structure of the human eye and retina © http://www.sas.upenn.edu

structure of retinal cone and rod © http://www.sas.upenn.edu

The greatest danger facing the human race seems to me to be how our collective ‘idea’ of what the world is is progressively moving away from what the world actually is.

Without wanting to open up the whole can of worms that is the ‘mind-body problem‘, I think it is not too contentious to state: that the impression we have within each of us of the ‘world’ is only an approximation of that world. After all, beings perceive the world through their senses and it is from these perceptions that a model of the world is constructed within that being, a model that it uses to ‘understand’ the world in an attempt to survive. That model – even at its most sophisticated – is not ‘identical’ with the world, and is merely an approximation.

Further, the sensory inputs from which that model is constructed are themselves approximations of what is being perceived. Let us use an ‘eye’ as an example. An eye allows light to enter it. This light will be detected within the eye and send a signal to whatever sort of ‘brain’ it is attached to. Detection is by means of a finite number of discrete detectors, and so the brain will be presented with a ‘grid’ of frequency values. This grid is naturally ‘flat’ – so what is being looked at is projected onto it like a film on to a screen. Any depth present in what is being looked at thus has to be deduced. Having more than one eye will provide the brain visual information from different angles. Movement will produce a succession of images that can provide even more information. But none of this is going to actually provide a direct perception of what is being seen. Some kind of ‘software’ is required to deduce volume, to isolate objects in the field of view. We know that this system can be fooled – consider optical illusions, or the experiment of the ‘invisible gorilla’.

All in all, it seems to me obvious that what each being ‘sees’ is something that stands at the very apex of a pyramid of guesses and half truths, and if two people observing the same scene are seeing different things (because of the different angles they are seeing it from, and their different life experiences that affect ‘what they see’, etc), how much more is the difference between what a human sees as compared to a pigeon, say, who has 5 colour cones in its retinas to our 3 – with each of those 5 being considerably more discerning of frequencies than are our own. And who knows what kind of ‘software’ is operating in the pigeon’s brain. I feel it is safe to say that, whatever it is that it is seeing, this will be considerably different from what a human observing the same scene is seeing. If we then continue our process of aggregation to take in the other senses that a being might possess, then it becomes blindingly obvious that there are as many perceptual views of the world as there are beings – with a wildly varying variety among them.

So our direct perception of the world is unique, but there is more to our awareness of underlying reality; for do we not produce further levels of aggregation collectively? Surely we influence each other’s perceptions, as does our culture, our upbringing, what we read, what we watch on TV etc. If an average person from the West wanders about in the Amazon rainforest, she will see ‘trees’ and creepy crawlies, whereas a native to the area will, presumably, see this kind of tree and that kind of insect, and will, further, have cultural associations with that tree and that insect – stories, understanding of possible uses. (Before I had a garden, I would walk into one and notice that it was colourful, and see the flowers and the foliage forming a ‘pretty picture’ – now I see the individual plants, and notice details I never noticed before, and I’m aware of what is on an ‘upswing’, what on a ‘downswing’. Friends who don’t have gardens, or little interest in them, look at my garden and they simply don’t ‘see’ it – they are ‘blind to it’ in the way I used to be. A little bit of knowledge and some experience have entirely changed what it is I ‘see’.)

So, let me suggest that people getting lost in ‘virtual worlds’ (our current anxiety is those virtual worlds produced by computers and by our technology) is nothing new. Human beings, like all other beings, have always lived in a ‘virtual world’, one that they have created within themselves as the best attempt they can make towards achieving a direct awareness of underlying reality. It is how close those virtualities are to the underlying reality that is always in play. When we began abandoning our old hunter-gathering lifestyle, we set in motion a new process. Life within a human settlement is substantially different from a life outwith it. In a human settlement, for example, geometry begins to dominate – the simple geometry of straight lines, corners and circles – a geometry that is a product of our brains’ desire to simplify the ungraspable fractal complexities of the world. As settlements began increasing in complexity, undulations in the ground were flattened out, slopes were turned into steps, water began running in channels, or off roofs and into gutters. Even in ancient times, it was becoming possible in some places to live one’s life entirely within this human-made space. This process has accelerated for thousands of years so that, gradually we have spent more and more time in environments that are externalizations of the software that evolved to make sense of our perceptions of the world. For many of us this feedback loop has grown tighter and tighter. Always having lived in a virtual reality of our own individual making, we have slowly replaced the inputs from those parts of the underlying reality that were not human-made, with those that are. And since all things human-made are an externalisation of our interior virtualities, we are now increasingly in danger of living within a locked system entirely of our own making: we live not in the world at all, but within a collective ‘human virtuality’.

So, all beings are peering at reality through their own version of a keyhole, however, we humans seem to be intent on blocking up these keyholes. Of course, the reason that beings developed senses at all was because everything that determined their chances of survival was outside them. That need has not changed, but we humans have become so intoxicated with our own power that, showing ultimate hubris, our senses focus increasingly on the human virtuality. But, critically, that collective hallucination is increasingly diverging from reality, and so we motor on into the future driving ever more blindly…

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why driving on the left may be safer…

Monday, October 22nd, 2012
left traffic in India...

left traffic in India…

right traffic France...

right traffic in France…

The world is divided into those who drive on the left, and those who drive on the right, apparently in a proportion of one third to two thirds. Although surely it would be more convenient if we all drove on the same side, the choice, made in the past, to go for one or the other, has now been carved into the landscape and could not easily be changed. Does this difference matter? Certainly it imposes costs on car manufacturers, and there are costs also in human effort and, perhaps, in accidents as people abroad, accustomed to driving on one side, have to adapt to driving on the other. These costs would almost certainly be exceeded by those resulting from changing the handedness of all the roads across a whole country – both in money, and in accidents as an entire population adapted to their new roads.

A contention that driving on the right or the left is equivalent presupposes that human beings function symmetrically; that we can as easily do something to the right as to the left – and we know that this is not true. Clearly, in a car in which the gears are changed manually, it cannot be irrelevant whether we are using our left hand or our right to do so. People are predominantly right handed, and thus it would seem that, for most of us, we should be able to change gears more ‘naturally’ in a left-hand drive car.

Now this point may seem a tad trivial – after all, right and left handedness is a matter of statistics, even in the individual: studies have shown that there are many tasks in which a right/left choice has to be made – from writing by hand, to unscrewing the top off a jar – and that, across this range of tasks, a right hander will not always preferentially use his right hand; each individual thus having a more or less fixed pattern of right and left hand use across a range of tasks. No doubt, as left handers do manage to adapt to a right handed world, anyone is capable of learning to be proficient at changing gears with whatever hand he is required to use by dint of where he learns to drive.

However, a more profound aspect to this lies in the functional asymmetry in our brains: brain functions seem to be unevenly distributed between our left and right hemispheres with a specific distribution that is even found in most left handers. The preference we have, to use one hand or the other for this task or that, derives from this asymmetry, but is by no means its only consequence.

From my understanding of Iain McGilchrist’s book The Master and his Emissary, the right hemisphere perceives the world as a whole, is deeply attuned to the particular, the individual, the immediate; and has no problem with ambiguity and paradox, with complexity and unknowability. The left hemisphere, by contrast, is obsessed with abstraction, with wheedling out underlying geometries, with generalities; what it perceives it dissects and analyses. It focuses on what it knows and seeks certainty and single, definitive answers.

Now it seems that the left hemisphere is strictly aware only of the right half of our field of view, whereas the right hemisphere is aware of the entire field (even though it specifically controls the left eye). So, for example, if you are driving on the left it is the left hemisphere that is aware of oncoming traffic; if you are driving on the right, it is the right hemisphere that performs this role. This is only one implication, I’m sure you can think of others…

This all suggests to me some interesting questions. Could it be, for example, part of the explanation for the different way that people drive in right-traffic and left-traffic countries? Is driving on one side of the road inherently safer than driving on the other…?

Disclaimer: I know that the photos prove nothing – I only wish I had found more amusing ones to, tongue in cheek, illustrate my thesis…

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grasp…

Monday, October 3rd, 2011

grasping hold

T’ai Chi taught me many things but perhaps nothing quite as useful as the unlearning of the reflex to grasp. This reflex – to grab hold of something, most often with the dominant hand – becomes a liability in any kind of fight. One problem is that it focuses the mind on the grasping hand: thus focused, the mind loses the ability to see ‘the bigger picture’. Another is that an attempt to grab some part of an opponent is a necessarily difficult procedure: he is most likely to be in motion, and the desire to coordinate the grasping hand with the moving target absorbs altogether too much of your attention. Further, even if you succeed in grasping your target you will become attached to the other person by your own grasp in a way that can be used against you. While all this is going on, much of what your opponent is up to will most likely elude you, and, because of your focus, you are open to essentially ‘surprise attacks’ from those parts of your opponent that you are not monitoring. All in all this is not a brilliant tactic.

Thus T’ai Chi seeks to disarm the ‘grasp reflex’, instead training you to remain in a state of overall awareness, and using, for example, the back of the hand, the wrist and the forearm, to make contact with your opponent. This is not done randomly, but with an interest in the areas above or below joints, elbows and knees, the hips etc. Once contact is achieved it is allowed to slide across your body as you roll into your opponent, sensing the movement of his body in space, the dynamics of his weight shifting, until you feel one of his joints nearing a position of disadvantage, his weight passing near a fulcrum where he is close to losing his balance. Only at this point is focus narrowed and your force deployed against him.

The aim is to remain uncommitted until the last moment. Thus the practice of the ‘forms’ that, to an outsider, appear to be a gentle dance, but that is the attempt to keep muscles and joints relaxed while in constant motion and, with paired work (‘pushing hands’), maintaining this while impacting and being in contact with the other.

I believe this principle is related to the balance of the hemispheres of the brain. What concerns me here, however, is how ‘grasp’ is metaphorically extended to the mental attempt to understand something. It seems to me that everything I have described above can also be applied to this. That when we attempt to understand an issue of any complexity – as the movement of a human opponent in space is complex – any attempt to directly ‘grasp’ that issue will lead only to a clumsy, partial understanding, if not indeed to confusion as it defeats you. When faced with such complexity I have found that it is better to engage it using the ‘edges’ of my mind, to forgo coming to quick conclusions, to keep my mind gently out of focus: understanding naturally emerges from this process, hardening to clarity in its own time.

I applied this recently to my travel plans: delaying the purchase of tickets, allowing other possibilities of routes and timings to emerge. This made it possible for me to change my plans dramatically; returning to Edinburgh to attend the Achaemenid conference and making better use of my time. Some may point out that not everyone has the freedom of action I had here – however I would counter that all situations have their limitations and that, within these, it is always possible to apply this brand of ‘fuzzy planning’…

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orthogonality revisited…

Wednesday, April 27th, 2011

brothers quay - little broom

© The Brothers Quay

I have come to realize that a seeking after ‘orthogonality’ is a warning sign that I am slipping into the comfort of relying on a dominant trait in my personality. Having read Iain McGilchrist’s book The Master and His Emissary I have become somewhat convinced that this dominant trait is actually an over-reliance on the left hemisphere of my brain. As such this becomes not only about me, but about a very large number of people out there…

When I first addressed the issue of orthogonality here I was fully possessed by the ‘naturalness’ of my desire for orthogonality, and by it satisfying a feeling of ‘rightness’ (somewhat ironic *grin*). At that time I did not identify orthogonality with the general control freakery that is also a part of my personality. McGilchrist’s book has clarified this for me. So that I now believe that it is likely that the desire for orthogonality and control freakery are two aspects of the functioning of the left hemisphere. Though both seem to be natural emergent behaviours of the left hemisphere, orthogonality – at least as I describe it in its more ‘luminous’ and smiling aspect in my previous post – forms part of the fluid process (described in McGilchrist’s book) of:

right hemisphere generation of an idea; analysis and editing in the left hemisphere; a final passing back to the right hemisphere for idea and analysis to be integrated into a single, vibrant conception.

I imagine that many people will recognize that this is the process that they follow when they are creative in a way that feels ‘healthy’ to them. Certainly, I find this interpretation of the creative process resonant.

What I have termed ‘control freakery’ is what happens when that fluid process stalls, because the left hemisphere insists on obsessing over its analysis and refuses to pass the fruits of this on to the right. That this is happening becomes obvious whenever you feel that your idea, once in vibrant flight, has come down to earth only to have its wings snipped off and be dissected until it feels stale and dead. (The image in my mind is the fabulous Brothers Quay animation This Unnameable Little Broom).

Well before this happens, it seems to me that the feeling that you are seeking orthogonality, or are generally focusing on ‘orthogonal issues’ – right angles, parallel lines, squareness – all of these abstracting to neatness, clinical perfection, issues of ‘right’ alignment – that you can be pretty certain that your left hemisphere is in the ascendent and, if you’re like me, you might want to loosen things up a bit, to stop the machinery clamping down and so to release your idea to fly free into clearer skies…

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the divided brain…

Saturday, March 5th, 2011
The Master and the Emissary...

The Master and the Emissary © markswan.net

The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World is not a self-help book, nor is it one of those books of cod-philosophy that promise amazing (though ultimately ill-founded) insights into the modern condition. It is instead a carefully argued thesis meticulously supported by references to research, as well as by appeals to personal experience.

Its core premise is that we possess a single consciousness, but two wills: one each in the right and left hemispheres of our brains. McGilchrist posits that these hemispheres are profoundly asymmetric – not only physically (they have measurably different widths and lengths, for example), but functionally.

The right hemisphere perceives the world as a whole, is deeply attuned to the particular, the individual, the immediate; and has no problem with ambiguity and paradox, with complexity and unknowability. The left hemisphere, by contrast, is obsessed with abstraction, with wheedling out underlying geometries, with generalities; what it perceives it dissects and analyses. It focuses on what it knows and seeks certainty and single, definitive answers. Critically, the left hemisphere’s field of operation is essentially what the right hemisphere passes to it. McGilchrist suggests that an optimally functioning human brain should gather impressions from the world with its right hemisphere, pass these to the left for analysis and then, crucially, integrate these analyses into its holistic picture.

The first half of the book builds up what appears to be an impressive body of evidence to support this view – evidence not only from neurological studies and practice, but also from art and philosophy. In the second half of the book McGilchrist then applies this theory to Western history in an attempt to explain many of its developments; a venture that he admits is extremely ambitious.

Roughly speaking, he claims that in the West we have, as a consequence of a move into abstraction that began with the ancient Greeks, coupled with our increasingly materialist perspectives, gradually moved into a way of being that favours the left hemisphere – that, finding itself in the man-made world resulting from its manipulations and over which it feels it has complete mastery, it is no longer prepared to relinquish control back to the right hemisphere. This “betrayal”, McGilchrist suggests, is increasingly dangerous for us – for the left hemisphere view is necessarily narrow: the greatest whole it can conceive of is that that it can assemble from the pieces into which it breaks everything down. Thus we cease to see living things, our planet, the universe, as anything more than a machine that is a sum of its parts: a vision of living things as misguided as Dr Frankenstein’s…

McGilchrist’s arguments seemed to me convincing enough, though necessarily I had to take most of the supporting evidence on trust – as in most such books, how can we hope to be able to check it out for ourselves…

However – and this is why I am writing this endorsement – I found that much in the book gels with my own experience. Like many (most? all?) people, I have two sides: one that is intuitive, connected to nature, free flowing; the other analytical, obsessed with orthogonality, analysis, precision and getting to the right answer. These war in me all the time, but never more so than in my work. In the Stone Dance, for example, I would often get lost in ‘research’, exploring every avenue, pursuing every problem until, frequently, I would squeeze every last drop of blood from the visions that had inspired me to write at all. (This ‘deadening’ is, according to McGilchrist, a sure sign that the left hemisphere is hard at work.) But then that other part of me would swoop down and snatch up these dead fragments and absorb them into a vision more vibrant than before.

Thus a constant problem with my creative process is that I feel I have spent altogether too much of my time slicing away at ‘corpses’ and perishingly little in exhilarating ‘flight’. In the struggle to maximize the latter and minimize the former, I have often veered towards attempting ‘flight’ on its own, without any of the preparatory surgery of research and analysis (Icarus not bothering to glue the feathers to his wings?), only to find that it all becomes so airy that it dissipates away to nothing. Imagine my excitement when this process is explained to me; its necessity, its naturalness; to become confident that what is required is to seek a balance between the two.

This book, then, seems to me to provide a description of something that I live with every day and, unless I am weird and crazy, then it seems to me likely this is a description of how your brain works too…

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