Watching New Love as It Sears the Brain

Posted on December 7th, 2008 in Rationality & Emotions by Dr Rationalist

New love can look for all the world like mental illness, a blend of mania, dementia and obsession that cuts people off from friends and family and prompts out-of-character behavior – compulsive phone calling, serenades, yelling from rooftops – that could almost be mistaken for psychosis.

Now for the first time, neuroscientists have produced brain scan images of this fevered activity, before it settles into the wine and roses phase of romance or the joint holiday card routines of long-term commitment.

In an analysis of the images appearing  (recently) in The Journal of Neurophysiology, researchers in New York and New Jersey argue that romantic love is a biological urge distinct from sexual arousal.

It is closer in its neural profile to drives like hunger, thirst or drug craving, the researchers assert, than to emotional states like excitement or affection. As a relationship deepens, the brain scans suggest, the neural activity associated with romantic love alters slightly, and in some cases primes areas deep in the primitive brain that are involved in long-term attachment.

The research helps explain why love produces such disparate emotions, from euphoria to anger to anxiety, and why it seems to become even more intense when it is withdrawn. In a separate, continuing experiment, the researchers are analyzing brain images from people who have been rejected by their lovers.

“When you’re in the throes of this romantic love it’s overwhelming, you’re out of control, you’re irrational, you’re going to the gym at 6 a.m. every day – why? Because she’s there,” said Dr. Helen Fisher, an anthropologist at Rutgers University and the co-author of the analysis. “And when rejected, some people contemplate stalking, homicide, suicide. This drive for romantic love can be stronger than the will to live.”

Brain imaging technology cannot read people’s minds, experts caution, and a phenomenon as many sided and socially influenced as love transcends simple computer graphics, like those produced by the technique used in the study, called functional M.R.I.

Still, said Dr. Hans Breiter, director of the Motivation and Emotion Neuroscience Collaboration at Massachusetts General Hospital, “I distrust about 95 percent of the M.R.I. literature and I would give this study an ‘A’; it really moves the ball in terms of understanding infatuation love.”

He added: “The findings fit nicely with a large, growing body of literature describing a generalized reward and aversion system in the brain, and put this intellectual construct of love directly onto the same axis as homeostatic rewards such as food, warmth, craving for drugs.”

In the study, Dr. Fisher, Dr. Lucy Brown of Albert Einstein College of Medicine in the Bronx and Dr. Arthur Aron, a psychologist at the State University of New York at Stony Brook, led a team that analyzed about 2,500 brain images from 17 college students who were in the first weeks or months of new love. The students looked at a picture of their beloved while an M.R.I. machine scanned their brains. The researchers then compared the images with others taken while the students looked at picture of an acquaintance.

Functional M.R.I. technology detects increases or decreases of blood flow in the brain, which reflect changes in neural activity.

In the study, a computer-generated map of particularly active areas showed hot spots deep in the brain, below conscious awareness, in areas called the caudate nucleus and the ventral tegmental area, which communicate with each other as part of a circuit.

These areas are dense with cells that produce or receive a brain chemical called dopamine, which circulates actively when people desire or anticipate a reward. In studies of gamblers, cocaine users and even people playing computer games for small amounts of money, these dopamine sites become extremely active as people score or win, neuroscientists say.

Yet falling in love is among the most irrational of human behaviors, not merely a matter of satisfying a simple pleasure, or winning a reward. And the researchers found that one particular spot in the M.R.I. images, in the caudate nucleus, was especially active in people who scored highly on a questionnaire measuring passionate love.

This passion-related region was on the opposite side of the brain from another area that registers physical attractiveness, the researchers found, and appeared to be involved in longing, desire and the unexplainable tug that people feel toward one person, among many attractive alternative partners.

This distinction, between finding someone attractive and desiring him or her, between liking and wanting, “is all happening in an area of the mammalian brain that takes care of most basic functions, like eating, drinking, eye movements, all at an unconscious level, and I don’t think anyone expected this part of the brain to be so specialized,” Dr. Brown said.

The intoxication of new love mellows with time, of course, and the brain scan findings reflect some evidence of this change, Dr. Fisher said.

In an earlier functional M.R.I. study of romance, published in 2000, researchers at University College London monitored brain activity in young men and women who had been in relationships for about two years. The brain images, also taken while participants looked at photos of their beloved, showed activation in many of the same areas found in the new study – but significantly less so, in the region correlated with passionate love, she said.

In the new study, the researchers also saw individual differences in their group of smitten lovers, based on how long the participants had been in the relationships. Compared with the students who were in the first weeks of a new love, those who had been paired off for a year or more showed significantly more activity in an area of the brain linked to long-term commitment.

Last summer, scientists at Emory University in Atlanta reported that injecting a ratlike animal called a vole with a single gene turned promiscuous males into stay-at-home dads – by activating precisely the same area of the brain where researchers in the new study found increased activity over time.

“This is very suggestive of attachment processes taking place,” Dr. Brown said. “You can almost imagine a time where instead of going to Match.com you could have a test to find out whether you’re an attachment type or not.”

One reason new love is so heart-stopping is the possibility, the ever-present fear, that the feeling may not be entirely requited, that the dream could suddenly end.

In a follow-up experiment, Dr. Fisher, Dr. Aron and Dr. Brown have carried out brain scans on 17 other young men and women who recently were dumped by their lovers. As in the new love study, the researchers compared two sets of images, one taken when the participants were looking at a photo of a friend, the other when looking at a picture of their ex.

Although they are still sorting through the images, the investigators have noticed one preliminary finding: increased activation in an area of the brain related to the region associated with passionate love. “It seems to suggest what the psychological literature, poetry and people have long noticed: that being dumped actually does heighten romantic love, a phenomenon I call frustration-attraction,” Dr. Fisher said in an e-mail message.

One volunteer in the study was Suzanna Katz, 22, of New York, who suffered through a breakup with her boyfriend three years ago. Ms. Katz said she became hyperactive to distract herself after the split, but said she also had moments of almost physical withdrawal, as if weaning herself from a drug.

“It had little to do with him, but more with the fact that there was something there, inside myself, a hope, a knowledge that there’s someone out there for you, and that you’re capable of feeling this way, and suddenly I felt like that was being lost,” she said in an interview.

And no wonder. In a series of studies, researchers have found that, among other processes, new love involves psychologically internalizing a lover, absorbing elements of the other person’s opinions, hobbies, expressions, character, as well as sharing one’s own. “The expansion of the self happens very rapidly, it’s one of the most exhilarating experiences there is, and short of threatening our survival it is one thing that most motivates us,” said Dr. Aron, of SUNY, a co-author of the study.

To lose all that, all at once, while still in love, plays havoc with the emotional, cognitive and deeper reward-driven areas of the brain. But the heightened activity in these areas inevitably settles down. And the circuits in the brain related to passion remain intact, the researchers say – intact and capable in time of flaring to life with someone new.

What Makes Us Moral

Posted on February 25th, 2008 in Rationality & Morality by Dr Rationalist

If the entire human species were a single individual, that person would long ago have been declared mad. The insanity would not lie in the anger and darkness of the human mind-though it can be a black and raging place indeed. And it certainly wouldn’t lie in the transcendent goodness of that mind-one so sublime, we fold it into a larger “soul.” The madness would lie instead in the fact that both of those qualities, the savage and the splendid, can exist in one creature, one person, often in one instant.

We’re a species that is capable of almost dumbfounding kindness. We nurse one another, romance one another, weep for one another. Ever since science taught us how, we willingly tear the very organs from our bodies and give them to one another. And at the same time, we slaughter one another. The past 15 years of human history are the temporal equivalent of those subatomic particles that are created in accelerators and vanish in a trillionth of a second, but in that fleeting instant, we’ve visited untold horrors on ourselves-in Mogadishu, Rwanda, Chechnya, Darfur, Beslan, Baghdad, Pakistan, London, Madrid, Lebanon, Israel, New York City, Abu Ghraib, Oklahoma City, an Amish schoolhouse in Pennsylvania-all of the crimes committed by the highest, wisest, most principled species the planet has produced. That we’re also the lowest, cruelest, most blood-drenched species is our shame-and our paradox.

The deeper that science drills into the substrata of behavior, the harder it becomes to preserve the vanity that we are unique among Earth’s creatures. We’re the only species with language, we told ourselves-until gorillas and chimps mastered sign language. We’re the only one that uses tools then-but that’s if you don’t count otters smashing mollusks with rocks or apes stripping leaves from twigs and using them to fish for termites.

What does, or ought to, separate us then is our highly developed sense of morality, a primal understanding of good and bad, of right and wrong, of what it means to suffer not only our own pain-something anything with a rudimentary nervous system can do-but also the pain of others. That quality is the distilled essence of what it means to be human. Why it’s an essence that so often spoils, no one can say.

Morality may be a hard concept to grasp, but we acquire it fast. A preschooler will learn that it’s not all right to eat in the classroom, because the teacher says it’s not. If the rule is lifted and eating is approved, the child will happily comply. But if the same teacher says it’s also O.K. to push another student off a chair, the child hesitates. “He’ll respond, ‘No, the teacher shouldn’t say that,’” says psychologist Michael Schulman, co-author of Bringing Up a Moral Child. In both cases, somebody taught the child a rule, but the rule against pushing has a stickiness about it, one that resists coming unstuck even if someone in authority countenances it. That’s the difference between a matter of morality and one of mere social convention, and Schulman and others believe kids feel it innately.

Of course, the fact is, that child will sometimes hit and won’t feel particularly bad about it either-unless he’s caught. The same is true for people who steal or despots who slaughter. “Moral judgment is pretty consistent from person to person,” says Marc Hauser, professor of psychology at Harvard University and author of Moral Minds. “Moral behavior, however, is scattered all over the chart.” The rules we know, even the ones we intuitively feel, are by no means the rules we always follow.

Where do those intuitions come from? And why are we so inconsistent about following where they lead us? Scientists can’t yet answer those questions, but that hasn’t stopped them from looking. Brain scans are providing clues. Animal studies are providing more. Investigations of tribal behavior are providing still more. None of this research may make us behave better, not right away at least. But all of it can help us understand ourselves-a small step up from savagery perhaps, but an important one.

The Moral Ape

The deepest foundation on which morality is built is the phenomenon of empathy, the understanding that what hurts me would feel the same way to you. And human ego notwithstanding, it’s a quality other species share.

The deepest foundation on which morality is built is the phenomenon of empathy, the understanding that what hurts me would feel the same way to you. And human ego notwithstanding, it’s a quality other species share.It’s not surprising that animals far less complex than we are would display a trait that’s as generous of spirit as empathy, particularly if you decide there’s no spirit involved in it at all. Behaviorists often reduce what we call empathy to a mercantile business known as reciprocal altruism. A favor done today-food offered, shelter given-brings a return favor tomorrow. If a colony of animals practices that give-and-take well, the group thrives.

But even in animals, there’s something richer going on. One of the first and most poignant observations of empathy in nonhumans was made by Russian primatologist Nadia Kohts, who studied nonhuman cognition in the first half of the 20th century and raised a young chimpanzee in her home. When the chimp would make his way to the roof of the house, ordinary strategies for bringing him down-calling, scolding, offers of food-would rarely work. But if Kohts sat down and pretended to cry, the chimp would go to her immediately. “He runs around me as if looking for the offender,” she wrote. “He tenderly takes my chin in his palm … as if trying to understand what is happening.”

You hardly have to go back to the early part of the past century to find such accounts. Even cynics went soft at the story of Binta Jua, the gorilla who in 1996 rescued a 3-year-old boy who had tumbled into her zoo enclosure, rocking him gently in her arms and carrying him to a door where trainers could enter and collect him. “The capacity of empathy is multilayered,” says primatologist Frans de Waal of Emory University, author of Our Inner Ape. “We share a core with lots of animals.”

While it’s impossible to directly measure empathy in animals, in humans it’s another matter. Hauser cites a study in which spouses or unmarried couples underwent functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) as they were subjected to mild pain. They were warned before each time the painful stimulus was administered, and their brains lit up in a characteristic way signaling mild dread. They were then told that they were not going to feel the discomfort but that their partner was. Even when they couldn’t see their partner, the brains of the subjects lit up precisely as if they were about to experience the pain themselves. “This is very much an ‘I feel your pain’ experience,” says Hauser.

The brain works harder when the threat gets more complicated. A favorite scenario that morality researchers study is the trolley dilemma. You’re standing near a track as an out-of-control train hurtles toward five unsuspecting people. There’s a switch nearby that would let you divert the train onto a siding. Would you do it? Of course. You save five lives at no cost. Suppose a single unsuspecting man was on the siding? Now the mortality score is 5 to 1. Could you kill him to save the others? What if the innocent man was on a bridge over the trolley and you had to push him onto the track to stop the train?

Pose these dilemmas to people while they’re in an fMRI, and the brain scans get messy. Using a switch to divert the train toward one person instead of five increases activity in the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex-the place where cool, utilitarian choices are made. Complicate things with the idea of pushing the innocent victim, and the medial frontal cortex-an area associated with emotion-lights up. As these two regions do battle, we may make irrational decisions. In a recent survey, 85% of subjects who were asked about the trolley scenarios said they would not push the innocent man onto the tracks-even though they knew they had just sent five people to their hypothetical death. “What’s going on in our heads?” asks Joshua Greene, an assistant professor of psychology at Harvard University. “Why do we say it’s O.K. to trade one life for five in one case and not others?”

How We Stay Good

Merely being equipped with moral programming does not mean we practice moral behavior. Something still has to boot up that software and configure it properly, and that something is the community. Hauser believes that all of us carry what he calls a sense of moral grammar-the ethical equivalent of the basic grasp of speech that most linguists believe is with us from birth. But just as syntax is nothing until words are built upon it, so too is a sense of right and wrong useless until someone teaches you how to apply it.

Merely being equipped with moral programming does not mean we practice moral behavior. Something still has to boot up that software and configure it properly, and that something is the community. Hauser believes that all of us carry what he calls a sense of moral grammar-the ethical equivalent of the basic grasp of speech that most linguists believe is with us from birth. But just as syntax is nothing until words are built upon it, so too is a sense of right and wrong useless until someone teaches you how to apply it.It’s the people around us who do that teaching-often quite well. Once again, however, humans aren’t the ones who dreamed up such a mentoring system. At the Arnhem Zoo in the Netherlands, de Waal was struck by how vigorously apes enforced group norms one evening when the zookeepers were calling their chimpanzees in for dinner. The keepers’ rule at Arnhem was that no chimps would eat until the entire community was present, but two adolescents grew willful, staying outside the building. The hours it took to coax them inside caused the mood in the hungry colony to turn surly. That night the keepers put the delinquents to bed in a separate area-a sort of protective custody to shield them from reprisals. But the next day the adolescents were on their own, and the troop made its feelings plain, administering a sound beating. The chastened chimps were the first to come in that evening. Animals have what de Waal calls “oughts”-rules that the group must follow-and the community enforces them.

 

Human communities impose their own oughts, but they can vary radically from culture to culture. Take the phenomenon of Good Samaritan laws that require passersby to assist someone in peril. Our species has a very conflicted sense of when we ought to help someone else and when we ought not, and the general rule is, Help those close to home and ignore those far away. That’s in part because the plight of a person you can see will always feel more real than the problems of someone whose suffering is merely described to you. But part of it is also rooted in you from a time when the welfare of your tribe was essential for your survival but the welfare of an opposing tribe was not-and might even be a threat.

In the 21st century, we retain a powerful remnant of that primal dichotomy, which is what impels us to step in and help a mugging victim-or, in the astonishing case of Wesley Autrey, New York City’s so-called Subway Samaritan, jump onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train to rescue a sick stranger-but allows us to decline to send a small contribution to help the people of Darfur. “The idea that you can save the life of a stranger on the other side of the world by making a modest material sacrifice is not the kind of situation our social brains are prepared for,” says Greene.

Throughout most of the world, you’re still not required to aid a stranger, but in France and elsewhere, laws now make it a crime for passersby not to provide at least the up-close-and-personal aid we’re good at giving. In most of the U.S., we make a distinction between an action and an omission to act. Says Hauser: “In France they’ve done away with that difference.”

But you don’t need a state to create a moral code. The group does it too. One of the most powerful tools for enforcing group morals is the practice of shunning. If membership in a tribe is the way you ensure yourself food, family and protection from predators, being blackballed can be a terrifying thing. Religious believers as diverse as Roman Catholics, Mennonites and Jehovah’s Witnesses have practiced their own forms of shunning-though the banishments may go by names like excommunication or disfellowshipping. Clubs, social groups and fraternities expel undesirable members, and the U.S. military retains the threat of discharge as a disciplinary tool, even grading the punishment as “other than honorable” or “dishonorable,” darkening the mark a former service person must carry for life.

Sometimes shunning emerges spontaneously when a society of millions recoils at a single member’s acts. O.J. Simpson’s 1995 acquittal may have outraged people, but it did make the morality tale surrounding him much richer, as the culture as a whole turned its back on him, denying him work, expelling him from his country club, refusing him service in a restaurant. In November his erstwhile publisher, who was fired in the wake of her and Simpson’s disastrous attempt to publish a book about the killings, sued her ex-employer, alleging that she had been “shunned” and “humiliated.” That, her former bosses might well respond, was precisely the point.

“Human beings were small, defenseless and vulnerable to predators,” says Barbara J. King, biological anthropologist at the College of William and Mary and author of Evolving God. “Avoiding banishment would be important to us.”

Why We Turn Bad

With so many redundant moral systems to keep us in line, why do we so often fall out of ranks? Sometimes we can’t help it, as when we’re suffering from clinical insanity and behavior slips the grip of reason. Criminal courts are stingy about finding such exculpatory madness, requiring a disability so severe, the defendant didn’t even know the crime was wrong. That’s a very high bar that prevents all but a few from proving the necessary moral numbness.

With so many redundant moral systems to keep us in line, why do we so often fall out of ranks? Sometimes we can’t help it, as when we’re suffering from clinical insanity and behavior slips the grip of reason. Criminal courts are stingy about finding such exculpatory madness, requiring a disability so severe, the defendant didn’t even know the crime was wrong. That’s a very high bar that prevents all but a few from proving the necessary moral numbness.Things are different in the case of the cool and deliberate serial killer, who knows the criminality of his deeds yet continues to commit them. For neuroscientists, the iciness of the acts calls to mind the case of Phineas Gage, the Vermont railway worker who in 1848 was injured when an explosion caused a tamping iron to be driven through his prefrontal cortex. Improbably, he survived, but he exhibited stark behavioral changes-becoming detached and irreverent, though never criminal. Ever since, scientists have looked for the roots of serial murder in the brain’s physical state.

 

A study published last year in the journal NeuroImage may have helped provide some answers. Researchers working through the National Institute of Mental Health scanned the brains of 20 healthy volunteers, watching their reactions as they were presented with various legal and illegal scenarios. The brain activity that most closely tracked the hypothetical crimes-rising and falling with the severity of the scenarios-occurred in the amygdala, a deep structure that helps us make the connection between bad acts and punishments. As in the trolley studies, there was also activity in the frontal cortex. The fact that the subjects themselves had no sociopathic tendencies limits the value of the findings. But knowing how the brain functions when things work well is one good way of knowing where to look when things break down.

Fortunately, the overwhelming majority of us never run off the moral rails in remotely as awful a way as serial killers do, but we do come untracked in smaller ways. We face our biggest challenges not when we’re called on to behave ourselves within our family, community or workplace but when we have to apply the same moral care to people outside our tribe.

The notion of the “other” is a tough one for Homo sapiens. Sociobiology has been criticized as one of the most reductive of sciences, ascribing the behavior of all living things-humans included-as nothing more than an effort to get as many genes as possible into the next generation. The idea makes sense, and all creatures can be forgiven for favoring their troop over others. But such bias turns dark fast.

Schulman, the psychologist and author, works with delinquent adolescents at a residential treatment center in Yonkers, New York, and was struck one day by the outrage that swept through the place when the residents learned that three of the boys had mugged an elderly woman. “I wouldn’t mug an old lady. That could be my grandmother,” one said. Schulman asked whom it would be O.K. to mug. The boy answered, “A Chinese delivery guy.” Explains Schulman: “The old lady is someone they could empathize with. The Chinese delivery guy is alien, literally and figuratively, to them.”

This kind of brutal line between insiders and outsiders is evident everywhere-mobsters, say, who kill promiscuously yet go on rhapsodically about “family.” But it has its most terrible expression in wars, in which the dehumanization of the outsider is essential for wholesale slaughter to occur. Volumes have been written about what goes on in the collective mind of a place like Nazi Germany or the collapsing Yugoslavia. While killers like Adolf Hitler or Slobodan Milosevic can never be put on the couch, it’s possible to understand the xenophobic strings they play in their people.

“Yugoslavia is the great modern example of manipulating tribal sentiments to create mass murder,” says Jonathan Haidt, associate professor of psychology at the University of Virginia. “You saw it in Rwanda and Nazi Germany too. In most cases of genocide, you have a moral entrepreneur who exploits tribalism for evil purposes.”

That, of course, does not take the stain of responsibility off the people who follow those leaders-a case that war-crimes prosecutors famously argued at the Nuremberg trials and a point courageous people have made throughout history as they sheltered Jews during World War II or refuse to murder their Sunni neighbor even if a militia leader tells them to.

For grossly imperfect creatures like us, morality may be the steepest of all developmental mountains. Our opposable thumbs and big brains gave us the tools to dominate the planet, but wisdom comes more slowly than physical hardware. We surely have a lot of killing and savagery ahead of us before we fully civilize ourselves. The hope-a realistic one, perhaps-is that the struggles still to come are fewer than those left behind.

What Makes Us Moral, By Jerry Kluger, published in Time Magazine, 2007

Manipulating your Mind

Posted on November 26th, 2007 in The Mind by Dr Rationalist

Manipulating your mind – What will science discover about our brains, and how are we going to deal with it?

The Decade of the Brain, proclaimed by US President George Bush in 1990, passed without making much of an obvious impact. But it did in fact produce considerable scientific advances in neuro-biology, giving scientists an exponentially increasing knowledge of how the brain works and the means to manipulate biochemical processes within and between nerve cells. This knowledge is slowly trickling down to society as well, be it in the pharmaceutical industry, to parents concerned about their child’s performance in school, to students looking for chemical helpers to pass their exams, or to military researchers who have an obvious interest in keeping soldiers awake and alert.

“Unlike the many claimed applications of genetics… diagnostic and therapeutic products from neurobiological research are already available”

The ability to fiddle with the brain with ever-increasing effectiveness has also created critical questions about how to use this knowledge. Francis Fukuyama, in Our Posthuman Future, Leon Kass, Chairman of the US President’s Council on Bioethics, and Steven Rose, a neurobiologist at the Open University, UK, are the most prominent and outspoken critics of the use of psychopharmaceuticals and other neurological techniques to analyse and interfere with human mental capabilities. Their concerns have also grasped the attention of neurobiologists, ethicists, philosophers and the lay public, who are all slowly realising the enormous potential of modern neuroscience. “People closely identify themselves with their brains, they don’t with their genes,” said Arthur L. Caplan, Professor of Bioethics at the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, USA.

Although these debates started in the late 1990s, it took the general public a bit longer to take notice-The New York Times and The Economist did not pick up on the issue until 2002. “There is a great amount of information about the brain but no one’s paying attention to the ethics,” Caplan said. “The attention of ethicists went to genetics because of the Human Genome Project…so we had to jump-start the ethics [in neurobiology].” But that is rapidly changing. Unlike the many claimed applications of genetics, such as gene therapy or molecular medicine, diagnostic and therapeutic products from neurobiological research are already available. Caplan sees four major controversial areas: the definition and diagnosis of certain types of behaviour, such as aggression, terrorism or poor performance in school; the use of drugs to alter such behaviour; questions about moral responsibility-with people going to court and saying ‘this man isn’t responsible because his brain is abnormal’; and eventually new debates about racial and gender differences.

These controversies are not just anticipated: most are already occurring. Society’s pursuit of perfection entails ‘treating’ whatever is not desirable-be it bad mood, aggression or forgetfulness. Many people take herbal memory enhancers, such as ginkgo biloba, even though they are probably no more effective than sugar or coffee. But neurobiology adds a new twist. By understanding the brain’s workings at the chemical level, it paves the way for much more efficient ways to tweak brain function. And many psychopharmaceuticals already enjoy a much broader popularity beyond treating neurological and psychiatric diseases. “When you think of the millions of pills that people take as anti-anxiety drugs, how many of these people are really anxious? Probably just a small percentage,” said James L. McGaugh, Director of the Center for the Neurobiology of Learning and Memory at the University of California, Irvine, CA, USA. Millions of school children in the USA are prescribed antipsychotic drugs or are treated for depression and attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and the numbers in Western Europe are also increasing (Brower, 2003). There is an epidemic of new behavioural disorders: ADHD, seasonal affective disorder (SAD), post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), panic disorder (PD), narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), borderline personality disorder (BPD), antisocial personality disorder (APD), histrionic personality disorder (HPD)-soon we will run out of letter combinations to abbreviate them all. The explosive increase in prescriptions for Ritalin® for school children has already prompted questions about the apparent epidemic of ADHD. “Now it’s not that Ritalin is not effective in sedating an over-active kid, it certainly is, but it’s turning a complex social relationship into a problem inside the brain of a child and therefore inside the genes of a child,” said Rose (see interview, in this issue).

In a way, Ritalin is neuroethics “in a nutshell”, commented Wrye Sententia, co-director of the Center for Cognitive Liberty and Ethics (CCLE), a non-profit education, law and policy center in Davis, CA, USA, and head of its programme on neuroethics. The debate over the drug covers social, ethical and legal issues: who defines behaviour and behavioural disorder, who should control treatment, how should society react to drug misuse, and is it ethical to use drugs to gain an advantage over others? These are valid questions that apply equally to neuroethics in general.

Neuropharmaceuticals have already found applications outside a medical setting. Like amphetamines before it, Ritalin is increasingly used by healthy people to help them focus their attention. Similarly, the development of new drugs to influence the biochemistry of brain function also has broad economic potential outside the medical setting. Most memory-enhancing drugs available to treat Alzheimer’s, such as donezepil, galantamine or rivastigmine, inhibit cholinesterase to slow down the turnover of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine in the synapse. New drugs in the development pipeline will act on other compounds in the biochemical pathway that encodes memory: Cortex Pharmaceuticals (Irvine, CA, USA) are studying compounds called Ampakines®, which act on the AMPA receptor. This receptor responds to glutamate, which is itself involved in memory acquisition. Another class of drugs under development acts on the cAMP responsive element-binding protein (CREB), the last step in establishing long-term memory. “What we would expect is that drugs that enhance CREB signalling would be specific to inducing long-term memory and not affect upstream events of memory, such as memory acquisition and short term memory,” explained Tim Tully, Professor at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory (NY, USA) and founder of Helicon Therapeutics (Farmingdale, NY, USA), one of two companies now working on drugs to increase CREB function.

None of these drugs, however, tackles brain degeneration itself, the cause of Alzheimer’s and other neurodegenerative diseases, but instead they delay the disease by squeezing a little more out of the remaining brain material. Consequently, they will also work on healthy people. Not surprisingly, the pharmaceutical industry has a great interest in this non-medical use of memory-enhancing drugs, according to McGaugh: “The Alzheimer market is a very important one, but small. The real market is everyone else out there who would like to learn a little easier. So they take a pill in place of studying harder.” Tully warned about the dangers of this off-label use of memory enhancers. The side effects of the first generation of memory drugs are a risk that should not be taken when there is no reason, he said. And this may never become an application, due to other intrinsic side effects. “Maybe it is not a good thing to have memory enhanced chronically every day for the rest of your life. Maybe that will produce psychological side effects, like cramp your head with too many things you can’t forget,” Tully said.

“The strong military interest in psychopharmaceuticals also presents another conundrum: if the military allows their off-label use, it would be hard to call for a ban on their civil use…”

Although memory is important, so too is the ability to forget negative experiences. As long-term memory is largely enhanced by stress hormones and emotional arousal, a horrendous event can overload the system and lead to PTSD: patients persistently re-experience the trauma. Researchers at Harvard University are now studying propranolol, a beta-blocker commonly used as a cardiac drug, as a means to decrease PTSD. Similarly, Helicon Therapeutics is working on CREB suppressors to achieve the same goal: forgetting unwanted memories. These drugs could be valuable for rape victims, survivors of terrorist attacks or young soldiers suffering from PTSD as a result of battlefield experiences. Nevertheless, an ethical debate over memory suppressors has emerged. Kass has described them as the “morning-after pill for just about anything that produces regret, remorse, pain or guilt” (Baard, 2003). But “if the soldier should be shot in the leg, he is treated. They mend the wounds. Now why wouldn’t they mend the mental wounds? On what moral grounds?” countered McGaugh. “We need the right regulations and we need the right education of society so that the social acceptance of how to use such drugs is appropriate,” said Tully. “Just to give the drug to every soldier that has been out in the field, that would be an abuse… A commander-in-chief, one would hope, would decide against such a use based on his education and on his advisors telling him scientists and experts have discussed this issue and it’s immoral to do something like that.”

“Freedom of thought is situated at the core of what it means to be a free person”

Cognitive enhancement is of just as much military interest as the treatment of PTSD. German fighter pilots in World War II took amphetamines to stay alert during British bombing raids at night. During the war against Iraq, US fighter and bomber pilots used drugs to keep awake during the long flights to and from their targets, which with briefing and debriefing could easily exceed 24 hours. Not surprisingly, the US Air Force is carrying out research on how donepezil could improve pilots’ performance. The strong military interest in psychopharmaceuticals also presents another conundrum: if the military allows their off-label use, it would be hard to call for a ban on their civil use, as Kass has suggested.

Neurological advances are not limited to new drugs. Brain imaging techniques, such as functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) or positron emission tomography (PET), offer enormous potential for analysing higher behaviour. While neurologists originally used them to analyse basic sensual, motor and cognitive processes, they are now increasingly being used by psychologists and philosophers to investigate the mechanics of social and moral attitudes, reasoning and moral perceptions (Illes et al, 2003). Joshua Greene, a graduate student at Princeton University’s Center for the Study of Brain, Mind and Behavior, put his human subjects into a fMRI scanner and presented them with hypothetical scenarios in which they had to make a decision between two more or less bad outcomes of the situation (Greene et al, 2001). The results of the studies show how the brain weighs emotional and rational reasoning against each other in its decision-making. Potentially, this could be used as a sophisticated lie detector to see if someone answers a question spontaneously or after considerable reasoning. Other studies showed that the brain reacts differently at first sight when seeing a person of the same or a different skin colour (Hart et al, 2000; Phelps et al, 2000). That does not necessarily mean that everyone is a racist, but refinement of such methods could unveil personal prejudices or preferences. The use of brain scans to evaluate people’s talents or dispositions will therefore draw as much interest as the drugs used to manipulate them. “Parents will be falling over themselves to take these tests,” Caplan said. In contrast to Kass and other conservative critics, he therefore argues that regulation will not make sense but that it should be left to the individual to make decisions about whether to undergo diagnostic tests for behaviour or take behaviour-modifying drugs. “Medicine, business and the public will have to negotiate these boundaries,” Caplan said, but he remains worried that “peer pressure and advertising and marketing will make us take those pills.” Rose also does not call for a ban, but wants society to take control of these new advances and their applications, based on democratic decisions.

The use of these new tests and drugs may cause another problem. Going back to Ritalin, Sententia explained that an important reason for the apparent increase in ADHD may be overcrowded classrooms and overworked teachers, who are quick to label a child with ADHD rather than call for improvements in the school. “From the top down there is a clear message to put these kids on drugs,” Sententia said. Society should instead “put the parents’ rights back into focus” and better educate parents about behavioural disorders. This would give them more freedom to make their own decisions for their child “so they are not at the mercy of doctors or teachers,” she continued. Such “cognitive liberty”, as Sententia described it, would have to rest on better public education and understanding about the risks and benefits, the potentials and myths of neurobiology. “What I think we need to do in the next five or ten years is discuss exactly what is appropriate and inappropriate in applying these things,” said Tully. “Now is the time for education.”

This does not, however, solve the question of who controls diagnostic tools and treatment in the case of people who are not free or able to make their own decisions-such as children, prison inmates or psychiatric patients. CCLE, for instance, filed an amicus curiae (’friend of the court’) brief to the US Supreme Court on behalf of Charles T. Sell, to argue against a court order requiring Sell to be injected with psychotropic drugs to make him mentally competent to stand trial for insurance fraud. Sententia sees some limitations, however, to cognitive freedom. Children do not enjoy the same civil rights as adults, but it should be the parents-not teachers or schools-who make the decisions about the diagnosis and treatment of their children, she said. Prison inmates also lose some of their individual rights when they are convicted, Sententia continued, and this may include their right to refuse medication. “The legal system will have to decide how to use this knowledge about the brain,” Caplan commented, in light of the “tremendous tension between brain privacy and social interest in controlling dangerous behaviour.” Sententia therefore stressed that all decisions about diagnosis and treatment must at least be in accordance with the US Constitution and the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights.

Some of the most important applications of this right to privacy concern using brain scans as a sophisticated lie detector for prisoners seeking parole, foreigners applying for a visa or employers testing their employees’ honesty. “What and how you think should be private,” Sententia said, because “freedom of thought is situated at the core of what it means to be a free person.” Caplan also expects more pressure from society in future to make sure that no such tests are performed without informed consent.

“The use of brain scans to evaluate people’s talents or dispositions will therefore draw as much interest as the drugs used to manipulate them”

Equally, Caplan, Sententia and others believe that individuals should be free to use neurological technology to enhance their mental abilities outside a medical setting. This is in contrast to the prohibitive stance taken by Kass and other conservatives who argue that it would be neither ‘natural’ nor fair to those who choose not to use such enhancement. “It’s not clear to me that all forms of enhancement are bad,” commented Adina Roskies, a neuroscientist and philosopher at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Department of Linguistics and Philosophy (Cambridge, MA, USA). “There are all sorts of things that we do today that enhance our life prospects and that are not considered to be bad. … We’re far away from the ‘natural’ order already.” Thus, in some cases, instead of controlling or even restricting these new possibilities, it would be better if society focuses on trying to ensure that everyone has access to them, she continued. Given the increasing interest that the public is showing in the new possibilities offered by neuroscience, it may be too late for restrictions anyway. “There is no way of stopping this tide, the genie is out of the bottle,” Sententia said, “so the question is: how can we navigate this sea of change?”

References

  1. Baard E ( 2003) The guilt-free soldier. The Village Voice, Jan 22
  2. Brower V ( 2003) Analyse this. EMBO Rep 4: 1022-1024
  3. Greene JD, Sommerville RB, Nystrom LE, Darley JM, Cohen JD ( 2001) An fMRI investigation of emotional engagement in moral judgement. Science 293: 2105-2108
  4. Hart A, Whalen P, McInerney S, Fischer H, Rauch S ( 2000) Differential response in the human amygdala to racial outgroup versus ingroup stimuli. Neuroreport 11: 2351-2355
  5. Illes J, Kirschen MP, Gabrieli JDE ( 2003) From neuroimaging to neuroethics. Nat Neurosci 6: 205
  6. Phelps EA, O’Connor KJ, Cunningham WA, Funayama ES, Gatenby JC, Gore JC, Banaji MR ( 2000) Performance on indirect measures of race evaluation predicts amygdala activation. J Cogn Neurosci 12: 729-738

Manipulating your mind – What will science discover about our brains, and how are we going to deal with it? Holger Breithaupt & Katrin Weigmann, EMBO reports 5, 3, 230-232 (2004)

Neurology and Law

Posted on November 23rd, 2007 in Rationality & Politics, Visions of Future by Dr Rationalist

Imagine this futuristic courtroom scene. The defence barrister stands up, and pointing to his client in the dock, makes this plea: “The case against Mr X must be dismissed. He cannot be held responsible for smashing Mr Y’s face into a pulp. He is not guilty, it was his brain that did it. Blame not Mr X, but his overactive amygdala.”

The legal profession in America is taking an increasing interest in neuroscience. There is a flourishing academic discipline of “neurolaw” and neurolawyers are penetrating the legal system. Vanderbilt University recently opened a $27 million neuroimaging centre and hopes to enrol students in a programme in the law and neuroscience. In the courts, as in the trial of serial rapist and murderer Bobby Joe Long, brain-scan evidence is being invoked in support of pleas of diminished responsibility. The idea is abroad that developments in neuroscience – in particular the observation of activity in the living brain, using techniques such as functional magnetic resonance imaging – have shown us that we are not as free, or as accountable for our actions, as we traditionally thought.

Defence lawyers are licking their lips at the possibility of (to use law professor Jeffrey Rosen’s succinct phrase) placing “the brain on the stand” to take the rap on behalf of the client. Though they failed to cut much ice in Long’s case, arguments that blame lies not with the defendant but with his overactive amygdala (supposedly responsible for aggressive emotions) or his underactive frontal lobes (supposedly responsible for inhibiting the expression of such emotions) are being deployed with increasing frequency. If our brains are in charge, and bad behaviour is due to them, our attitude to criminal responsibility, to punishment (the balance between rehabilitation and retribution) and to preventive detention of individuals thought to have criminal tendencies may all have to change.

Before we invest millions in “neurolaw” centres, however, we need to remind ourselves that observations of brain activity in the laboratory can explain very few things about us. We have no neural explanation for: sensations; the differences between sensations; the way our consciousness coheres at any particular time and over time; our relationship to an explicit past and an explicit future; our sense of being a self; and our awareness of other people as having minds like ourselves. All of these are involved in ordinary, waking behaviour. The confident assertion that “his brain made him do it”, except in well-attested cases – such as the automatisms associated with certain forms of epilepsy or the disinhibited behaviour that may follow severe brain injury – therefore goes beyond our current knowledge or understanding.

Those who blame the brain should be challenged as to why they stop at the brain when they seek the causes of bad behaviour. Since the brain is a physical object, it is wired into nature at large. “My brain made me do it” must mean (ultimately) that “The Big Bang” made me do it. Neuro-determinism quickly slides into determinism tout court.

And there is a contradiction built into the plea of neuromitigation. The claim “my brain made me do it” suggests that I am not my brain; even that my brain is some kind of alien force. One of the founding notions of neurolaw, however, is that the person is the brain. If I were my brain, then “My brain made me do it” would boil down to “I made me do it” and that would hardly get me off the hook. And yet, if I am not identical with my brain, why should a brain make me do anything? Why should this impersonal bit of matter single me out?

The brain is, of course, the final common pathway of all actions. You can’t do much without a brain. Decapitation is, in most instances, associated with a decline in IQ.

Nevertheless, there is a difference between events that owe their origin to the stand-alone brain – for example the twitching associated with an epileptic fit – and actions that do not. While we do not hold someone responsible for an epileptic fit, we do hold them responsible for driving against medical advice and causing a fatal crash. The global excuse “my brain made me do it” would reduce life to a condition of status epilepticus.

In practice, most brain-blamers are not prepared to deny everyone’s responsibility for anything and everything. While the brain is blamed for actions that attract moral disapprobation or legal sanction, people do not normally pass responsibility on to their brains for good actions or for neutral actions such as pouring a cup of tea or just getting up for a stretch after a long sit down. When asked why he is defending a particular client, a barrister is unlikely to say: “My brain made me do it, your honour.” This pick-and-mix neuro-determinism is grounds for treating a plea of “neuro-mitigation” with caution.

So we still retain the distinction between events such as epileptic fits that can be attributed to brain activity and those that we attribute to persons who are more than mere neural activity. Deciding on the boundaries of our responsibility for events in which we are implicated cannot be handed over to neuroscientists examining the activity of the isolated brain in the laboratory. As Stephen Morse, a professor of law, has reminded us, it is people, not brains, who commit crimes and “neuroscience . . . can never identify the mysterious point at which people should be excused responsibility for their actions”. That moral, legal question must be answered not in laboratories but in courtrooms and legislatures.

Meanwhile, the neuromitigation of blame has to be treated with suspicion except in those instances where there is unambiguous evidence of grossly abnormal brain function or abnormal mental function due to clearcut illness that may have its origin in brain disease. Our knowledge of the relationship between brain and consciousness, brain and self, and brain and agency is so weak and so conceptually confused that the appeal to neuroscience in the law courts, the police station or anywhere else is premature and usually inappropriate. And, I would suggest, it will remain both premature and inappropriate. Neurolaw is just another branch of neuromythology.

 

Why blame me? It was all my brain’s fault
The dubious rise of ‘neurolaw’ Raymond Tallis

The Times Oct 24, 2007

Neuroethics

Posted on May 18th, 2007 in Reason & Faith by Dr Rationalist

Boston, MA-Prominent neuroscientists, theologians and bioethicists gathered at MIT on Sunday for a 3 day conference, Our Brains and Us: Neuroethics, Responsibility, and the Self, sponsored by the Dialogue on Science, Ethics, and Religion at the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

To a certain extent the title of the conference seems a bit strange to those who think that our brains pretty much are “us.” Brains are the organs in which our desires, memories, hopes, plans, and character all reside. We recognize the centrality of the brain to our personhood when we consider the question: would you prefer to be the donor or the recipient of a brain transplant?

The conferees are considering such issues as: If a brain scanning technology could reliably predict that someone will commit violence, should they be subject to prior restraint, or required to take medications that would moderate that tendency? Do people who have suffered painful abuse have an obligation to retain that memory or do they have the right to blunt it? Perhaps perpetrators of violence should be required to retain the memory of their evil, while victims would be allowed to moderate their recollections?

They are also debating questions of what constitutes neural normalcy: When can outsiders legitimately intervene to correct another person’s eccentricities? Religious scholar David Hogue suggests that modern neuroscience is encouraging unjustified notions of “perfectability” and that we “run the risk of becoming gods.”

Besides these large questions, neuroscientists are displaying some of the findings of their field. Floyd Bloom from the Scripps Research Institute showed a brain scan of two players engaged in a kind of tit-for-tat game in which one player learns to trust another. The interesting aspect of the brain scan was that areas of the basal ganglia associated with feelings of reward “light up” as the player comes to trust the other player. Positive social interaction elicits the same internal reward system that food, water and sex do. Have neuroscientists identified “trust” in the brain? University of Pennsylvania brain researcher Martha Farah reviewed the latest brain scanning literature which has tried to prove the hypothesis that there is a “self module” in the brain-that is, a network of brain cells that would respond predictably when a brain considers itself and its body. Farah’s review found that current brain imaging studies could not in fact confirm such a claim. There does seem to be a module (network) devoted to identifying “persons” that helps us predict the behavior of others in terms of reasons; assumes a continuity of identity of other persons; and enables us to assign blame and punish others.

Author Andrew Solomon’s struggle with depression led him to extensive study of neuroscience research. Solomon noted that in the past psychiatrists would argue that depression caused by psychological trauma (say child abuse or surviving the Holocaust) would be better treated by psychological means, such as talk therapy, whereas depression that doesn’t seem to come from any specific incident but seems to arise from a neurochemical shift is more amenable to drug treatments. Solomon pointed out that brain researcher Eric Kandel has found that talk therapy and anti-depressant drugs induce the same set of physical changes in the brain.

On the religious front, theologian Nancey Murphy from Fuller Theological Seminary described some remarkably interesting scholarly research that suggests that the early Christians did not subscribe to the idea of an immaterial soul separate from the body. Murphy argued that the idea of an immaterial soul was smuggled in when Hebrew scriptures were translated into Greek around 250 BCE. For example, the Hebrew word nefesh, which referred to the whole living person, was translated as psyche, or soul. In Hebrew thought, the concept of spirit stands the whole person in relation to God, not some separable part of a person. Murphy argued that New Testament authors were not teaching about the metaphysical condition of human beings or asking whether there is a period of conscious existence between death and bodily resurrection. “The Christian hope for eternal life is staked on bodily resurrection, not on the existence of an immaterial soul,” concluded Murphy. “Thus contemporary believers can formulate their views in conformance with science. There is no conflict between science and religion.”

Finally, David Hogue asked, “Is there anything the neuroscience will not be asked to explain? I suspect that the answer is ‘no’”. He seemed rather glum about the prospect.

To a certain extent the title of the conference seems a bit strange to those of us who think that our brains pretty much are “us.” Brains are the organs in which our desires, memories, hopes, plans, and character all reside. We recognize the centrality of the brain to our personhood when we consider the question: would you prefer to be the donor or the recipient of a brain transplant?

The conferees are considering such issues as: If a brain scanning technology could reliably predict that someone will commit violence, should they be subject to prior restraint, or required to take medications that would moderate that tendency? Do people who have suffered painful abuse have an obligation to retain that memory or do they have the right to blunt it? Perhaps perpetrators of violence should be required to retain the memory of their evil, while victims would be allowed to moderate their recollections?

They are also debating questions of what constitutes neural normalcy: When can outsiders legitimately intervene to correct another person’s eccentricities? Religious scholar David Hogue suggests that modern neuroscience is encouraging unjustified notions of “perfectability” and that we “run the risk of becoming gods.”

Besides these large questions, neuroscientists are displaying some of the findings of their field. Floyd Bloom from the Scripps Research Institute showed a brain scan of two players engaged in a kind of tit-for-tat game in which one player learns to trust another. The interesting aspect of the brain scan was that areas of the basal ganglia associated with feelings of reward “light up” as the player comes to trust the other player. Positive social interaction elicits the same internal reward system that food, water and sex do. Have neuroscientists identified “trust” in the brain? University of Pennsylvania brain researcher Martha Farah reviewed the latest brain scanning literature which has tried to prove the hypothesis that there is a “self module” in the brain-that is, a network of brain cells that would respond predictably when a brain considers itself and its body. Farah’s review found that current brain imaging studies could not in fact confirm such a claim. There does seem to be a module (network) devoted to identifying “persons” that helps us predict the behavior of others in terms of reasons; assumes a continuity of identity of other persons; and enables us to assign blame and punish others.

Author Andrew Solomon’s struggle with depression led him to extensive study of neuroscience research. Solomon noted that in the past psychiatrists would argue that depression caused by psychological trauma (say child abuse or surviving the Holocaust) would be better treated by psychological means, such as talk therapy, whereas depression that doesn’t seem to come from any specific incident but seems to arise from a neurochemical shift is more amenable to drug treatments. Solomon pointed out that brain researcher Eric Kandel has found that talk therapy and anti-depressant drugs induce the same set of physical changes in the brain.

On the religious front, theologian Nancey Murphy from Fuller Theological Seminary described some remarkably interesting scholarly research that suggests that the early Christians did not subscribe to the idea of an immaterial soul separate from the body. Murphy argued that the idea of an immaterial soul was smuggled in when Hebrew scriptures were translated into Greek around 250 BCE. For example, the Hebrew word nefesh, which referred to the whole living person, was translated as psyche, or soul. In Hebrew thought, the concept of spirit stands the whole person in relation to God, not some separable part of a person. Murphy argued that New Testament authors were not teaching about the metaphysical condition of human beings or asking whether there is a period of conscious existence between death and bodily resurrection. “The Christian hope for eternal life is staked on bodily resurrection, not on the existence of an immaterial soul,” concluded Murphy. “Thus contemporary believers can formulate their views in conformance with science. There is no conflict between science and religion.”

Finally, David Hogue asked, “Is there anything the neuroscience will not be asked to explain? I suspect that the answer is ‘no’”. He seemed rather glum about the prospect.

Minds on Brains, Hobnobbing with neuroscientists and theologians, Matt Welch, April 18, 2005

Seeing and Knowing

Posted on May 17th, 2007 in Reason & Rationality, The Mind by Dr Rationalist

The present paper has two major goals, one of which is to argue that seeing is not always perceiving and the other of which is to argue that visual perception alone leads to knowledge of the world. Let me immediately try to make these two cryptic claims more transparent. Not all human vision has been designed to allow visual perception. Seeing can and often does make us visually aware of objects, properties and facts in the world. But it need not. Often enough, seeing allows us to act efficiently on objects of which we are dimly  aware, if at all. While moving at high speed, for example, experienced drivers are sometimes capable of avoiding an interfering obstacle of whose visual attributes they become fully aware afterwards. One may efficiently either catch or avoid being hit by a flying tennis ball without being aware of either its color or texture. This is the sense in which seeing is not always perceiving. If so, then the question arises as to the nature, function and cognitive role of non-perceptual vision. Here, I will make two joint claims. First of all, I will try to argue that the main job of human visual perception is to provide visual information for what functionalist philosophers have called  the “belief box”. In other words, visual percepts are inputs to further conceptual processing whose output can be stored in the belief box. Secondly, I will try to argue that the function of that part of the visual system that produces what I shall call “non-perceptual” or more often “visuomotor” representations is to provide visual guidance to the “intention box”. More specifically, I will argue that, unlike visual percepts, visuomotor representations – which, I shall claim, are genuine representations – present visual information to motor intentions and serve as inputs to “causally indexical” concepts. On the joint assumptions (that I accept) that in the relevant propositional sense, only facts can be known, and that one cannot know a fact unless one believes that this very fact (or state of affairs) holds, then it follows from my distinction between perceptual and visuomotor processing that only visual perception can give rise to “detached” knowledge of the mind-independent world.
 
 

I. Not all seeing is perceiving
I.1. The dualistic model of the human visual system
            In their (1982) paper “Two Cortical Visual Systems”, the cognitive neuroscientists Leslie Ungerleider and Mortimer Mishkin posited an anatomical distinction between the ventral pathway and the dorsal pathway in the primate visual system (see Figure 1). The former projects the primary visual cortex onto inferotemporal areas. The latter projects the primary visual cortex onto parietal areas, which serve as a relay between the primary visual cortex, the premotor and the motor cortex. Ungerleider and Mishkin based their anatomical distinction on neurophysiological and behavioral evidence gathered from the study of macaque monkeys. They performed intrusive lesions respectively in the ventral and in the dorsal pathway of the visual system of macaque monkeys and they found the following double dissociation. Animals with a lesion in the ventral pathway were impaired in the identification and recognition of the colors, textures and shapes of objects. But they were relatively unimpaired in tasks or spatial orientation. In tasks of spatial orientation, they were presented with two wells one of which contained food and the other of which was empty: the former was closer to a landmark than the latter (see Figure 2). Animals with a ventral lesion could accurately use the presence of the landmark in order to discriminate the well with food from the well without. By contrast, animals with a dorsal lesion were severely disoriented, but their capacity to identify and recognize the shapes, colors and textures of objects were well-preserved. On this basis, Ungerleider and Mishkin (1982) concluded that the ventral pathway of the primate visual system is the What system and the dorsal pathway of the primate visual system is the Where system.
 

            In their (1995) book, The Visual Brain in Action, the cognitive neuroscientists David Milner and Mel Goodale presented a number of arguments in favor of a new interpretation of the dualistic model of the human visual system. On their view, the ventral stream of the human visual system serves what they call “vision-for-perception” and the dorsal stream serves what they call “vision-for-action”. The important idea underlying Milner and Goodale’s dualistic model of human vision is that one and the same visual stimulus can be processed in two fundamentally different ways. Now, two caveats are important here. First of all, it is quite clear, I think, that, as Austin (1962) emphasized, humans can see a great variety of things: they can see e.g., tables, trees, rivers, substances, gases, vapors, mountains, flames, clouds, smoke, shadows, holes, pictures, movies, events and actions. Here, I will not examine the ontological status of all the various things that human beings can see and I shall restrict myself to seeing ordinary middle-sized objects that can also happen to be targets of human actions. Secondly, it is no objection to the dualistic model of the human visual system to acknowledge that, in the real life of normal human subjects, the two distinct modes of visual processing are constantly collaborating. Indeed, the very idea that they collaborate – if and when they do – presupposes that they are distinct. The trick of course is to find experimental conditions in which the two modes of visual processing can be dissociated. In the following, I will provide some examples drawn first from the psychophysical study of normal human subjects and then from the neuropsychological study of brain-lesioned human patients.
 
 

I.2. Psychophysical evidence
            Bridgeman et al. (1975) Goodale et al. (1986) found that normal subjects can point accurately to a target on the screen of a computer whose motion they could not consciously notice because it coincided with one of their saccadic eye movement (see Jeannerod, 1997: 82). Castiello et al. (1991) found that subjects are able to correct the trajectory of their hand movement directed towards a moving target some 300 milliseconds before they became conscious of the target’s change of location. Pisella et al. (2000) and Rossetti & Pisella (2000) performed experiments involving a pointing task in which subjects were presented with a green target towards which they were requested to point their index finger. Some of them were instructed to stop their pointing movement towards the target when and only when it changed location by jumping either to the left or to the right. Pisella et al. (2000) and Rossetti & Pisella (2000) found a significant percentage of very fast unwilled correction movements generated by what they called the “automatic pilot” for hand movement. In a second experiment, Pisella et al. (2000) presented subjects simultaneously with pairs of a green and a red target. They were instructed to point to the green target, but the color of the two targets could be interchanged unexpectedly at movement onset. Unlike a change of target location, a change of color did not elicit fast unwilled corrective movements by the “automatic pilot”. On this basis, Pisella et al. (2000) draw a contrast between the fast visuomotor processing of the location of a target in egocentric coordinates and  the slower visual processing of the color of an object.
 

            One psychophysical area of particular interest is the study of visual size-contrast illusions. One particularly well-known such illusion is the Titchener or Ebbinghaus illusion. The standard version of the illusion consists of the display of two circles of equal diameter, one surrounded by an annulus of circles greater than it, and the other surrounded by an annulus of circles smaller than it. Although they are equal, the former looks smaller than the latter (see Figure 3). One plausible account of the Titchener illusion is that the array of smaller circles is judged to be more distant than the array of larger circles. Visually based perceptual judgments of distance and size are typically relative judgments: in a perceptual task, one cannot but fail to see some things as smaller (or larger) and closer (or further away) than other neighboring things that are parts of a single visual array. In perceptual tasks, the output of obligatory comparisons of sizes, distances and positions of constituents of a visual array serves as input to perceptual constancy mechanisms. As a result, of two physically equal objects, if one is perceived as more distant from the observer than the other, the former will be perceived as larger than the latter. A non-standard version of the illusion consists in the display of two circles of unequal diameter: the larger of the two is surrounded by an annulus of circles larger than it, while the smaller of the two is surrounded by an annulus of circles smaller than it, so that the two unequal circles look equal.
 

            Aglioti et al. (1995) designed an experiment in which they replaced the two central circles by two graspable three-dimensional plastic disks, which they displayed within a horizontal plane. In a first row of experiments with pairs of unequal disks whose diameters ranged from 27 mm to 33 mm, they found that on average the disk in the annulus of larger circles had to be 2,5 mm wider than the disk in the annulus of smaller circles in order for both to look equal. These numbers provide a measure of the delicacy of the human visual system. Finally, Aglioti et al. (1995) alternated presentations of physically unequal disks, which looked equal, and presentations of physically equal disks, which looked unequal. Both kinds of trials were presented randomly and so were the left vs. right positions of either kind of stimuli. Subjects were instructed to pick up the disk on the left between the thumb and index finger of their right hand if they thought the two disks to be equal or to pick up the disk on the right if they judged them to be unequal.
 

            The sequence of subjects’ choices of the disk on the right or the disk on the left provided a measure of the magnitude of the illusion prompted by the perceptual comparison between two disks surrounded by two distinct annuli. In the visuomotor task, the measure of grip size was based on the unfolding of the natural grasping movement performed by subjects while their hand approached the object. During a prehension movement, fingers progressively stretch to a maximal aperture before they close down until contact with the object. It has been found that the maximum grip aperture (MGA) takes place at a relatively fixed point, i.e., at about 60% of the duration of the movement (cf. Jeannerod, 1984). In non-illusory contexts, MGA has been found to be reliably correlated with the object’s physical size. Although much larger, it is directly proportional to the actual physical size of the object. MGA cannot depend on a conscious visual comparison between the size of the object and subjects’ hand during the prehension movement since the correlation between MGA and object’s size is reliable even when subjects have no visual access to their own hand. Rather, MGA is assumed to result from an early anticipatory automatic visual process of calibration. Thus, Aglioti et al. (1995) measured MGA in flight using optoelectronic recording.
 

            What Aglioti et al. (1995) found was that, unlike comparative perceptual judgment expressed by the sequence of choices of either the disk on the left or the disk on the right, the grip was not significantly affected by the illusion. The influence of the illusion was significantly stronger on perceptual judgment than on the grasping task. This experiment, however, raises a number of methodological problems. The main issue, raised by Pavani et al. (1999) and Franz et al. (2000), is the asymmetry between the two tasks. In the perceptual task, subjects are asked to compare two distinct disks surrounded by two different annuli. But in the grasping task, subjects focus on a single disk surrounded by an annulus. So the question arises whether, from the observation that the comparative perceptual judgment is more affected by the illusion than the grasping task, one may conclude that perception and action are based on two distinct representational systems.
 

            Aware of this problem, Haffenden & Goodale (1998) performed the same experiment, but they designed one more task: in addition to instructing subjects to pick up the disk on the left if they judged the two disks to be equal in size or to pick up the disk on the right if they judged them to be unequal, they required subjects to manually estimate between the thumb and index finger of their right hand the size of the disk on the left if they judged the disks to be equal in size and to manually estimate the size of the disk on the right if they judged them to be unequal (see Figure 4). Haffenden & Goodale (1998) found that the effect of the illusion on the manual estimation of the size of a disk (after comparison) was intermediary between comparative judgment and grasping.
 

            Furthermore, Haffenden & Goodale (1998) found that the presence of an annulus had a selective effect on grasping. They contrasted the presentation of pairs of disks either against a blank background or surrounded by an annulus of circles of intermediate size, i.e., of size intermediary between the size of the smaller circles and the size of the larger circles involved in the contrasting pair of illusory annuli. The circles of intermediate size in the annulus were slightly larger than the disks of equal size. When a pair of physically different disks were presented against either a blank background or a pair of annuli made of intermediate size circles, both grip scaling and manual estimates reflected the physical difference in size between the disks. When physically equal disks were displayed against either a blank background or a pair of annuli made of circles of intermediate size, no significant difference was found between grasping and manual estimate. The following dissociation, however, turned up: when physically equal disks were presented with a middle-sized annulus, overall MGA was smaller than when physically equal disks were presented against a blank background. Thus, the presence of an annulus of middle-sized circles prompted a smaller MGA than a blank background. Conversely, overall manual estimate was larger when physically equal disks were presented against a background with a middle-sized  annulus than when they were presented against a blank background. The illusory effect of the middle-size annulus presumably arises from the fact that the circles in the annulus were slightly larger than the equal disks. Thus, whereas the presence of a middle-sized annulus contributes to increasing manual estimation, it contributes to decreasing grip scaling. This dissociation shows that the presence of an annulus may have conflicting effects on perceptual estimate and on grip aperture.
 

            Finally, Haffenden, Schiff & Goodale (2001) went one step further. They presented subjects with three distinct Titchener circle displays one at a time, two of which are the traditional Titchener central disk surrounded by an annulus of circles either smaller than it or larger than it. In the former case, the gap between the edge of the disk and the annulus is 3 mm. In the latter case, the gap between the edge of the disk and the annulus is 11 mm. In the third display, the annulus is made of small circles (of the same size as in the first display), but the gap between the edge of the disk and the annulus is 11 mm (like the gap in the second display with an annulus of larger circles) (see Figure 5). What Haffenden, Schiff and Goodale (2001) found was the following dissociation: in the perceptual task, subjects estimated the third display very much like the first display and unlike the second display. In the visuomotor task, subjects’ grasping in the third condition was much more similar to grasping in the second than in the first condition (see Figure 6). Thus, perceptual estimate was far more sensitive to the size of the circles in the annulus than to the distance between target and annulus. Conversely, grasping was far more sensitive to the distance between target and annulus than to the size of the circles in the annulus. The idea here is that the annulus is processed by the visuomotor processing as a potential obstacle for the position of the fingers on the target disk.
 

            From this selective review of evidence on size-contrast illusions, I would like to draw two temporary conclusions. First of all, visual perception and visually guided hand actions directed towards objects impose different computational requirements on the human visual system. As I said above, visually based perceptual judgments of distance and size are typically relative comparative judgments. By contrast, visually guided actions directed towards objects are typically based on the computation of the absolute size and the egocentric representation of the location of objects on which to act. In order to successfully grab a branch or a rung, one must presumably compute the distance and the metrical properties of the object to be grabbed quite independently of pictorial contextual features in the visual array.
 

            Second of all, what the above experiments suggest is not that, unlike perceptual judgments, the visuomotor control of grasping is immune to illusions. Rather, both perceptual judgment and the visuomotor control of action can be fooled by the environment. But if so, then they can be fooled by different features of the visual display. The effect of the Titchener size-contrast illusion on perceptual judgment arises mostly from the comparison between the diameter of the disk and the diameter of the circles in the surrounding annulus. The visuomotor processing, which delivers a visual representation of the absolute size of a target of prehension, is so sensitive to the distance between the edge of the target and its immediate environment that it can be led to process two-dimensional cues as if they were three-dimensional obstacles. I take this last point quite seriously because I claim that it is evidence that the output of the visuomotor processing of the target of an action can misrepresent features of the distal stimulus and is thus a genuine mental representation.
 
 

I.3. Neuropsychological evidence
            In the 1970’s, Weiskrantz and others discovered a neuropsychological condition called “blindsight” (see Weiskrantz, 1986, 1997). Since then, the phenomenon has been extensively studied and discussed by philosophers. Blindsight results from a lesion in the primary visual cortex anatomically located prior to the bifurcation between the ventral and the dorsal streams. The significance of the discovery of this phenomenon lies in the fact that although blindsight patients have no phenomenal subjective visual experience of the world in their blind field, nonetheless it was found out that they are capable of striking residual visuomotor capacities. In situations of forced choice, they can do such remarkable things as grap quandragular blocks and insert a hand-held card into an oriented slot. According to most neuropsychologists who have studied such cases, in blindsight patients, the visual information is processed by subcortical pathways that bypass the visual cortex and relay visual information to the motor cortex.
 

            In the early 1990’s, DF, a British woman suffered an extensive lesion in the ventral stream of her visual system as a result of poisoning by carbon monoxide. She thus became an apperceptive agnosic, i.e., a visual form agnosic patient (see Farah, 1990 for the distinction between apperceptive and associative agnosia). Following the discovery of blindsight, the main novelty of the neuropsychological description of patient DF’s condition – first examined by Goodale et al. (1991) and his colleagues – lies in the fact that DF’s examination did not focus exclusively on what she could not do as a result of her lesion. Rather, she was investigated in depth for what she was still able to do.
 

            Careful sensory testing of DF revealed subnormal performance for color perception and for visual acuity with high spatial frequencies, though detection of low spatial frequencies was impaired. Her motion perception was poor. DF’s perception of shape and patterns was very poor. She was unable to report the size of an object by matching it by the appropriate distance between the index finger and the thumb of her right hand. Her line orientation detection (reveald by either verbal report or by turning a hand-held card until it matched the orientation presented) was highly variable: although she was above chance for large angular orientation differences between two objects, she fell at chance level for smaller angles. DF was unable to recognize the shape of objects. Interestingly, however, her visual imagery was preserved. For example, although she could hardly draw copies of seen objects, she could draw copies of objects from memory – which she then could hardly later recognize.
 

            By contrast with her impairment in object recognition, DF was normally accurate when object orientation or size had to be processed, not in view of a perceptual judgment, but in the context of a goal-directed hand movement. During reaching and grasping between her index finger and thumb the very same objects that she could not recognize, she performed accurate prehension movements. Similarly, while transporting a hand-held car towards a slit as part of the process of inserting the former into the latter, she could normally orient her hand through the slit at different orientations (Goodale et al., 1991, Carey et al., 1996). When presented with a pair of rectangular blocks of either the same or different dimensions and asked whether they were the same or different, she failed. When she was asked to reach out and pick up a block, the measure of her (maximal) grip aperture between thumb and index finger revealed that her grip was calibrated to the physical size of the objects, like that of normal subjects. When shown a pair of objects selected from twelve objects of different shapes for same/different judgment, she failed. When asked to grasp them using a “precision grip” between thumb and index finger, she succeeded.
 

            Conversely, optic ataxia is a syndrome produced by lesions in the dorsal stream. An optic ataxic patient, AT, examined by Jeannerod et al. (1994) shows the reversed dissociation. While she can recognize and identify the shape of visually presented objects, she has serious visuomotor deficits: her reach is misdirected and her finger grip is improperly adjusted to the size and shape of the target of her movements.
 

            At bottom, DF turns out to be able to visually process size, orientation and shape required for grasping objects, i.e., in the context of a reaching and grasping action, but not in the context of a perceptual judgment. Other experimental results with DF, however, indicate that her visuomotor abilities are restricted in at least two respects. First, in the context of an action, she turns out to be able to visually process simple sizes, shapes and orientations. But she fails to visually process more complex shapes. For example, she can insert a hand-held card into a slot at different orientations. But when asked to insert a T-shaped object (as opposed to a rectangular card) into a T-shaped aperture (as opposed to a simple oriented slit), her performance deteriorated sharply. Inserting a T-shaped object into a T-shaped aperture requires the ability to combine the computations of the orientation of the stem with the orientation of the top of the object together with the computation of the corresponding parts of the aperture. There are good reasons to think that, unlike the quick visuomotor processing of simple shapes, sizes and orientations, the computations of complex contours, sizes and orientations require the contribution of visual perceptual processes performed by the ventral stream – which, we know, has been severely damaged in DF.
 

            Secondly, the contours of an object can and often are computed by a process of extraction from differences in colors and luminance cues. But normal humans can also extract the contours or boundaries of an object from other cues – such as differences in brightness, texture, shades and complex principles of Gestalt grouping and organization of similarity and good form. Now, when asked to insert a hand-held card into a slot defined by Gestalt principles of good form or by textural information, DF failed (see e.g., Goodale, 1995).
 

            Apperceptive agnosic patients like DF raise the question: What is it like to see with an intact dorsal system alone? I presently want to emphasize what I take to be a crucial characteristic of the content of visuomotor representations jointly from the examination of DF’s condition and from the visuomotor representations of normal subjects engaged in tasks of grasping illusory displays such as Titchener circles. As I said above, a visual percept yields a representation of the relative size and distance of various neighboring elements within a visual array. I take it that it is of the essence of a percept that the processing of such visual attributes of an object as its size, shape and position or distance must be available for comparative judgment. By contrast, a visuomotor representation of a target in a task of reaching and grasping provides information about the absolute size of the object to be grasped. Crucially, the spatial position of any object can be coded in at least two major coordinate systems or frames of reference: it may be coded in an egocentric frame of reference centered on the agent’s body or it may be coded in an allocentric frame of reference centered on some object present in the visual array. The former is required for allowing an agent to reach and grasp an object. The latter is required in order to locate an object relative to some other object in the visual display.
 

            Consider e.g., a visual percept of a glass to the left of a telephone. In the visual percept, the location of the glass relative to the location of the telephone is coded in allocentric coordinates. The visual percept has a pictorial content that, I shall argue momentarily, is both informationally richer and more fine-grained than the verbally expressible conceptual content of a different representation of the same fact or state of affairs. For example, unlike the sentence ‘The glass is to the left of the telephone’, the visual percept cannot depict the location of the glass relative to the telephone without depicting ipso facto the orientation, shape, texture, size and color of both the glass and the telephone. Conceptual processing of the pictorial content of the visual percept may yield a representation whose conceptual content can be expressed by the English sentence ‘The glass is to the left of the telephone’. Now the visuomotor representation of the glass as a target of a prehension action requires that information about the size and shape of the glass be contained within a representation of the position of the glass in egocentric coordinates. Unless the telephone interferes with the trajectory of the reaching part of the action of grasping the glass, when one intends to grasp the glass, one does not need to represent the spatial position of the glass relative to the telephone.
 

            We know that patient DF cannot match the orientation of her wrist to the orientation of a slot in the context of a perceptual task, i.e., when she is not involved in the action of inserting a hand-held card into the slot. She can, however, successfully insert a card into an oriented slot. She cannot perceptually represent the size, shape and orientation of an object. However, she can successfully grasp an object between her thumb and index finger. So the main relevant contrast revealed by the examination of DF is that while she can use an effector (e.g., the distance between her thumb and index finger or the rotation of her wrist) in order to grasp an object or to insert a card into a slot, i.e., in the context of an action, she cannot use the same effector to express a perceptual judgment. What is the main difference between the perceptual and the visuomotor tasks? Both tasks require that visual information about the size and shape of objects be provided. But in the visuomotor task, this information is contained in a representation of the spatial position of the target coded in an egocentric frame of reference. In the perceptual task, information about the size and shape of objects is contained in a representation of the spatial position of the object coded in an allocentric frame of reference. Normal subjects can easily switch from one spatial frame of reference to the other. Such fast transformations may be required when e.g., one switches from counting items lying on a table or from drawing a copy of items lying on a table to grasping one of them. However, DF’s visual system cannot make the very same visual information about the size, shape and orientation of an object available for perceptual comparisons. In DF, information about the size and the shape of an object is trapped within a visuomotor representation of its location coded in egocentric coordinates. It is not available for recoding in an allocentric frame of reference. Coding spatial relationships among different constituents of a visual scene is crucial to forming a visual percept. By contrast, locating a target in egocentric coordinates is crucial to forming a visuomotor representation on the basis of which to act on the target.
 
 

II. Visual knowledge of the world
 

            Although , if the above is on the right track, not all human vision has been designed to allow visual perception, nonetheless one crucial function of human vision is visual perception. Like many psychological words, ‘perception’ can be used at once to refer both to a process and to its product. There are two complementary sides to visual perception: there is an objective side and a subjective side. On the objective side, visual perception is a fundamental source of knowledge about the world. Visual perception is indeed a – if not “the” – paradigmatic process by means of which human beings gather knowledge about objects, events and facts in their environment. On the subjective side, visual perception yields a peculiar kind of awareness of the world, namely: sight. Sight has a special kind of phenomenal character (which is lacking in blindsight patients). The phenomenology of human visual experience is  unlike the phenomenology of human experience in sensory modalities other than vision, e.g., touch, olfaction or audition.
 

            On my representationalist view (close to Dretske, 1995 and Tye, 1995), much of the distinctive phenomenology of visual experience derives from the fact that the human visual system has been selected in the course of evolution to respond to a specific set of properties. Visual perception makes us aware of such fundamental properties of objects as their size, orientation, shape, color, texture, spatial position, distance and motion, all at once. One of the puzzles that arises from neuroscientific research into the visual system (and which I will not discuss here) is the question of how these various visual attributes are perceived as bound together, given the fact that neuroscience has discovered that they are processed in different areas of the human visual system (see Zeki, 1993). Unlike vision, audition makes us aware of sounds. Olfaction makes us aware of smells and odors. Touch makes us aware of pressure and temperature. Although shape can be both seen and felt, what it is like to see a shape is clearly different from what it is like to touch it. Part of of the reason for the difference lies in the fact that a normally sighted person cannot see e.g., the shape of a cube without seeing its color. But by feeling the shape of a cube, one does not thereby feel its color.
 

            I will presently argue that visual perception is a fundamental source of knowledge about the world: visual knowledge. I assume that propositional knowledge is knowledge of facts and that one cannot know a fact unless one believes that this fact obtains. I accept something like Dretske’s (1969) distinction between two levels of visual perception: nonepistemic perception (of objects) and epistemic perception (of facts). Importantly, on my view, the nonepistemic perception of objects gives rise to visual percepts and visual percepts are different from what I earlier called visuomotor representations of the targets of one’s action. What Dretske (1969) calls nonepistemic seeing is part of the perceptual processing of visual information. In the previous section, I gave empirical reasons why visual percepts differ from visuomotor representations. Unlike the visuomotor representation of a target, a visual percept makes visual information about colors, shapes, sizes, orientations of constituents of a visual display available for contrastive identification and recognition. This is why visual percepts can serve as input to a conceptual process that can lead to a peculiar kind of knowledge of the world – visual knowledge. Visual percepts serve as inputs to conceptual processes, but percepts are not concepts: perceptual contrasts are not conceptual contrasts. My present task then will be to show that the claim that visual perception can give rise to visual knowledge of the world is consistent with the claim that visual percepts are different from thoughts and beliefs. Visual percepts lead to thoughts and beliefs, but it would be a mistake to confuse the nonconceptual contents of visual percepts with the conceptual contents of beliefs and thoughts.
 
 

II. 1. Percepts and thoughts
 

         As many philosophers of mind and language have argued, what is characteristic of conceptual representations is that they are both productive and systematic. Like sentences of natural languages, thoughts are productive in the sense that they form an open ended infinite set. Although the lexicon of a natural language is made up of finitely many words, thanks to its syntactic rules, a language contains indefinitely many well formed sentences. Similarly, an individual may entertain indefinitely many conceptual thoughts. In particular, both sentences of public languages and conceptual thoughts contain such devices as negation, conjunction and disjunction. So one can form indefinitely many new thoughts by prefixing a thought by a negation operator, by forming a disjunctive or a conjunctive thought out of two simpler thoughts or one can generalize a singular thought by means of quantifiers. Sentences of natural languages are systematic in the sense that if a language contains a sentence S with a syntactic structure e.g., Rab, then it must contain a sentence expressing a syntactically related sentence, e.g., Rba. An individual’s conceptual thoughts are supposed to be systematic too: if a person has the ability to entertain the thought that e.g., John loves Mary, then she must have the ability to entertain the thought that Mary loves John. If a person can form the thought that Fa, then she can form both the thought that Fb and the thought that Ga (where “a” and “b” stand for individuals and “F” and “G” stand for properties). Both Fodor’s (1975, 1987) Language of Thought hypothesis and Evans’ (1982) Generality constraint are designed to account for the productivity and the systematicity of thoughts, i.e., conceptual representations. It is constitutive of thoughts that they are structured and that they involve conceptual constituents that can be combined and recombined to generate indefinitely many new structured thoughts. Thus, concepts are building blocks with inferential roles.
 

            Because they are productive and systematic, conceptual thoughts can rise above the limitations imposed to perceptual representations by the constraints inherent to perception. Unlike thought, visual perception requires some causal interaction between a source of information and some sensory organs. For example, by combining the concepts horse and horn, one may form the complex concept unicorn, even though no unicorn has or ever will be visually perceived (except in visual works of art). Although no unicorn has ever been perceived, within a fictional context, on the basis of the inferential role of its constituents, one can draw the inference that if something is a unicorn, then it has four legs, it eats grass and it is a mammal.
 

            Hence, possessing concepts is to master inferential relations: only a creature with conceptual abilities can draw consequences from her perceptual processing of a visual stimulus. Thought and visual perception are clearly different cognitive processes. One can think about numbers and one can form negative, disjunctive, conjunctive and general thoughts involving multiple quantifiers. Although one can visually perceive numerals, one cannot visually perceive numbers. Nor can one visually perceive negative, disjunctive, conjunctive or general facts (corresponding to e.g., universally quantified thoughts).
 

            As Crane (1992: 152) puts it, “there is no such thing as deductive inference between perceptions”. Upon seeing a brown dog, one can see at once that the animal one faces is a dog and that it is brown. If one perceives a brown animal and one is told that it is a dog, then one can certainly come to believe that the brown animal is a dog or that the dog is brown. But on this hybrid epistemic basis, one can think or believe, but one cannot see that the dog is brown. One came to know that the dog is brown by seeing it. But one did not come to know that what is brown is a dog by seeing it. Unlike the content of concepts, the content of visual percepts is not a matter of inferential role. As emphasized by Crane (ibid.), this is not to say that the content of visual percepts is amorphous or unstructured. One proposal for capturing the nonconceptual structure of visual percepts is Peacocke’s (1992) notion of a scenario content, i.e., a visual way of filling in space. As we shall see momentarily, one can think or believe of an animal that it is dog without thinking or believing that it has a particular color. But one cannot see a dog in good daylight conditions without seeing its particular color (or colors). I shall momentarily discuss this feature of the content of visual percepts, which is part of their distinctive informational richness, as an analog encoding of information.
 

            In section I.3, I considered the contrast between the pictorial content of a visual percept of a glass to the left of a telephone and the conceptual content expressible by means of the English sentence: ‘The glass is to the left of the telephone’. I noticed that, unlike the English sentence, the visual percept cannot represent the glass to the left of the telephone unless it depicts the shape, size, texture, color and orientation of both the glass and the telephone. I concluded that an utterance of this sentence conveys only part of the pictorial content of the visual percept since the utterance is mute about any visual attribute of the pair of objects other than their relative locations. But, further conceptual processing of the conceptual content conveyed by the utterance of the sentence may yield a more complex representation involving, not just a two-place relation, but a three-place relation also expressible by the English predicate ‘left of’. Thus, one may think that the glass is to the left of the telephone for someone standing in front of the window, not for someone sitting at the opposite side of the table. In other words, one can think that the glass is to the left of the telephone from one’s own egocentric perspective and that the same glass is to the right of the telephone from a different perspective. Although one can form the thought involving the ternary relation ‘left of’, one cannot see the glass as being to the left of the telephone from one’s own egocentric perspective because one cannot see one’s own egocentric perspective. Perspectives are not things that one can see. This is an example of a conceptual contrast that could not be drawn by visual perception. Thus, unlike a thought, a visual percept is, in one sense of the word, “informationally encapsulated”. Thought, not perception, can, as Perry (1993) puts it, increase the arity of a predicate. Notice that percepts can cause thoughts. This is one way thoughts arise. Thoughts can also cause other thoughts. But presumably, thoughts do not cause percepts.
 
 

II. 2. The finegrainedness and informational richness of visual percepts
 

            Unlike thought, visual perception has a spatial, perspectival, iconic and/or pictorial structure not shared by conceptual thought. The content of visual perception has a spatial perspectival structure that pure thoughts lack. In order to apply the concept of a dog, one does not have to occupy a particular spatial perspective relative to any dog. But one cannot see a dog unless one occupies some spatial standpoint or other relative to it: one cannot e.g., see a dog simultaneously from the top and from below, from the front and from the back. The concept of a dog applies indiscriminately to poodles, alsatians, dalmatians or bulldogs. One can think that all dogs bark. But one cannot see all dogs bark. Nor can on see a generic dog bark. One must see some particular dog: a poodle, an alsatian, a dalmatian or a bulldog, as it might be. Although one and the same concept – the concept of a dog – may apply to a poodle, an alsatian, a dalmatian or a bulldog, seeing one of them is a very different visual experience than seeing another. One can think that a dog barks without thinking of any other properties of the dog. One cannot, however, see a dog unless one sees its shape and the colors and texture of its hairs.
 

            Thus, the content of visual perceptual representations turns out to be both more finegrained and informationally richer than the conceptual contents of thoughts. There are three paradigmatic cases in which the need to distinguish between conceptual content and the nonconceptual content of visual perceptions may arise. First, a creature may be perceptually sensitive to objective differences for which she has no concepts. Secondly, two creatures may enjoy one and the same visual experience, which they may be inclined to conceptualize differently. Finally, two different persons may enjoy two distinct visual experiences in the presence of one and the same distal stimulus to which they may be inclined to apply one and the same concept.
 

            Peacocke (1992: 67-8) considers, for example, a person’s visual experience of a range of mountains. As he notices, one might want to conceptualize one’s visual experience with the help of concepts of shapes expressible in English with such predicates as ’round’ and ‘jagged’. But these concepts of shapes could apply to the nonconceptual contents of several different visual experiences prompted by the distinct shapes of several distinct mountains. Arguably, although a human being might not possess any concept of shape whose finegrainedness could match that of her visual experience of the shape of the mountain, her visual experience of the shape is nonetheless distinctive and it may differ from the visual experience of the distinct shape of a different mountain to which she would apply the very same concept. Similarly, human beings are perceptually sensitive to far more colors than they have color concepts and color names to apply. Although a human being might lack two distinct concepts for two distinct shades of color, she might well enjoy a visual experience of one shade that is distinct from her visual experience of the other shade. As Raffman (1995: 295) puts it, “discriminations along perceptual dimensions surpasses identification [...] our ability ro judge whether two or more stimuli are the same or different surpasses our ability to type-identify them”.
 

            Against this kind of argument in favor of the nonconceptual content of visual experiences, McDowell (1994, 1998) has argued that demonstrative concepts expressible by e.g., ‘that shade of color’ are perfectly suited to capture the finegrainedness of the visual percept of color. I am willing to concede to McDowell that such demonstrative concepts do exist. But I agree with Bermudez (1998: 55-7) and Dokic & Pacherie (2000) that such demonstrative concepts would seem to be too weak to perform one of the fundamental jobs that color concepts and shape concepts must be able to perform – namely recognition. Color concepts and shape concepts stored in a creature’s memory must allow recognition and reidentification of colors and shapes over long periods of time. Although pure demonstrative color concepts may allow comparison of simultaneously presented samples of color, it is unlikely that they can be used to reliably reidentify one and the same sample over time. Nor presumably could pairs of demonstrative color concepts be used to reliably discriminate pairs of color samples over time. Just as one can track the spatio-temporal evolution of a perceived object, one can store in a temporary object file information about its visual properties in a purely indexical or demonstrative format. If, however, information about an object’s visual properties is to be stored in episodic memory, for future reidentification, then it cannot be stored in a purely demonstrative or indexical format, which is linked to a particular perceptual context. Presumably, the demonstrative must be fleshed with some descriptive content. One can refer to a perceptible object as ‘that sofa’ or even as ‘that’ (followed.by no sortal). But presumably when one does not stand in a perceptual relation to the object, information about it cannot be stored in episodic memory in such a pure demonstrative format. Rather, it must be stored using a more descriptive symbol such as ‘the (or that) red sofa that used to face the fire-place’. This is presumably part of what Raffman (1995: 297) calls “the memory constrainst”. As Raffman (1995: 296) puts it:
 
 

the coarse grained character of perceptual memory explains why we can recognize ‘determinable’ colors like red and blue and even scarlet and indigo as such, but not ‘determinate’ shades of those determinables [...] Because we cannot recognize determinate shades as such, ostension is our only means of communicating our knowledge of them. If I want to convey to you the precise shade of an object I see, I must point to it, or perhaps paint you a picture of it [...] I must present you with an instance of that shade. You must have the experience yourself .
 
 

            Two persons might enjoy one and the same kind of visual experience prompted by one and the same shape or one and the same color, to which they would be inclined to apply pairs of distinct concepts, such as ‘red’ vs ‘crimson’ or ‘polygon’ vs ’square’. If so, it would be justified to distinguish the nonconceptual content of their common visual experience from the different concepts that each would be willing to apply. Conversely, as argued by Peacocke (1998), presented with one and the same geometrical object, two persons might be inclined to apply one and the same generic shape concept e.g., ‘that polygon’ and still enjoy different perceptual experiences or see the same object as having different shapes. For example, as Peacocke (1998: 381) points out, “one and the same shape may be perceived as square, or as diamond-shaped [...] the difference between these ways is a matter of which symmetries of the shape are perceived; though of course the subject himself does not need to know that this is the nature of the difference”. If one mentally partitions a square by bisecting its right angles, one sees it as a diamond. If one mentally partitions it by bisecting its sides, one sees it as a square. Presumably, one does not need to master the concept of an axis of symmetry to perform mentally these two bisections and enjoy two distinct visual experiences.
 

            The distinctive informational richness of the content of visual percepts has been discussed by Dretske (1981) in terms of what he calls the analogical coding of information.[1]  One and the same piece of information – one and the same fact – may be coded analogically or digitally. In Dretske’s sense, a signal carries the information that e.g., a is F in a digital form iff the signal carries no additional information about a that is not already nested in the fact that a is F. If the signal does carry additional information about a that is not nested in the fact that a is F, then the information that a is F is carried by the signal in an analogical (or analog) form. For example, the information that a designated cup contains coffee may be carried in a digital form by the utterance of the English sentence ‘There is some coffee in the cup’. The same information can also be carried in an analog form by a picture or by a photograph. Unlike the utterance of the sentence, the picture cannot carry the information that the cup contains coffee without carrying additional information about the shape, size, orientation of the cup and the color and the amount of coffee in it. As I pointed out above, unlike the concept of a dog, the visual percept of a dog carries information about which dog one sees, its spatial position, the color and texture of its hairs, etc. The contents of visual percepts are informationally rich in the sense of being analog. A thought involving several concepts in a hierarchically structured order might carry the same informational richness as a visual percept. But it does not have to. As the slogan goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. Unlike a thought, a visual percept of a cup cannot convey the information that the cup contains coffee without conveying additional information about several visual attributes of the cup.
 

            The arguments by philosophers of mind and by perceptual psychologists in favor of the distinction between the conceptual content of thought and the nonconceptual content of visual percepts is based on the finegrainedness and the informational richness of visual percepts. Thus, it turns on the phenomenology of visual experience. In section I, I provided some evidence from psychophysical experiments performed on normal human subjects and from the neuropsychological examination of brain lesioned human patients that point to a different kind of nonconceptual content, which I labelled “visuomotor” content. Unlike the arguments in favor of the nonconceptual content of visual percepts, the arguments for the distinction between the nonconceptual content of visual percepts and the nonconceptual content of visuomotor representations do not rely on phenomenology at all. Rather, they rely on the need to postulate mental representations with visuomotor content in order to provide a causal explanation of visually guided actions towards objects. Thus, on the assumption that such behaviors as grasping objects can be actions (based on mental representations), I submit that the nonconceptual content of visual representation ought to be bifurcated into perceptual and visuomotor content as in Figure 7:
 
 

conceptual content                                                           nonconceptual content
 
 
 

                                                            perceptual content                            visuomotor content
 
 

Figure 7
 
 

II. 3. The interaction between visual and non-visual knowledge
 

            Traditional epistemology has focused on the problem of sorting out genuine instances of propositional knowledge from cases of mere opinion or guessing. Propositional factual knowledge is to be distinguished from both nonpropositional knowledge of individual objects (or what Russell called “knowledge by acquaintance”) and from tacit knowledge of the kind illustrated by a native speaker’s implicit knowledge of the grammatical rules of her language. According to epistemologists, in the relevant propositional sense, what one knows are facts. In the propositional sense, one cannot know a fact unless one believes that the corresponding proposition is true, one’s belief is indeed true, and the belief was not formed by mere fantasy. On the one hand, one cannot know that the cup contains coffee unless one believes it. One cannot have this belief unless one knows what a cup is and what coffee is. On the other hand, one cannot know what is not the case: one can falsely believe that e.g., the cup contains coffee. But one cannot know it, unless a designated cup does indeed contain some coffee. True belief, however, is not sufficient for knowledge. If a true belief happens to be a mere guess or whim, then it will not qualify as knowledge. What else must be added to true belief to turn it into knowledge?
 

            Broadly speaking, epistemologists divide into two groups. According to externalists, a true belief counts as knowledge if it results from a reliable process, i.e., a process that generates counterfactually supporting connexions between states of a believer and facts in her environment. According to internalists, for a true belief to count as knowledge, it must be justified and the believer must in addition justifiably believe that her first-order belief is justified.  Since I am willing to claim that, in appropriate conditions, the way a red triangle visually looks to a person having the relevant concepts and located at a suitable distance from it provides grounds for the person to know that the object in front of her is a red triangle, I am attracted to an externalist reliabilist view of perceptual knowledge.
 

            Although the issue is controversial and is by no means settled in the philosophical literature, externalist intuitions suit my purposes better than internalist intuitions. Arguably, one thing is to be justified or to have a reason for believing something. Another thing is to use a reason in order to offer a justification for one’s beliefs. Arguably, if a perceptual (e.g., visual) process is reliable, then the visual appearances of things may constitute a reason for forming a belief. However, one cannot use a reason unless one can explicitly engage in a reasoning process of justification, i..e., unless one can distinguish one’s premisses from one’s conclusion. Presumably, a creature with perceptual abilities and relevant conceptual resources can have reasons and form justified beliefs even if she lacks the concept of reason or justification. However, she could not use her reasons and provide justifications unless she had language and metarepresentational resources. Internalism derives most of its appeal from reflection on instances of mathematical and scientific knowledge that result from the conscious application of explicit principles of inquiry by teams of individuals in the context of special institutions. In such special settings, it can be safely assumed that the justification of a believer’s higher-order beliefs do indeed contribute to the formation and reliability of his or her first-order beliefs. Externalism fits perceptual knowledge better than internalism and, unlike internalism, it does not rule out the possibility of crediting non-human animals and human infants with knowledge of the world – a possibility made more and more vivid by the development of cognitive science.
 

            On my view, human visual perceptual abilities are at the service of thought and conceptualisation. At the most elementary level, by seeing an object (or a sequence of objects) one can see a fact involving that object (or sequence of objects). By seeing my neighbor’s car in her driveway, I can see the fact that my neighbor’s car is parked in her driveway. I thereby come to believe that my neighbor’s car is parked in her driveway and this belief, which is a conceptually loaded mental state, is arrived at by visual perception. Hence, my term “visual knowledge”. If one’s visual system is – as I claimed it is – reliable, then by seeing my neighbor’s car – an object – in her driveway, I thereby come to know that my neighbor’s car is parked in her driveway – a fact. Hence, I come to know a fact involving an object that I actually see. This is a fundamental epistemic situation, which Dretske (1969) labels “primary epistemic seeing”: one’s visual ability allows one to know a fact about an object one perceives.
 

            However, if my neighbor’s car happens to be parked in her driveway if and only if she is at home (and I know this), then I can come to know a different fact: I can come to know that my neighbor is at home. “Seeing” that my neighbor is at home by seeing that her car is parked in her driveway is something different from seeing my neighbor at home (e.g., seeing her in her living-room). Certainly, I can come to know that my neighbor is at home by seeing her car parked in her driveway, i.e., without seeing her. “Seeing” that my neighbor is at home by seeing that her car is parked in her driveway is precisely what Dretske (1969) calls “secondary epistemic seeing”. Secondary epistemic seeing lies at the interface between pure visual knowledge of facts involving a perceived object and non-visual knowledge that can be derived from it.
 

            This transition from seeing one fact to seeing another displays the hierarchical structure of visual knowledge. In primary epistemic seeing, one sees a fact involving a perceived object. But in moving from primary epistemic seeing to secondary epistemic seeing, one moves from a fact involving a perceived car to a fact involving one’s unperceived neighbor (who happens to own the perceived car). This epistemological hierarchical structure is expressed by the “by” relation: one sees that y is G by seeing that x is F where x ? y. Although it may be more or less natural to say that one “sees” a fact involving an unperceived object by seeing a different fact involving a perceived object, the hierarchical structure that gives rise to this possibility is ubiquitous in human knowledge.
 

            One can see that a horse has walked on the snow by seeing hoof prints in the snow. One sees the hoof prints, not the horse. But if hoof prints would not be visible in the snow at time t unless a horse had walked on that very snow at time t – 1, then one can see that a horse has walked on the snow just by seeing hoof prints in the snow. One can see that a tennis player has just hit an ace at Flushing Meadows by seeing images on a television screen located in Paris. Now, does one really see the tennis player hit an ace at Flushing Meadows while sitting in Paris and watching television? Does one see a person on a television screen? Or does one see an electronic image of a person relayed by a television? Whether one sees a tennis player or her image on a television screen, it is quite natural to say that one “sees that” a tennis player hit an ace by seeing her (or her image) do it on a television screen. Even though, strictly speaking, one perhaps did not see her do it – one merely saw pictures of her doing it -, nonetheless seeing the pictures comes quite close to seeing the real thing. By contrast, one can “see” that the gas-tank in one’s car is half-full by seeing, not the tank itself, but the dial of the gas-gauge on the dashboard of the car. If one is sitting by the steering wheel inside one’s car so that one can comfortably see the gas-gauge, then one cannot see the gas-tank. Nonetheless, if the gauge is reliable and properly connected to the gas-tank, then one can (perhaps in some loose sense) “see” what the condition of the gas-tank is by seeing the dial of the gauge.
 

            One could wonder whether secondary epistemic seeing is really seeing at all. Suppose that one learns that the New York Twin Towers collapsed by reading about it in a French newspaper in Paris. One could not see the New York Twin Towers – let alone their collapse – from Paris. What one sees when one reads a newspaper are letters printed in black ink on a white sheet of paper. But if the French newspaper would not report the collapse of the New York Twin Towers unless the New York Twin Towers had indeed collapsed, then one can come to know that the New York Twin Towers have collapsed by reading about it in a French newspaper. There is a significant difference between seeing that the New York Twin Towers have collapsed by seeing it happen on a television screen and by reading about it in a newspaper. Even if seeing an electronic picture of the New York Twin Towers is not seeing the Twin Towers themselves, still the visual experience of seeing an electronic picture of them and the visual experience of seeing them have a lot in common. The pictorial content of the experience of seeing an electronically produced color-picture of the Towers is very similar to the pictorial content of the experience of seeing them. Unlike a picture, however, a verbal description of an event has conceptual content, not pictorial content. The visual experience of reading an article reporting the collapse of the New York Twin Towers in a French newspaper is very different from the experience of seeing them collapse. This is the reason why it may be a little awkward to say that one “saw” that the New York Twin Towers collapsed if one read about it in a French newspaper in Paris as opposed to seeing it happen on a television screen.
 

            Certainly, ordinary usage of the English word ’see’ is not sacrosanct. We say that we “see” a number of things in circumstances in which what we do owes little – if anything – to our visual abilities. “I see what you mean”, “I see what the problem is” or “I finally saw the solution” report achievements quite independent of visual perception. Such uses of the verb ‘to see’ are loose uses. Such loose uses do not report epistemic accomplishments that depend significantly on one’s visual endowments. By contrast, cases of what Dretske (1969) calls secondary epistemic seeing are epistemic achievements that do depend on one’s visual endowments. True, in cases of secondary epistemic seeing, one comes to know a fact without seeing some of its constituent elements. True, one could not come to learn that one’s neighbor is at home by seeing her car parked in her driveway unless one knew that her car is indeed parked in her driveway when and only when she is at home. Nor could one see that the gas-tank in one’s car is half-full by seeing the dial of the gas-gauge unless one knew that the latter is reliably correlated with the former. So secondary epistemic seeing could not possibly arise in a creature that lacked knowedge of reliable correlations or that lacked the cognitive resources required to come to know them altogether.
 

            Nonetheless secondary epistemic seeing has indeed a crucial visual component in the sense that visual perception plays a critical role in the context of justifying such an epistemic claim. When one claims to be able to see that one’s neighbor is at home by seeing her car parked in her driveway or when one claims to be able to see that the gas-tank in one’s car is almost empty by seeing the gas-gauge, one relies on one’s visual powers in order to ground one’s state of knowledge. The fact that one claims to know is not seen. But the grounds upon which the knowledge is claimed to rest are visual grounds: the justification for knowing an unseen fact is seeing another fact correlated with the former. Of course, in explaining how one can come to know a fact about one thing by knowing a different fact about a different thing, one cannot hope to meet the philosophical challenge of scepticism. From the standpoint of scepticism, as Stroud (1989) points out, the explanation may seem to beg the question since it takes for granted one’s knowledge of one fact in order to explain one’s knowledge of another fact. But the important thing for present purposes is that – scepticism notwithstanding – one offers a perfectly good explanation of how one comes to know a fact about an object one does not perceive by knowing a different fact about an object one does perceive. The point is that much – if not all – of the burden of the explanation lies in visual perception: seeing one’s neighbor’s car is the crucial step in justifying one’s belief that one’s neighbor is at home. Seeing the gas-gauge is the crucial step in justifying one’s belief that one’s tank is almost empty. The reliability of visual perception is thus critically involved in the justification of one’s knowledge claim. In cases of primary epistemic seeing, the reliability of one’s visual system provides justifications for one’s visual knowledge in the sense that it provides one with reasons for believing that the fact involving an object one perceives obtains. In secondary epistemic seeing, one claims to know a fact that does not involve a perceived object. Still, the reliability of one’s visual system plays an indirect role in cases of secondary epistemic seeing in the sense that it provides grounds for one’s visual knowledge about a fact involving a perceived object, upon which one’s knowledge of a fact not involving a perceived object rests.
 

            Thus, secondary epistemic seeing lies at the interface between an individual’s visual knowledge (i.e., knowledge formed by visual means) and the rest of her knowledge. In moving from primary epistemic seeing to secondary epistemic seeing, an individual exploits her knowledge of regular connections. Although it is true that unless one knows the relevant correlation, one could not come to know the fact that the gas-tank in one’s car is empty by seeing the gas-gauge, nonetheless one does not consciously or explicitly reason from the perceptually accessible premiss that one’s neighbor’s car is parked in her driveway together with the premiss that one’s neighbor’s car is parked in her driveway when and only when one’s neighbor is at home to the conclusion that one’s neighbor is at home. Arguably, the process from primary to secondary epistemic seeing is inferential. But if it is, then the inference is unconscious and it takes place at the “sub-personal” level.
 

            What the above discussion of secondary epistemic seeing so far reveals is that the very description and understanding of the hierarchical structure of visual knowledge and its integration with non-visual knowledge requires an epistemological and/or psychological distinction between seeing of objects and seeing facts – a point much emphasized in Dretske’s writings on the subject – or between nonepistemic and epistemic seeing. The neurophysiology of human vision is such that some objects are simply not accessible to human vision. They may be too small or too remote in space and time for a normally sighted person to see them. For more mundane reasons, a human being may be temporarily so positioned as not to be able to see one object – be it her neighbor or the gas-tank in her car. Given the correlations between facts, by seeing a perceptible object, one can get crucial information about a different unseen object. Given the epistemic importance of visual perception in the hirarchical structure of human knowledge, it is important to understand how by seeing one object, one can provide decisive reasons for knowing facts about objects one does not see.
 

          
 

II. 4. The scope and limits of visual knowledge
 

            I now turn my attention again from what Dretske calls secondary epistemic seeing (i.e., visually based knowledge of facts about objects one does not perceive) back to what he calls primary epistemic seeing, i.e., visual knowledge of facts about objects one does perceive. When one purports to ground one’s claim to know that one’s neighbor is at home by mentioning the fact that one can see that her car is parked in her driveway, clearly one is claiming to be able to see a car, not one’s neighbor herself. Now, let us concentrate on the scope of knowledge claims in primary epistemic seeing, i.e., knowledge about facts involving a perceived object. Let us suppose that someone claims to be able to see that the apple on the table is green. Let us suppose that the person’s visual system is working properly, the table and what is lying on it are visible from where the person stands, and the lighting is suitable for the person to see them from where she stands. In other words, there is a distinctive way the green apple on the table looks to the person who sees it. Under those circumstances, when the person claims that she can see that the apple on the table is green, what are the scope and limits of her epistemic claims?
 

            Presumably, in so doing, she is claiming that she knows that there is an apple on the table in front of her and that she knows that this apple is green. If she knows both of this, then presumably  she also knows that there is a table under the apple in front of her, she knows that there is a fruit on the table. Hence, she knows what the fruit on the table is (or what is on the table), she knows where the apple is, she knows the color of the apple, and so on. Arguably, the person would then be in a position to make all such claims in response to the following various queries: is there anything on the table? What is on the table? What kind of fruit is on the table? Where is the green apple? What color is the apple on the table? If the person can see that the apple on the table is green, then presumably she is in a position to know all these facts.
 

            However, when she claims that she can see that the apple on the table is green, she is not thereby claiming that she can see that all of these facts obtain. What she is claiming is more restricted and specific than that: She is indeed claiming that she knows that there is an apple on the table and that the apple in question is green. Furthermore, she is claiming that she learnt the latter fact – the fact about the apple’s color – through visual perception: if someone claims that she can see that the apple on the table is green, then she is claiming that she has achieved her knowledge of the apple’s color by visual means, and not otherwise. But she is not thereby claiming that her knowledge of the location of the apple or her knowledge of what is on the table have been acquired by the very perceptual act (or the very perceptual process) that gave rise to her knowledge of the apple’s color. Of course, the person’s alleged epistemic achievement does not rule out the possibility that she came to know that what is on the table is an apple by seeing it earlier. But if she did, this is not part of the claim that she can see that the apple on the table is green. It is consistent with this claim that the person came to know that what is on the table is an apple by being told, by tasting it or by smelling it. All she is claiming and all we are entitled to conclude from her claim is that the way she learnt about the apple’s color is by visual perception.
 

            The investigation into the scope and limits of primary visual knowledge is important because it is relevant to the challenge of scepticism. As I already said, my discussion of visual knowledge does not purport to meet the full challenge of scepticism. In discussing secondary epistemic seeing, I noticed that in explaining how one comes to know a fact about an unperceived object by seeing a different fact involving a perceived object, one takes for granted the possibility of knowing the latter fact by perceiving one of its constituent objects. Presumably, in so doing, one cannot hope to meet the full challenge of scepticism that would question the very possibility of coming to know anything by perception. I briefly turn to the sceptical challenge to which claims of primary epistemic seeing are exposed. By scrutinizing the scope and limits of claims of primary visual knowledge, I want to examine briefly the extent to which such claims are indeed vulnerable to the sceptical challenge. Claims of primary visual knowledge are vulnerable to sceptical queries that can be directed backwards and forwards. They are directed backwards when they apply to background knowledge, i.e., knowledge presupposed by a claim of primary visual knowledge. They are directed forward when they apply to consequences of a claim of primary visual knowledge. I turn to the former first.
 

            Suppose a sceptic were to challenge a person’s commonsensical claim that she can see (and hence know by perception) that the apple on the table in front of her is green by questioning her grounds for knowing that what is on the table is an apple. The sceptic might point out that, given the limits of human visual acuity and given the distance of the apple, the person could not distinguish by visual means alone a genuine green apple – a green fruit – from a fake green apple (e.g., a wax copy of a green apple or a green toy). Perhaps, the person is hallucinating an apple when there is in fact nothing at all on the table. If one cannot visually discriminate a genuine apple from a fake apple, then, it seems, one is not entitled to claim that one can see that the apple on the table is green. Nor is one entitled to claim that one can see that the apple on the table is green if one cannot make sure by visual perception that one is not undergoing a hallucination. Thus, the sceptical challenge is the following: if visual perception itself cannot rule out a number of alternative possibilities to one’s epistemic claim, then the epistemic claim cannot be sustained.
 

            The proper response to the sceptical challenge here is precisely to appeal to the distinction between claims of visual knowledge and other knowledge claims. When the person claims that she can see that the apple on the table is green, she is claiming that she learnt something new by visual perception: she is claiming that she just gained new knowledge by visual means. This new perceptually-based knowledge is about the apple’s color. The perceiver’s new knowledge – her epistemic “increment”, as Dretske (1969) calls it – must be pitched against what he calls her “proto-knowledge”, i.e., what the person knew about the perceived object prior to her perceptual experience. The reason it is important to distinguish between a person’s prior knowledge and her knowledge gained by visual perception is that primary epistemic seeing (or primary visual knowledge) is a dynamic process. In order to determine the scope and limits of what has been achieved in a perceptual process, we ought to determine a person’s initial epistemic stage (the person’s prior knowledge about an object) and her final epistemic stage (what the person learnt by perception about the object). Thus, the question raised by the sceptical challenge (directed backwards) is a question in cognitive dynamics: How much new knowledge could a person’s visual resources yield, given her prior knowledge? How much has been learnt by visual perception, i.e., in an act of visual perception? What new information has been gained by visual perception?
 

            So when the person claims that she can see that the apple on the table is green, she no doubt reports that she knows both that there is an apple on the table and that it is green. She commits herself to a number of epistemic claims: she knows what is on the table, she knows that there is a fruit on the table, she knows where the apple is, and so on. But she merely reports one increment of knowledge: she merely claims that she just learnt by visual perception that the apple is green. She is not thereby reporting how she acquired the rest of her knowledge about the object, e.g., that it is an apple and that it is on the table. She claims that she can see of the apple that it is green, not that what is green is an apple, nor that what is on the table is an apple. The claim of primary visual knowledge bears on the object’s color, not on some of its other properties (it’s being e.g., an apple, a fruit or its location). All her epistemic claim entails is that, prior to her perceptual experience, she assumed (as part of her “proto-knowledge” in Dretske’s sense) that there was a apple on the table and then she discovered by visual perception that the apple was green.
 

            I now turn my attention to the sceptical challenge directed forward – towards the consequences of one’s claims of visual knowledge. The sceptic is right to point out that the person who claims to be able to see the color of an apple is not thereby in a position to see that the object whose color she is seeing is a genuine apple – a fruit – and not a wax apple. Nor is the person able to see that she is not hallucinating. However, since she is neither claiming that she is able to see of the green object that it is a genuine apple nor that she is not hallucinating an apple, it follows that the sceptical challenge cannot hope to defeat the person’s perceptual claim that she can see what she claims that she can see, namely that the apple is green. On the externalist picture of perceptual knowledge which I accept, a person knows a fact when and only when she is appropriately connected to the fact. Visual perception provides a paradigmatic case of such a connexion. Hence, visual knowledge arises from regular correlations between states of the visual system and environmental facts. Given the intricate relationship between a person’s visual knowledge and her higher cognitive functions, she will be able to draw many inferences from her visual knowledge. If a person knows that the apple in front of her is green, then she may infer that there is a colored fruit on the table in front of her. Given that fruits are plants and that plants are physical objects, she may further infer that there are at least some physical objects. Again, the sceptic may direct his challenge forward: the person claims to know by visual means that the apple in front of her is green. But what she claims she knows entails that there are physical objects. Now, the sceptic argues, a person cannot know that there are physical objects – at least, she cannot see that there are. According to the sceptic, failure to see that there are physical objects entails failure to see that the apple on the table is green.
 

            A person claims that she can know proposition p by visual perception. Logically, proposition p entails proposition q. There could not be a green apple on the table unless there exists at least one physical object. Hence, the proposition that the apple on the table is green could not be true unless there were physical objects. According to the sceptic, a person could not know the former without knowing the latter. Now the sceptic offers grounds for questioning the claim that the person knows proposition q at all – let alone by visual perception. Since it is dubious that she does know the latter, then, according to scepticism, she fails to know the former. Along with Dretske (1969) and Nozick (1981), I think that the sceptic relies on the questionable assumption that visual knowledge is deductively closed. From the fact that a person has perceptual grounds for knowing that p, it does not follow that she has the same grounds for knowing that q, even if q logically follows from p. If visual perception allows one to get connected in the right way to the fact corresponding to proposition p, it does not follow that visual perception ipso facto allows one to get connected in the same way to the fact corresponding to proposition q even if q follows logically from p.
 

            A person comes to know a fact by visual perception. What she learns by visual perception implies a number of propositions (such as there are physical objects). Although such propositions are logically implied by what the person learnt by visual perception, she does not come to know by visual perception all the consequences of what she learnt by visual perception. She does not know by visual perception that there are physical objects – if she knows it at all. Seeing a green apple in front of one has a distinctive visual phenomenology. Seeing that the apple in front of one is green too has a distinctive visual phenomenology. There is something distinctively visual about what it is like for one to see that the apple in front of one is green. If an apple is green, then it is colored. However, it is dubious whether there is a visual phenomenology to thinking of the apple in front of one that it is colored. A fortiori, it is dubious whether there is a visual phenomenology to thinking that there are physical objects. Hence, contrary to what the sceptic assumes, I want to claim, as Dretske (1969) and Nozick (1981) have, that visual knowledge is not deductively closed.
 
 

III. The role of visuomotor representations in the human cognitive architecture
 

            In the present section, I shall sketch my reasons for thinking that visuomotor representations do not lead to detached knowledge of the world. Rather, they serve as input to intentions in at least two respects: on the one hand, they provide visual guidance to what I shall call “motor intentions”. On the other hand, they provide visual information for “causally indexical” concepts. I will start by laying out the basic distinction between two different kinds of “direction of fit” that can be exemplified by mental representations.
 
 

III.1. Direction of fit
 

            Whereas visual percepts serve as inputs to the “belief box”, visuomotor representations, I now want to argue, serve is inputs to a different kind of mental representations, i.e., intentions. As emphasized by Anscombe (1957) and Searle (1983, 2001), perceptions, beliefs, desires and intentions each have a distinctive kind of intentionality. Beliefs and desires have what Searle calls “opposite direction of fit”. Beliefs have a mind-to-world direction of fit: they can be true or false. A belief is true if and only if the world is as the belief represents it to be. It is the function of beliefs to match facts or actual state of affairs. In forming a belief, it is up for the mind to meet the demands of the world. Unlike beliefs, desires have a world-to-mind direction of fit. Desires are neither true nor false: they are fulfilled or frustrated. The job of a desire is not to represent the world as it is, but rather as the agent would like it to be. Desires are representations of goals, i.e., possible nonactual states of affairs. In entertaining a desire, it is so to speak up for the world to meet the demands of the mind. The agent’s action is supposed to bridge the gap between the mind’s goal and the world.
 

            As Searle (1983, 2001) has noticed, perceptual experiences and intentions have opposite directions of fit. Perceptual experiences have the same mind-to-world direction of fit as beliefs. Intentions have the same world-to-mind direction of fit as desires. In addition, perceptual experiences and intentions have opposite directions of causation: whereas a perceptual experience represents the state of affairs that causes it, an intention causes the state of affairs that it represents.
 

            Although intentions and desires share the same world-to-mind direction of fit, intentions are different from desires in a number of important respects, which all flow from the peculiar commitment to action of intentions. Broadly speaking, desires are relevant to the process of deliberation that precedes one’s engagement into a course of action. Once an intention is formed, however, the process of deliberation comes to an end. To intend is to have made up one’s mind about whether to act. Once an intention is formed, one has taken the decision whether to act. I shall mention four main differences between desires and intentions.
 

             First, although desires may be about anything or anybody, intentions are always about the self. One can only intend oneself to do something. Second, unlike desires, intentions are tied to the present or the future: one cannot intend to do something in the past. Third, unlike the contents of desires, the contents of intentions must be about possible nonactual states of affairs. An agent cannot intend to achieve a state of affairs that she knows to be impossible at the time when she forms her intention. Finally, although one may entertain desires whose contents are inconsistent, one cannot have two intentions whose contents are inconsistent.
 

         Reaching and grasping objects are visually guided actions directed towards objects. I assume that all actions are caused by intentions. Intentions are psychological states with a distinctive intentionality. As I said earlier, intentions derive their peculiar commitment to action from the combination of their distinctive world-to-mind direction of fit and their distinctive mind-to-world direction of causation. I shall now argue that visuomotor representations have a dual function in the human cognitive architecture: they serve as inputs to “motor intentions” and they serve as input to a special class of indexical concepts, the “causally indexical” concepts.
 
 

III.2. Visuomotor representations serve as inputs to motor intentions
 

            Not all actions, I assume, are caused by what Searle (1983, 2001) calls prior intentions, but all actions are caused by what he calls intentions in action, which, following Jeannerod (1994), I will call motor intentions. Unlike prior intentions, motor intentions are directed towards immediately accessible goals. Hence, they play a crucial role, not so much in the planning of action as in the execution, the monitoring and the control of the ongoing action. Arguably, prior intentions may have conceptual content. Motor intentions do not. For example, one intends to climb a visually perceptible mountain. The content of this prior intention involves e.g., the action concept of climbing and a visual percept of the distance, shape and color of the mountain. In order to climb the mountain, however, one must intentionally perform an enormous variety of postural and limb movements in response to the slant, orientation and the shape of the surface of the slope. Human beings automatically assume the right postures and perform the required flexions and extensions of their feet and legs. Since they do not possess concepts matching each and every such movements, their non-deliberate intentional behavioral responses to the slant, orientation and shape of the surface of slope is monitored by the nonconceptual nonperceptual content of motor intentions.
 

            Not any sensory representation can match the peculiar commitment to action of motor intentions. Visuomotor representations can. Percepts are informationally richer and more fine-grained than either concepts or visuomotor representations. As I claimed above, visual percepts have the same mind-to-world direction of fit as beliefs. This is why visual percepts are suitable inputs to a process of selective elimination of information, whose ultimate conceptual output can be stored in the belief box.
 

            I shall presently argue that visuomotor representations have a different function: they provide the relevant visual information about the properties of a target to an agent’s motor intentions. Indeed, I want to think of the role of the visuomotor representation of a target for action as Gibson (1979) thought of an affordance. However, unlike Gibson (1979), who did not make a distinction between perceptual and visuomotor processing, I do not think of the visuomotor processing of a target as a “direct pick up of information”. I think that visuomotor representations are genuine representations. My main reason for thinking of the output of the visuomotor processing of a target as a genuine mental representation – and for thinking of grasping as a genuine action, not a behavioral reflex – is that Haddenden, Schiff & Goodale’s (2001) experiment suggests that the visuomotor processing of a target can be fooled by features of the visual display: it can be led to process two dimensional cues as if they were three dimensional obstacles. If the output of the visuomotor processing of a display can misrepresent it, then it represents it.
 

            Unlike visual percepts whose single role is to present visual information for further processing the output of which will be stored in the belief box, visuomotor representations are hybrid: as Millikan (1996), who calls them “pushmi-pullyu representations” has perceptively recognized, they have a dual role. I slightly depart from Millikan (1996), however, in that, unlike her, I assume that visuomotor representations, not motor intentions, have a double direction of fit. Visuomotor representations present states of affairs as both facts and goals for immediate action. On the one hand, they provide visual information for the benefit of motor intentions. On the other hand, their content can be conceptualized with the help of a special class of indexical concepts: causal indexicals. Whereas visual percepts must be stripped of much of their informational richness to be conceptualized, visuomotor representations can directly provide relevant visual information about the target of an action to motor intentions. To put it crudely, it follows from the work summarized in Jeannerod (1994, 1997) that the content of a motor intention has two sides: a subjective side and an objective side. On the subjective side, a motor intention represents the agent’s body in action. On the objective side, it represents the target of the action. Visuomotor representations contribute to the latter. Their ‘motoric’ informational encapsulation makes them suitable for this role. The nonconceptual nonperceptual content of a visuomotor representation matches that of a motor intention.
 

            Borrowing from the study of language processing, Jeannerod (1994, 1997) has drawn a distinction between the semantic and the pragmatic processing of visual stimuli. The view I want to put forward has been well expressed by Jeannerod (1997: 77): “at variance with the [...] semantic processing, the representation involved in sensorimotor transformation has a predominantly ‘pragmatic’ function, in that it relates to the object as a goal for action, not as a member of a perceptual category. The object attributes are represented therein to the extent that they trigger specific motor patterns for the hand to achieve the proper grasp”. Thus, the crucial feature of the pragmatic processing of visual information is that its output is a suitable input to the nonconceptual content of motor intentions.
 
 

III.3. Visuomotor representations serve as inputs to causal indexicals
 

            I have just argued that what underlies the contrast between the pragmatic and the semantic processing of visual information is that, whereas the output of the latter is designed to serve as input to further conceptual processing with a mind-to-world direction of fit, the output of the former is designed to match the nonconceptual content of motor intentions with a world-to-mind direction of fit and a mind-to-world direction of causation. The special features of the nonconceptual contents of visuomotor representations can be inferred from the behavioral responses which they underlie, as in patient DF. They can also be deduced from the structure and content of elementary action concepts with the help of which they can be categorized.
 

            I shall presently consider a subset of elementary action concepts, which, following Campbell (1994), I shall call “causally indexical” concepts. Indexical concepts are shallow but indispensable concepts, whose references change as the perceptual context changes and whose function is to encode temporary information. Indexical concepts respectively expressed by ‘I’, ‘today’ and ‘here’ are personal, temporal and spatial indexicals. Arguably, their highly contextual content cannot be replaced by pure definite descriptions without loss. Campbell (1994: 41-51) recognizes the existence of causally indexical concepts whose references may vary according to the causal powers of the agent who uses them. Such concepts are involved in judgments having, as Campbell (1994: 43) puts it, “immediate implications for [the agent's] action”. Concepts such as “too heavy”, “out of reach”, “within my reach”, “too large”, “fit for grasping between index and thumb” are causally indexical concepts in Campbell’s sense.
 

            Campbell’s idea of causal indexicality does capture a kind of judgment that is characteristically based upon the output of the pragmatic (or motor) processing of visual stimuli in Jeannerod’s (1994, 1997) sense. Unlike the content of the direct output of the pragmatic processing of visual stimuli or that of motor intentions, the contents of judgments involving causal indexicals is conceptual. Judgments involving causally indexical concepts have low conceptual content, but they have conceptual content nonetheless. For example, if something is categorized as “too heavy”, then it follows that it is not light enough. The nonconceptual contents of either visuomotor representations or motor intentions is better compared with that of an affordance in Gibson’s sense.
 

            Causally indexical concepts differ in one crucial respect from other indexical concepts, i.e., personal, temporal and spatial indexical concepts. Thoughts involving personal, temporal and spatial indexical concepts are “egocentric” thoughts in the sense that they they are perception-based thoughts. This is obvious enough for thoughts expressible with either the first-person pronouns ‘I’ or ‘you’. To refer to a location as ‘here’ or ‘there’ and to refer to a day as ‘today’, ‘yesterday’ or ‘tomorrow’ is to refer respectively to a spatial and a temporal region from within some egocentric perspective: a location can only be referred to as ‘here’ or ‘there’ from some particular spatial egocentric perspective. A temporal region can only be referred to by ‘today’, ‘yesterday’ or ‘tomorrow’ from some particular temporal egocentric perspective. In this sense, personal, temporal and spatial indexical concepts are egocentric concepts.[2] Arguably, egocentric indexicals lie at the interface between visual percepts and an individual’s conceptual repertoire about objects, times and locations.
 

            Many philosophers (see e.g., Kaplan, 1989 and Perry, 1993) have argued that personal, temporal and spatial indexical and/or demonstrative concepts play a special “essential” and ineliminable role in the explanation of action. And so they do. As Perry (1993: 33) insightfully writes: “I once followed a trail of sugar on a supermarket floor, pushing my cart down the aisle on one side of a tall counter and back the aisle on the other, seeking the shopper with the torn sack to tell him he was making a mess. With each trip around the counter, the trail became thicker. But I seemed unable to catch up. Finally it dawned on me. I was the shopper I was trying to catch”. To believe that the shopper with a torn sack is making a mess is one thing. To believe that oneself is making a mess is something else. Only upon forming the thought expressible by ‘I am making a mess’ is it at all likely that one may take appropriate measures to change one’s course of action. It is one thing to believe that the meeting starts at 10:00 AM. It is another thing to believe that the meeting starts now, even if now is 10:00 AM. Not until one thinks that the meeting starts now will one get up and run. Consider someone standing still at an intersection, lost in a foreign city. One thing is for that person to intend to go to her hotel. Something else is to intend to go this way, not that way. Only after she has formed the latter intention with a demonstrative locational content, will she get up and walk.
 

            Thus, such egocentric concepts as personal, temporal and spatial indexicals and/or demonstratives derive their ineliminable role in the explanation of action from the fact that their recognitional role cannot be played by any purely descriptive concept. Recognition involves a contrast but it can be achieved without recourse to a uniquely specifying definite description. Indexicals and demonstratives are mental pointers that can be used to refer to objects, places and times. Personal indexicals are involved in the recognition of persons. Temporal indexicals are involved in the recognition of temporal regions or instants. Spatial indexicals are involved in the recognition of locations. To recognize oneself as the reference of ‘I’ is to make a contrast with the recognition of the person one addresses in verbal communication as ‘you’. To identify a day as ‘today’ is to contrast it with other days that might be identified as ‘yesterday’, ‘the day before yesterday’, ‘tomorrow’, etc. To identify a place as ‘here’ is to contrast it with other places referred to as ‘there’.
 

            Although indexicals and demonstratives are concepts, they have non-descriptive conceptual content. The conceptual system needs such indexical concepts because it lacks the resources to supply a purely descriptive symbol, i.e., a symbol that could uniquely identify a person, a time or a place. A purely descriptive concept would be a concept that a unique person, a unique time or a unique place would satisfy by uniquely exemplifying each and every of its constituent features. We cannot specify the references of our concepts all the way down by using uniquely identifying descriptions on pain of circularity. If, as Pylyshyn (2000: 129) points out, concepts need to be “grounded”, then on pain of circularity, “the grounding [must] begin at the point where something is picked out directly by a mechanism that works like a demonstrative” (or an indexical). If concepts are to be hooked to or locked onto objects, times and places, then on pain of circularity, definite descriptions will not supply the locking mechanism.
 

            Personal, temporal and spatial indexicals owe their special explanatory role to the fact that they cannot be replaced by purely descriptive concepts. Although they allow recognition by nondescriptive means, their direction of application is mind-to-world. Causally indexical concepts, however, play a different role altogether. Unlike personal, temporal and spatial indexical concepts, causally indexical concepts have a distinctive quasi-deontic or quasi-evaluative content. I want to say that, unlike that of other indexicals, the direction of fit of causal indexicals is hybrid: it is partly mind-to-world, partly world-to-mind. To categorize a target as “too heavy”, “within reach” or “fit for grasping between index and thumb” is to judge or evaluate the parameters of the target as conducive to a successful action upon the target. Unlike the contents of other indexicals, the content of a causally indexical concept results from the combination of an action predicate and an evaluative operator. What makes it indexical is that the result of the application of the latter onto the former is relative to the agent who makes the application. Thus, the job of causally indexical concepts is not just to match the world but to play an action guiding role. If it is, then presumably causal indexicals have at best a hybrid direction of fit, not a pure mind-to-world direction of fit.
 

            In the previous section, I have argued that, unlike visual percepts, visuomotor representations provide visual information to motor intentions, which have nonconceptual content, a world-to-mind direction of fit and a mind-to-world direction of causation. I am presently arguing that the visual information of visuomotor representations can also serve as input to causally indexical concepts, which are elementary contextually dependent action concepts. Judgments involving causally indexical concepts have at best a hybrid direction of fit. When an agent makes such a judgment, he is not merely stating a fact: he is not thereby coming to know a fact that holds independently of his causal powers. Rather, he is settling, accepting or making his mind on an action plan. The function of causally indexical concepts is precisely to allow an agent to make action plans. Whereas personal, temporal and spatial indexicals lie at the interface between visual percepts and an individual’s conceptual repertoire about objects, times and places, causally indexical concepts lie at the interface between visuomotor representations, motor intentions and what Searle calls prior intentions. Prior intentions have conceptual content: they involve action concepts. Thus, after conceptual processing via the channel of causally indexical concepts, the visual information contained in visuomotor representations can be stored in a conceptual format adapted to the content and the direction of fit of one’s intentions – if not one’s motor intentions, then perhaps one’s prior intentions. Hence, the output of the motor processing of visual inputs can serve as input to further conceptual processing whose output will be stored in the ‘intention box’.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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—————————
 

[1]  For discussion, see Jacob (1997, ch. 2).
 

[2] The egocentricity of indexical concepts should not be confused with the egocentricity of an egocentric frame of reference in which the visual system codes e.g., the location of a target. The former is a property of concepts. The latter is a property of visual representations. One crucial difference between the egocentricity of indexical concepts and the ecogentricity of an egocetnric frame of reference for coding the spatial location of a target is that, unlike the latter, the former involves a contrast: if e.g., something is here, it is not there. 

 

Paper for the Summer School in Analytic Philosophy, on Knowledge and Cognition, July 1-7, 2002. Seeing, Perceiving and Knowing, Pierre Jacob, jacob@ehess.fr

Neurobiology & Faith

Posted on May 16th, 2007 in Society, The Mind by Dr Rationalist

The Humanizing Brain: Where Religion and Neuroscience Meet By James B. Ashbrook and Carol Rausch Albright. Pilgrim, 233 pp., $20.95.

In late 1997, an unusual story about the discovery of a”God-spot” in the brain began to appear in newspapers and newsmagazines. In a series of tests, epileptic patients with heightened brain activity in the temporal lobe showed hypersensitivity to religious words and phrases. Some news services announced that scientists had discovered the source of religious experiences. On Internet discussion groups, atheists crowed that religion had been proven to be nothing more than a dysfunction of the brain. Some theists countered, equally glibly, that God had designed our brains to be receptive to the divine; consequently, atheists seemed to be missing a vital piece of equipment.

Researchers had indeed found a region of the brain that could be linked to religious experience, but they neither claimed that this region was the cause of all such experiences nor sought to disparage or “reduce” religion or religious experience. What they had discovered, rather, was that what goes on in the brain is profoundly connected to what goes on in the mind, even in the most sublime of all experiences. They also demonstrated that neuroscience is becoming increasingly important for thinking about some of the basic claims of religion.

James Ashbrook and Carol Rausch Albright seek to break new ground in the dialogue between religion and science. They also hope to demonstrate that neuroscience is not only the appropriate but the preferred partner in that dialogue.

There has never been a better time to make this argument. President George Bush and the U.S. Congress declared the 1990s the decade of the brain, and it has lived up to that declaration. Spurred by the development of advanced scanning techniques such as PET (Positron Emission Tomography) and MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging), neuroscientists are getting glimpses of the brain in action. These maps allow them to observe the brain as it never has been seen before.

This culmination of more than 100 years of serious brain research is finally allowing us to ask some truly interesting questions: Where do emotions come from and why do we have them? How do we think and learn? How does the three-pound, gelatinous mass that we call the brain produce our identities? Though final answers are still a long way off, it is significant that we can now begin to frame such questions in a scientific way. In some cases, the answers seem startling. Far from endorsing a simple reduction of mind to mere neurons, many neuroscientists are embracing paradigms that emphasize the holistic character of brain function and the ways that reason and emotion interplay to make up a self.

This book is neither a neuroscience textbook nor a systematic theology. Rather, it is a working-out of theology through the lens of the neurosciences. Ashbrook, who before his recent death was a pastoral theologian and professor emeritus of religion and personality at Garrett Evangelical Theological Seminary, and Albright, executive editor of Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science, seek to develop a “neurobiology of faith.” To do so is possible because the brain holds a peculiar place in the universe-and, more specifically, in our universe. We ourselves, in a sense, are brains. To study the brain is to study ourselves, but in a way that makes us both subject and object. It is as if we were trying to look both in and out of the window at the same time.

Furthermore, to study ourselves, the authors claim, is to study God. Ashbrook and Albright’s introduction states that “God-talk is really human-talk, since it is we who are conversing.” That is, because we can experience God only as human beings, in the process of learning about human life we will necessarily learn something about God as well. Even more than this, understanding the human brain can be the key to understanding God.

It is worth taking this startling claim seriously. Asked to name the most exotic thing in the universe, most of us would mention either the very large (black holes and supernovas) or the very small (all those spooky little particles). But the most incredible structure in the entire universe may be what is sitting behind our eyeballs. Inside our heads is the most complex and sophisticated device in creation.

Every brain contains approximately 100 billion cells called neurons. Neurons connect with one another to form complex communication networks that, among other things, enable us to walk, talk and breath without thinking about it. There are a staggering 100 trillion neuron connections in the brain. As anyone who uses a comparatively simple desktop computer can testify, it seems a miracle that such a complex system could work without crashing. Yet the brain smoothly, day in and day out, enables us to perceive objects in color, distinguish the year and place of a wine by taste, and (sometimes) understand calculus. Black holes seem boring by comparison.

The Humanizing Brain: Where Religion and Neuroscience Meet – Review, Christian Century,  Jan 27, 1999  by Greg Peterson

Consciousness & Illusion

Posted on April 28th, 2007 in Reason & Rationality, Spirituality & Rationalism, The Mind by Dr Rationalist

What is all this? What is all this stuff around me; this stream of experiences that I seem to be having all the time?

Throughout history there have been people who say it is all illusion. I think they may be right. But if they are right what could this mean? If you just say “It’s all an illusion” this gets you nowhere – except that a whole lot of other questions appear. Why should we all be victims of an illusion, instead of seeing things the way they really are? What sort of illusion is it anyway? Why is it like that and not some other way? Is it possible to see through the illusion? And if so what happens next.

These are difficult questions, but if the stream of consciousness is an illusion we should be trying to answer them, rather than more conventional questions about consciousness. I shall explore these questions, though I cannot claim that I will answer them. In doing so I shall rely on two methods. First there are the methods of science; based on theorising and hypothesis testing – on doing experiments to find out how the world works. Second there is disciplined observation – watching experience as it happens to find out how it really seems. This sounds odd. You might say that your own experience is infallible – that if you say it is like this for you then no one can prove you wrong. I only suggest you look a bit more carefully. Perhaps then it won’t seem quite the way you thought it did before. I suggest that both these methods are helpful for penetrating the illusion – if illusion it is.

We must be clear what is meant by the word ‘illusion’. An illusion is not something that does not exist, like a phantom or phlogiston. Rather, it is something that it is not what it appears to be, like a visual illusion or a mirage. When I say that consciousness is an illusion I do not mean that consciousness does not exist. I mean that consciousness is not what it appears to be. If it seems to be a continuous stream of rich and detailed experiences, happening one after the other to a conscious person, this is the illusion.

What’s the problem?

For a drastic solution like ‘it’s all an illusion’ even to be worth considering, there has to be a serious problem. There is. Essentially it is the ancient mind-body problem, which recurs in different guises in different times. Victorian thinkers referred to the gulf between mind and brain as the ‘great chasm’ or the ‘fathomless abyss’. Advances in neuroscience and artificial intelligence have changed the focus of the problem to what Chalmers (1995) calls the ‘hard problem’ – that is, to explain how subjective experience arises from the objective activity of brain cells.

Many people say that the hard problem does not exist, or that it is a pseudo-problem. I think they fall into two categories – those few who have seen the depths of the problem and come up with some insight into it, and those who just skate over the abyss. The latter group might heed Nagel’s advice when he says “Certain forms of perplexity-for example, about freedom, knowledge, and the meaning of life-seem to me to embody more insight than any of the supposed solutions to those problems.” (Nagel 1986 p 4).

This perplexity can easily be found. For example, pick up any object – a cup of tea or a pen will do – and just look, smell, and feel its texture. Do you believe there is a real objective cup there, with actual tea in it, made of atoms and molecules? Aren’t you also having a private subjective experience of the cup and the taste of the tea – the ‘what it is like’ for you? What is this experience made of? It seems to be something completely different from actual tea and molecules. When the objective world out there and our subjective experiences of it seem to be such different kinds of thing, how can one be caused by, or arise from, or even depend upon, the other?

The intractability and longevity of these problems suggests to me that we are making a fundamental mistake in the way we think about consciousness – perhaps right at the very beginning. So where is the beginning? For William James – whose 1890 Principles of Psychology is deservedly a classic – the beginning is our undeniable experience of the ’stream of consciousness’; that unbroken, ever-changing flow of ideas, perceptions, feelings, and emotions that make up our lives.

In a famous passage he says “Consciousness … does not appear to itself chopped up in bits. … it flows. A ‘river’ or a ’stream’ are the metaphors by which it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereafter, let us call it the stream of thought, of consciousness, or of subjective life.” (James, 1890, i, 239). He referred to the stream of consciousness as “… the ultimate fact for psychology.” (James 1890, i, p 360).

James took introspection as his starting method, and the stream of consciousness as its object. “Introspective Observation is what we have to rely on first and foremost and always. The word introspection need hardly be defined(it means, of course, the looking into our own minds and reporting what we there discover. Every one agrees that we there discover states of consciousness. …  I regard this belief as the most fundamental of all the postulates of Psychology, and shall discard all curious inquiries about its certainty as too metaphysical for the scope of this book.” (1890, i,  p 185).

He quotes at length from Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, who says “What I find when I look at my consciousness at all is that what I cannot divest myself of, or not have in consciousness, if I have any consciousness at all, is a sequence of different feelings. I may shut my eyes and keep perfectly still, and try not to contribute anything of my own will; but whether I think or do not think, whether I perceive external things or not, I always have a succession of different feelings. … Not to have the succession of different feelings is not to be conscious at all.” (quoted in James 1890, i, p 230)

James adds “Such a description as this can awaken no possible protest from any one.” I am going to protest. I shall challenge two aspects of the traditional stream; first that it has rich and detailed contents, and second that there is one continuous sequence of contents.

But before we go any further it is worth considering how it seems to you. I say this because sometimes people propose novel solutions to difficult problems only to find that everyone else says – ‘Oh I knew that all along’. So it is helpful to decide what you do think first. Many people say that it feels something like this. I feel as though I am somewhere inside my head looking out. I can see and hear and feel and think. The impressions come along in an endless stream; pictures, sounds, feelings, mental images and thoughts appear in my consciousness and then disappear again. This is my ’stream of consciousness’ and I am the continuous conscious self who experiences it.

If this is how it seems to you then you probably also believe that at any given time there have to be contents of your conscious stream – some things that are ‘in’ your consciousness and others that are not. So, if you ask the question ‘what am I conscious of now?’ or ‘what was I conscious of at time t?’ then there has to be an answer. You might like to consider at this point whether you think there does have to be an answer.

For many years now I have been getting my students to ask themselves, as many times as possible every day “Am I conscious now?”. Typically they find the task unexpectedly hard to do; and hard to remember to do. But when they do it, it has some very odd effects. First they often report that they always seem to be conscious when they ask the question but become less and less sure about whether they were conscious a moment before. With more practice they say that asking the question itself makes them more conscious, and that they can extend this consciousness from a few seconds to perhaps a minute or two. What does this say about consciousness the rest of the time?

Just this starting exercise (we go on to various elaborations of it as the course progresses) begins to change many students’ assumptions about their own experience. In particular they become less sure that there are always contents in their stream of consciousness. How does it seem to you? It is worth deciding at the outset because this is what I am going to deny. I suggest that there is no stream of consciousness. And there is no definite answer to the question ‘What am I conscious of now?’. Being conscious is just not like that.

I shall try to explain why, using examples from two senses; vision and hearing.

The Stream of Vision

When we open our eyes and look around it seems as though we are experiencing a rich and ever-changing picture of the world; what I shall call our ’stream of vision’. Probably many of us go further and develop some sort of theory about what is going on – something like this perhaps.

“When we look around the world, unconscious processes in the brain build up a more and more detailed representation of what is out there. Each glance provides a bit more information to add to the picture. This rich mental representation is what we see at any time. As long as we are looking around there is a continuous stream of such pictures. This is our visual experience.”

There are at least two threads of theory here. The first is the idea that there is a unified stream of conscious visual impressions to be explained, what Damasio (1999) calls ‘the movie-in-the-brain’. The second is the idea that seeing means having internal mental pictures – that the world is represented in our heads. People have thought this way at least for several centuries, perhaps since Leonardo da Vinci first described the eye as a camera obscura and Kepler explained the optics of the eye (Lindberg 1976). Descartes’ famous sketches showed how images of the outside world appear in the non-material mind and James, like his Victorian contemporaries, simply assumed that seeing involves creating mental representations. Similarly, conventional cognitive psychology has treated vision as a process of constructing representations.

Perhaps these assumptions seem unremarkable, but they land us in difficulty as soon as we appreciate that much of vision is unconscious.  We seem forced to distinguish between conscious and unconscious processing; between representations that are ‘in’ the stream of consciousness and those that are ‘outside’ it. Processes seem to start out unconscious and then ‘enter consciousness’ or ‘become conscious’. But if all of them are representations built by the activity of neurons, what is the difference? What makes some into conscious representations and others not.

Almost every theory of consciousness we have confronts this problem and most try to solve it. For example, global workspace (GW) theories (e.g. Baars 1988) explicitly have a functional space, the workspace, which is a serial working memory in which the conscious processing occurs. According to Baars, information in the GW is made available (or displayed, or broadcast) to an unconscious audience in the rest of the brain. The ‘difference’ is that processing in the GW is conscious and that outside of it is not.

There are many varieties of GWT. In Dennett’s (2001) ‘fame in the brain’ metaphor, as in his previous multiple drafts theory (Dennett 1991 and see below), becoming conscious means contributing to some output or result (fame is the aftermath, not something additional to it). But in many versions of GWT being conscious is equated with being available, or on display, to the rest of the system (e.g. Baars 1988, Dehaene and Naccache 2001). The question remains; the experiences in the stream of consciousness are those that are available to the rest of the system. Why does this availability turn previously unconscious physical processes into subjective experiences?

As several authors have pointed out there seems to be a consensus emerging in favour of GWTs. I believe the consensus is wrong. GWTs are doomed because they try to explain something that does not exist – a stream of conscious experiences emerging from the unconscious processes in the brain.

The same problem pervades the whole enterprise of searching for the neural correlates of consciousness. For example Kanwisher (2001) suggests that the neural correlates of the contents of visual awareness are represented in the ventral pathway – assuming, as do many others, that visual awareness has contents and that those contents are representations. Crick asks “What is the “neural correlate” of visual awareness? Where are these “awareness neurons”¾are they in a few places or all over the brain¾and do they behave in any special way?” One might think that these are rhetorical questions but he goes on ” … this knowledge may help us to locate the awareness neurons we are looking for.” (Crick 1994, 204). Clearly he, like others, is searching for the neural correlates of that stream of conscious visual experiences. He admits that  “… so far we can locate no single region in which the neural activity corresponds exactly to the vivid picture of the world we see in front of our eyes.” (Crick 1994, 159). Nevertheless he obviously assumes that there is such a “vivid picture”. What if there is not? In this case he, and others, are hunting for something that can never be found.

I suggest that there is no stream of vivid pictures that appear in consciousness. There is no movie-in-the-brain. There is no stream of vision. And if we think there is we are victims of the grand illusion.

Change blindness is the most obvious evidence against the stream of vision. In 1991 Dennett reported unpublished experiments by Grimes who used a laser tracker to detect people’s eye movements and then change the picture they were looking at just when they moved their eyes. The changes were so large and obvious that under normal circumstances they could hardly be missed, but when they were made during saccades, the changes went unnoticed. It subsequently turned out that expensive eye trackers are not necessary.  I suggested moving the whole picture instead, and this produced the same effects (Blackmore, Brelstaff, Nelson & Troscianko 1995) . Other, even simpler, methods have since been developed, and change blindness has been observed with brief blank flashes between pictures, with image flicker, during cuts in movies or during blinks (Simons 2000).

That the findings are genuinely surprising is confirmed in experiments in which people were asked to predict whether they or others would notice the changes. A large metacognitive error was found – that is, people grossly overestimated their own and others’ ability to detect change (Levin, Momen & Drivdahl 2000). James long ago noted something similar; that we fail to notice that we overlook things. “It is true that we may sometimes be tempted to exclaim, when once a lot of hitherto unnoticed details of the object lie before us, “How could we ever have been ignorant of these things and yet have felt the object, or drawn the conclusion, as if it were a continuum, a plenum? There would have been gaps¾but we felt no gaps” (p 488).

Change blindness is not confined to artificial laboratory conditions. Simons and Levin (1998) produced a comparable effect in the real world with some clever choreography. In one study an experimenter approached a pedestrian on the campus of Cornell University to ask for directions. While they talked, two men rudely carried a door between them. The first experimenter grabbed the back of the door and the person who had been carrying it let go and took over the conversation. Only half of the pedestrians noticed the substitution. Again, when people are asked whether they think they would detect such a change they are convinced that they would – but they are wrong.

Change blindness could also have serious consequences in ordinary life. For example, O’Regan, Rensink and Clark (1999) showed that dangerous mistakes can be made by drivers or pilots when change blindness is induced by mudsplashes on the windscreen.

Further experiments have shown that attention is required to notice a change. For example there is the related phenomenon of ‘inattentional blindness’ (Mack & Rock 1998) in which people attending to one item of a display fail to detect the appearance of unexpected new items, even when these are clearly visible or in the centre of the visual field. However, though attention is necessary to detect change, it is not sufficient. Levin and Simons (1997) created short movies in which various objects were changed, some in arbitrary locations and others in the centre of attention. In one case the sole actor in the movie went to answer the phone. There was a cut in which the camera angle changed and a different person picked up the phone. Only a third of the observers detected the change.

What do these results mean? They certainly suggest that from one saccade to the next we do not store nearly as much information as was previously thought. If the information were stored we would surely notice the change. So the ’stream of vision’ theory I described at the start has to be false. The richness of our visual world is an illusion (Blackmore et al 1995).Yet obviously something is retained otherwise there could be no sense of continuity and we would not even notice if the entire scene changed. Theorists vary in how much, and what sort of, information they claim is retained.

Perhaps the simplest interpretation is given by Simons and Levin (1997). During each visual fixation we experience a rich and detailed visual world. This picture is only detailed in the centre, but it is nevertheless a rich visual experience. From that we extract the meaning or gist of the scene. Then when we move our eyes the detailed picture is thrown away and a new one substituted, but if the gist remains the same our perceptual system assumes the details are the same and so we do not notice changes. This, they argue, makes sense in the rapidly changing and complex world we live in. We get a phenomenal experience of continuity without too much confusion.

Slightly more radical is Rensink’s (2000) view. He suggests that observers never form a complete representation of the world around them – not even during fixations. Rather, perception involves ‘virtual representation’; representations of objects are formed one at a time as needed, and they do not accumulate. The impression of more is given because a new object can always be made ‘just in time’. In this way an illusion of richness and continuity is created.

Finally, O’Regan (1992) goes even further in demolishing the ordinary view of seeing. He suggests that there is no need for internal representations at all because the world can be used as an external memory, or as its own best model – we can always look again. This interpretation fits with moves towards embodied cognition (e.g. Varela, Thomson and Rosch, 1991) and towards animate vision in artificial intelligence (Clark 1999) in which mind, body and world work together, and sensing is intertwined with acting. It is also related to the sensorimotor theory of perception proposed by O’Regan and Noë (in press). On this view seeing is a way of acting; of exploring the environment. Conscious visual experiences are generated not by building representations but by mastering sensorimotor contingencies. What remains between saccades is not a picture of the world, but the information needed for further exploration. A study by Karn and Hayhoe (2000) confirms that spatial information required to control eye movements is retained across saccades. This kind of theory is dramatically different from existing theories of perception. It entails no representation of the world at all.

It is not yet clear which of these interpretations, if any, is correct but there is no doubt about the basic phenomenon and its main implication. Theories that try to explain the contents of the stream of vision are misguided. There is no stable, rich visual representation in our minds that could be the contents of the stream of consciousness.

Yet it seems there is doesn’t it? Well does it? We return here to the problem of the supposed infallibility of our own private experiences. Each of us can glibly say ‘Well I know what my experience is like and it is a stream of visual pictures of the world, and nothing you say can take away my experience’. What then do we make of the experiments that suggest that anyone who says this is simply wrong?

I suggest that we all need to look again – and look very hard, with persistence and practice. Experimental scientists tend to eschew personal practice of this kind. Yet I suggest we should encourage it for two reasons. First, we cannot avoid bringing implicit theories to bear on how we view our own experiences and what we say about them. So perhaps we should do this explicitly. As we study theories of consciousness, we can try out the proposals against the way it seems to us. As we do so our own experience changes – I would say deepens. As an example, take theories about change blindness. Many people find the evidence surprising because they are sure that they have rich visual pictures in their mind whenever they are looking at something. If you ask “What am I conscious of now?” again and again, this certainty begins to fall apart, and the change blindness evidence seems less surprising. This must surely help us to become better critics. At the very least it will help us to avoid dismissing theories of consciousness because of false assumptions we make about our own experiences.

The second reason is that this kind of practice can give rise to completely new hypotheses about consciousness. And this in turn can lead to testable predictions and new experiments. If these are derived from a deeper understanding of one’s own awareness then they are more likely to be productive than those based on the mistake of believing in the stream of conscious.

Note that what I am proposing here is first person practice – first person discipline – first person methods of inquiry. But the results of all this practice will be words and actions; saying things to oneself and others. This endeavour only becomes science when it is put to use in this way and it is then, of course, third person science.

How does one do it? There have been many methods developed for taking ‘the view from within’ (Varela and Shear 1999) but I am suggesting something quite simple here. Having learned about the results of the change blindness research we should look hard and persistently at our own visual experiences. Right now is there a rich picture here in my experience? If there seems to be, something must be wrong, so what is wrong? Look again, and again. After many years of doing this kind of practice, every day, it no longer seems to me that there is a stream of vision, as I described at the start. The research has changed not only my intellectual understanding of vision but the very experience of seeing itself.

The stream of sounds

Listening to what is going on it might seem as though there is a stream of sounds to match the stream of pictures. Suppose we are listening to a conversation, then turn our attention to the music in the background, and then to the conversation again. We may say that at first the conversation was in the conscious stream while the music remained unconscious, then they reversed and so on. If asked ‘what sounds were in your stream of consciousness at a particular time?’ you might be sure that there definitely was an answer, even if you can’t exactly remember what it was. This follows from the idea that there is a stream of consciousness, and sounds must either be in it or not.

Some simple everyday experiences cast doubt on this natural view. To take a much used favourite, imagine you are reading and just as you turn the page you become aware that the clock is striking. You hadn’t noticed it before but now you feel as though you were aware of it all along. You can even remember that it has struck four times already and you can now go on counting. What has happened here? Were the first three ‘dongs’ really outside the stream (unconscious) and have now been pulled out of memory and put in the stream? If so what was happening when the first one struck, while you were still reading? Was the sound out of the stream at the time, but after you turned the page it just felt as though it had been in there all along – with the contents of the previous page – even though it wasn’t really? Or have you gone back in time and changed the contents of the stream retrospectively? Or what? You might think up some other elaborations to make sense of it but I don’t think any will be very simple or convincing (in the same spirit Dennett (1991) contrasts Orwellian with Stalinesque revisions). The trouble all comes about because of the idea that there is a stream of consciousness and things are either in or out of it.

There are many other examples one could use to show the same thing. For example, in a noisy room full of people talking you may suddenly switch your attention because someone has said “Guess who I saw with Anya the other day – it was Bernard”. You prick up your ears – surely not – you think. At this point you seem to have been aware of the whole sentence as it was spoken. But were you really? The fact is that you would never have noticed it at all if she had concluded the sentence with a name that meant nothing to you.

Even simpler than this is the problem with all speech. You need to accumulate a lot of serial information before the meaning of a sentence becomes unambiguous. What was in the stream of consciousness while all this was happening? Was it just meaningless words? Gobbledegook? Did it switch from gobbledegook to words half way through? It doesn’t feel like that. It feels as though you listened and heard a meaningful sentence as it went along, but this is impossible.

Or take just one word, or listen to a blackbird trill its song. Only once the trill is complete, the word finished, can you know what it was that you heard. What was in the stream of consciousness before this point? Would it help to go even smaller? to try to break the stream down into its constituent bits? Perhaps there is a stream of raw feels, or indivisible bits of conscious stuff out of which the larger chunks are made. The introspectionists assumed this must be the case and tried – in vain – to find the units. James did a thorough job of disposing of such ideas in 1890, concluding “No one ever had a simple sensation by itself” (James 1890, i, 224) and there have been many objections since. There is no easy way to answer these questions about what really was in the stream of consciousness at a given time. Perhaps the idea of a stream of consciousness is itself the problem.

Of course we should have known all this. Dennett (1991) pointed out much the same using the colour phi phenomenon and the cutaneous rabbit. To produce colour phi a red light is flashed in one place and then a green light flashed a short distance away. Even on the first trial, observers do not see two distinct lights flashing, but one moving light that changes from red to green somewhere in the middle. But how could they have known what colour the light was going to turn into? If we think in terms of the stream of consciousness we are forced to wonder what was in the stream when the light seemed to be in the middle – before the second light came on.

There’s something backwards about all this. As though consciousness is somehow trailing along behind or making things up after the fact. Libet’s well-known experiments showed that about half a second of continuous cortical activity is required for consciousness, so consciousness cannot be instant. But we should not conclude that there is a stream of consciousness that runs along half a second behind the real world; this still wouldn’t solve the chiming clock problem. Instead I suggest that the problem lies with the whole idea of the stream.

Dennett (1991) formulated this in terms of the Cartesian Theatre – that non-existent place where consciousness happens – where everything comes together and I watch the private show (my stream of experiences) in my own theatre of the mind. He referred to those who believe in the existence of the Cartesian Theatre as Cartesian materialists. Most contemporary consciousness researchers deny being Cartesian materialists. Typically they say that they do not believe that ‘everything comes together’ at a point in the brain, or even a particular area in the brain. For example, in most GWTs the activity of the GW is widely distributed in the brain. In Edelman and Tononi’s (2000) theory the activity of groups of neurons in a widely distributed dynamic core underlies conscious experience.

However, many of these same theorists use phrases that imply a show in the non-existent theatre; such phrases as ‘the information in consciousness’, ‘items enter consciousness’, ‘representations become conscious’, or ‘the contents of consciousness’. But consciousness is not a container – whether distributed or not. And, if there is no answer to the question “what is in my consciousness now?” such phrases imply that people are assuming something that does not exist. Of course it is difficult to write clearly about consciousness and people may write this way when they do not really mean to imply a show in a Cartesian Theatre. Nevertheless, we should beware these phrases. If there is an answer to the question ‘what is in my consciousness now?’ then it makes sense to speak of things ‘entering consciousness’ and so on. If there is no answer it does not.

How can there not be an answer? How can there not be a stream of consciousness or a show in the theatre of the mind? Baars claims that “all of our unified models of mental functioning today are theater metaphors; it is essentially all we have.” (1997, 7) but it is not. It is possible to think about consciousness in other ways – I would say not just possible but necessary.

Dennett’s own suggestion is the theory of multiple drafts. Put simply it is this. At any time there are multiple constructions of various sorts going on in the brain – multiple parallel descriptions of what’s going on. None of these is ‘in’ consciousness while others are ‘out’ of it. Rather, whenever a probe is put in – for example a question asked or a behaviour precipitated – a narrative is created. The rest of the time there are lots of contenders in various stages of revision in different parts of the brain, and no final version. As he puts it “there are no fixed facts about the stream of consciousness independent of particular probes”.  “Just what we are conscious of within any particular time duration is not defined independently of the probes we use to precipitate a narrative about that period. Since these narratives are under continual revision, there is no single narrative that counts as the canonical version, … the events that happened in the stream of consciousness of the subject.” (Dennett 1991 p 136)

I would put it slightly differently. I want to replace our familiar idea of a stream of consciousness with that of illusory backwards streams. At any time in the brain a whole lot of different things are going on. None of these is either ‘in’ or ‘out’ of consciousness, so we don’t need to explain the ‘difference’ between conscious and unconscious processing. Every so often something happens to create what seems to have been a stream. For example, we ask “Am I conscious now?”. At this point a retrospective story is concocted about what was in the stream of consciousness a moment before, together with a self who was apparently experiencing it. Of course there was neither a conscious self nor a stream, but it now seems as though there was. This process goes on all the time with new stories being concocted whenever required. At any time that we bother to look, or ask ourselves about it, it seems as though there is a stream of consciousness going on. When we don’t bother to ask, or to look, it doesn’t, but then we don’t notice so it doesn’t matter. This way the grand illusion is concocted.

There are some odd implications of this view. First, as far as neuroscience is concerned we should not expect always to find one global workspace, or other unified correlate of the contents of consciousness. With particular sorts of probes there may, for a time, be such a global unification but at other times there may be several integrated patterns going on simultaneously, any of which might end up being retrospectively counted as contents of a stream of consciousness. Second, the backwards streams may overlap with impunity. Information from one ongoing process may end up in one stream, while information from another parallel process ends up in a different stream precipitated a bit later but referring to things that were going on simultaneously. There is no requirement for there really to be only one conscious stream at a time – even though it ends up seeming that way.

This is particularly helpful for thinking about the stream of sounds because sounds only make sense when information is integrated over appreciable lengths of time. As an example, imagine you are sitting in the garden and can hear a passing car, a bird singing, and some children shouting in the distance, and that you switch attention rapidly between them. If there were one stream of consciousness then each time attention switched you would have to wait while enough information came into the stream to identify the sound – to hear it as a passing car. In fact attention can switch much faster than this. A new backwards stream can be created very quickly and the information it uses may overlap with that used in another stream a moment later, and another, and so on. So at time t was the bird song really in your stream of consciousness or was it the children’s shouting? There is no answer.

Is it really this way? Do you want to protest that it doesn’t seem this way? As with vision it is possible to look harder into one’s own experience of sound and the results can be quite strange. Thinking about the chiming clocks, and listening as sounds come and go, the once-obvious linear stream begins to disappear.

Looking harder

I have suggested that we need to look hard into our own experience, but what does this mean? How can we look? If the models sketched above are correct then looking means putting in a probe and this precipitates a backwards stream. So we cannot catch ourselves not seeming to be having a stream of consciousness. As William James so aptly put it “The attempt at introspective analysis in these cases is in fact like seizing a spinning top to catch its motion, or trying to turn up the gas quickly enough to see how the darkness looks.” (James, 1890, i, 244).

The modern equivalent is the metaphor of the fridge door. Is the light always on inside the fridge?  You may keep opening the door, as quickly as you can, but you can never catch it out – every time you open it, the light is on.

Things, however, are not quite that bad for the stream of consciousness. We do, after all, have those obvious examples such as the chiming clock and the meaningless half a word to go on. And we can build on this. But it takes practice.

What kind of practice? A good start is calming the mind. There are many meditation traditions whose aim is to see the mind for what it really is, and all of these begin with calming the mind. You might say that at first it is more like a raging torrent or even a stormy ocean than a stream. To see whether there even is a stream we need to slow everything down. This is not easy. Indeed it can take many years of diligent practice, though some people seem to be able to do it much more easily than others. Nevertheless, with a calm mind it is easier to concentrate, and to concentrate for longer.

Now we can ask “What am I hearing now?”. At first there seems always to be an answer. “I am hearing the traffic” or “I am hearing myself ask the question in my head”. But with practice the answer becomes less obvious. It is possible to pick up the threads of various sounds (the clock ticking, the traffic, ones own breathing, the people shouting across the road) and notice in each case that you seem to have been hearing it for some time. When you get good at this it seems obvious that you can give more than one answer to the question “what was I hearing at time t”. When you can do this there no longer seems to be a single stream of sounds.

My purpose here is not to say that this new way of hearing is right, or even better than the previous way. After all, I might be inventing some idiosyncratic delusion of my own. My intention is to show that there are other ways of experiencing the world, and finding them can help us throw off the false assumptions that are holding back our study of consciousness. If we can find a personal way out of always believing we are experiencing a stream of consciousness, then we are less likely to keep getting stuck in the Cartesian Theatre.

I asked at the outset ‘What is all this? What is all this stuff – all this experience that I seem to be having, all the time?’. I have now arrived at the answer that all this stuff is a grand illusion. This has not solved the problems of consciousness, but at least it tells us that there is no point trying to explain the difference between things that are in consciousness and those that are not because there is no such difference. And it is a waste of time trying to explain the contents of the stream of consciousness because the stream of consciousness does not exist. 

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  24. Rensink, R.A. (2000) The dynamic representation of scenes. Visual Cognition, 7, 17-42
  25. Simons, D.J. (2000) Current approaches to change blindness. Visual Cognition, 7, 1-15
  26. Simons, D.J. and Levin, D.T. (1998) Failure to detect changes to people during real-world interaction. Psychonomic Bulletin and Review, 5, 644-649
  27. Varela, F.J. and Shear, J. (1999) The view from within: First person approaches to the study of consciousness, Thorverton, Devon, Imprint Academic
  28. Varela,F.J., Thomson,E. and Rosch,E. (1991) The Embodied Mind. London, MIT Press
     

There is no stream of consciousnes - This paper is published in the Journal of Consciousness Studies, Volume9, number 5-6, which is devoted to the Grand Illusion.  See http://www.imprint.co.uk/jcs/. This paper is based on a conference presentation by Dr Susan Blackmore at ‘Towards a Science of Consciousness 2001, in Skövde, Sweden, 7-11 August 2001.

Role of Consciousness

Posted on April 26th, 2007 in Rationality & Science, The Mind by Dr Rationalist

In this post, a theoretical account of the functional role of consciousness in the cognitive system of normal subjects is developed. The account is based upon an approach to consciousness that is drawn from the phenomenological tradition. On this approach, consciousness is essentially peripheral self-awareness, in a sense to be duly explained. It will be argued that the functional role of consciousness, so construed, is to provide the subject with just enough information about her ongoing experience to make it possible for her to easily obtain as much more information as she may need. The argument for this account of consciousness’ functional role will proceed in three main stages. First, the phenomenological approach to consciousness as peripheral self-awareness will be expounded and endorsed. Second, an account of the functional role of peripheral perceptual awareness will be offered. Finally, the account of the functional role of peripheral self-awareness will be obtained by straightforward extension from the functional role of peripheral perceptual awareness.

For many, the ultimate goal of scientific research into consciousness is to identify the neural correlate of consciousness – to uncover the neurological “seat” of consciousness in the brain. There are many ways scientific investigation can proceed in pursuit of such a goal. Perhaps the most straightforward way is as follows: first find out what it is that consciousness does, then find out what structure or process in the brain does just that; one would then be justified in identifying the structure or process in question as the seat of consciousness.[1]

            This approach requires, as a first order of business, a comprehensive account of what consciousness does, that is, of the functional role of consciousness in the cognitive system of a normal subject. In order to understand what consciousness does, however, we must have an agreement on what consciousness is. In what follows, I adopt a specific view of this matter, a view drawn from the phenomenological tradition. On this view, consciousness is a form of peripheral self-awareness. What is meant by the concept of peripheral self-awareness, and what the emerging conception of consciousness is, will be elucidated in due course. In any event, on the phenomenological approach to consciousness adopted here, the functional role of consciousness is given by that of peripheral self-awareness. The latter is what I propose to discuss in the present paper.

Various accounts of the functional significance of consciousness already exist, both in the scientific literature and in the philosophical one. Most of these accounts, however, rest content with pointing out a number of cognitive functions consciousness is somehow involved in. But this falls short of precisely distilling the singular functional contribution of consciousness to any process or state in which it is present. An account attempting to do that will be offered in §5 below. On this account, the precise functional role of consciousness is to provide the subject with just enough information about her ongoing experience to make it possible for her to quickly and effortlessly obtain as much more information as she may happen to need.

            The argument will proceed as follows. In §§1-2, three constraints on the adequacy of an account of the functional role of consciousness will be set out. In §2, the phenomenological approach to consciousness in terms of peripheral self-awareness will be expounded and endorsed. In §3, I will expand on the notion of peripheral awareness, and in particular peripheral self-awareness. In §4, the functional role of peripheral awareness in general will be discussed. This will naturally lead to a discussion, in §5, of the functional role of peripheral self-awareness in particular. The account developed in §5 will be compared and contrasted with several other accounts of the functional role of consciousness in §6.

 

1.      The Functional Role of Consciousness and Functionalism About Consciousness

Mental states and events are rarely (if ever) idle. They normally bring about other mental states and events, as well as certain actions, and they are themselves brought about by other mental states and events, as well as certain physiological conditions. The set of causes and effects that surround a mental state is commonly referred to as the state’s functional role.

            The functional role of a mental state depends on how the state is. The picture is this: the state has various properties, F1, …, Fn, and each property Fi contributes something to (or modifies somehow) the state’s fund of causal powers. One of the properties that some mental states have and some do not is consciousness. We should expect consciousness to contribute something to the fund of causal powers of the mental states that exemplify it. It is not incoherent, of course, to maintain that the property of being conscious does not contribute anything to a mental state’s fund of causal powers – that consciousness is causally inert, or epiphenomenal.[2] But that is an extremely unlikely possibility, a non-starter to say the least. In all likelihood, consciousness has some functional significance, and there is a contribution it makes to mental states that have it.

            In this paper, I will assume that consciousness does have a functional role.[3] As such, consciousness adds something to the mental states that exemplify it. On the other hand, it is implausible to suppose that consciousness is nothing but that “addition.” In other words, it is implausible that a functionalist approach to consciousness could be made to work. In general, functionalism is the view that mental states and properties can be identified with their functional role in the subject’s cognitive economy (Putnam 1967, Lewis 1972).[4] With regard to consciousness, the thesis is that consciousness can be identified with its functional role, that is, that a mental state’s property of being conscious is just the property of having the kind of functional profile we find in conscious states but not in unconscious states (Dennett 1981).

A principled problem for functionalism is that functional role is a dispositional notion, whereas many mental states are categorical. Functional role is a dispositional notion, in that the causal powers of a mental state are what they are independently of whether the state actually manifests them. A mental state’s functional role is a matter of its subject’s disposition to do (or undergo) certain things, not a matter of the subject’s actually doing (or undergoing) those things. But where there is a disposition there must be a categorical basis for it. When an object or state is disposed a certain way, there is a reason why it is so disposed. There must be something about it that grounds the disposition. Now, many mental states appear to be precisely the categorical bases for certain dispositions, rather than the dispositions themselves. It is because the subject is in the mental state she is in that she is disposed the way she is, not the other way round. Such mental states are not just functional role, then; they are what plays, or grounds, the functional role.

There may be some mental states that are plausibly construed as nothing but the relevant bundles of dispositions. A subject’s tacit belief that there are birds in China is plausibly identified with a set of dispositions; there appears to be no need to posit a concrete item that underlies those dispositions. This is because nothing needs to actually happen with a subject who tacitly believes that there are birds in China. But many mental states are not like that. A subject’s conscious experience of the blue sky is more than a set of dispositions. Here there is a concrete item that underlies the relevant dispositions. Something does actually happen with a subject when she has the experience. In virtue of having a conscious experience of the blue sky, the subject is disposed to do (or undergo) certain things. But there is more to the subject’s having the conscious experience than her being so disposed. Indeed, it is precisely because the subject has her experience that she is disposed the way she is. The experience is the reason for the disposition, it is its categorical basis.

There are two points to retain from the foregoing discussion. First, to engage in a search for the functional role of consciousness is not to subscribe to a functionalist approach to consciousness. Second, understanding the functional role of consciousness requires two things. It requires, first of all, understanding how a subject’s having a conscious mental state disposes her (in ways that having an unconscious mental state does not). That is, it requires that the functional role of consciousness be correctly identified. And it requires, on top of that, understanding what it is about a mental state’s being conscious that endows it with this particular functional role. That is, it requires understanding why consciousness has just the functional role it does. This latter requirement is of the first importance. Our conception of consciousness must make it possible for us to see what it is about consciousness that yields the kinds of dispositions associated with conscious states and not with unconscious states. It must allow us not only to identify the functional role of consciousness, but also to explain it.

If consciousness was nothing more than a bundle of dispositions, there would be no question as to why consciousness is associated with just those dispositions. Consciousness would just be those dispositions. But because consciousness is more than a bundle of dispositions – because it is the categorical basis of those dispositions – there are two separate questions that arise in relation to its functional role: What does consciousness do?, and Why is that what consciousness does? The latter arises because, when we claim that consciousness underlies certain dispositions, we assume that there is a reason why these are the dispositions it underlies. The matter can hardly be completely arbitrary, a fluke of nature. Therefore, unless functionalism about consciousness is embraced, both questions must be answered. Conversely, functionalism about consciousness necessarily fails to explain why consciousness has the functional role it does, and is to that extent unsatisfactory. A more satisfactory account of consciousness would meet both our theoretical requirements: it would both identify and explain the functional role of consciousness.[5] Let us call the former the identification requirement and the latter the explanation requirement.[6]

 

2.      A Phenomenological Approach to Consciousness

When discussing the functional role of consciousness, it is important to distinguish the role of conscious states from the role of consciousness proper. As noted in the previous section, the causal powers of mental states are determined by these states’ properties. Each property a mental state exemplifies contributes something to the state’s fund of causal powers. Clearly, then, some of the causal powers of a conscious state are not contributed to it by its property of being conscious, but by its other properties. They are powers the state has, but not in virtue of being conscious. It would have them even if it were not conscious. Therefore, it is important that we distinguish between the causal powers that a conscious state has and the causal powers it has precisely in virtue of being conscious. Let us refer to the latter as the causal powers of consciousness proper. These are the powers contributed to a conscious state specifically by its property of being conscious.

            Consider a subject’s conscious perception of the words “terror alert” in the newspaper. Such a conscious experience is likely to raise the subject’s level of anxiety. But it is unclear that the rise is due to the fact that the subject’s perception is conscious. Indeed, data on the effects of subliminal perception on emotion suggests that an unconscious perception of the same stimulus would also raise the subject’s level of anxiety.[7] This suggests that while the subject’s perception of the words “terror alert” has the causal powers to raise the level of anxiety, it is not in virtue of being conscious that it has those causal powers. The conscious perception’s power to raise the level of anxiety is not a function of consciousness proper.

            An account of the functional role of consciousness must target the causal powers of consciousness proper. It must distill the singular contribution of consciousness itself to the fund of causal powers of conscious states. Our concern is not with the causal powers of mental states that happen to be conscious, but with the causal powers conscious states have because they are conscious. This constitutes a third requirement on an adequate account of the functional role of consciousness; let us call it the singularity requirement.

            To meet the singularity requirement, we must get clear on what consciousness proper is. What is the property mental states have when and only when they are conscious, and in virtue of which they are conscious? Oceans of ink have been spilled in recent years in search of an answer. A thorough discussion of the matter will require that we focus exclusively on it. For this reason, in this paper I adopt somewhat dogmatically a view of what consciousness is. Although I will do the minimum to justify that adoption, my main goal is to explore the implications of the view for the question of functional role.

            The view I will adopt is drawn from the phenomenological tradition. It is well known that Brentano (1874) proposed intentionality as the mark of the mental. It is less well known that he proposed self-directed intentionality as the mark of the conscious. For Brentano, a mental state is conscious when, and only when, it is intentionally directed at itself. Moreover, it is in virtue of being thus directed at itself that the state is conscious.[8] When a person is consciously aware of, say, a tree, she has a mental state that is intentionally directed both at the tree and at itself. Thus every conscious state includes within it an awareness of itself.

Normally, when a person is consciously aware of a tree, the focus of her awareness is the tree, not her awareness of the tree. In this respect, the self-directed intentionality enjoys a lower status, in a sense, than the outward-directed intentionality. To accommodate this fact, Brentano distinguished between primary intentionality and secondary intentionality.[9] Primary intentionality is a conscious state’s directedness at the main object of awareness, whereas secondary intentionality is its directedness toward objects that are outside the focal center of awareness.

The upshot is that for Brentano, a mental state is conscious when it exhibits secondary self-directed intentionality, that is, when it is secondarily directed at itself. This conception of consciousness has subsequently become commonplace in the phenomenological tradition, through Brentano’s influence on Husserl (1928), who defended a similar view.[10] The view was then embraced by Sartre (1943), Henry (1963), Gurwitsch (1985), and the members of the Heidelberg School in Germany.[11]

As I said above, I will not present a detailed defense of the phenomenological conception of consciousness. But let me indicate the main source for its plausibility. At first approximation, a conscious state is a state the subject is aware of having.[12] When I have a conscious experience of the blue sky, I am aware of having my experience. The experience does not just take place in me, it is also for me – in the sense that I am aware of its taking place. If I were completely unaware of perceiving the sky, the perception would have been unconscious. Conscious mental states are not sub-personal states, which we “host” in an impersonal sort of way, without being aware of them.

To be sure, we can readily have conscious experiences without becoming wholly consumed with them. Thus, I can have my conscious experience of the sky when glancing at it inadvertently. In that case, I am not aware of my experience in a very focused way. However, I am necessarily aware of my experience someway; otherwise it would not be conscious. Therefore, in this case I am aware of my experience in some sort of unfocused way. Upon reflection, most our conscious experiences are of this sort: they are not experiences we dwell on in a very focused and deliberate way. Normally, when we have a conscious experience of the sky, we do not concentrate on our experience, but on the sky itself. Normal conscious states are thus states of which we are aware in an unfocused way.

By way of clarifying the matter, let us distinguish three ways in which a subject may be related to one of her mental states, M. A subject may be either (i) completely unaware of M, or (ii) focally aware of M, or (iii) peripherally aware of M. Mental states the subject is completely unaware of are unconscious states. Only mental states the subject is aware of are conscious. Normally, the subject is only peripherally aware of her conscious mental states, though it may also happen that she is focally aware of a conscious state.[13]

Observe, however, that when a subject becomes focally aware of one of her mental states, it is not only the state in question that is conscious, but also that very state of focal awareness.[14] Since every conscious state is a state one is aware of having, this focal awareness – being a conscious state – must be itself a state the subject is aware of having. So the subject must be either focally aware of this focal awareness or peripherally aware of it; she cannot be completely unaware of her focal awareness. However, if the subject is focally aware of this focal awareness, her focal awareness of the focal awareness would also be conscious, and therefore the subject would have to be aware of it too. To avoid  an infinite regress of focal awarenesses, at some point one of the subject’s states of focal awareness must be such that the subject is not focally aware of having it. Yet being a conscious state it would have to be a state the subject is aware of. Therefore, the subject would have to be peripherally aware of that state. This peripheral awareness will cap the regress of focal awarenesses. It appears, then, that in every episode of our mental life in which we harbor a conscious state, we must be peripherally aware of at least one of our mental states. The same is not true of focal awareness: when I have my inadvertent experience of the sky, I am not focally aware of any of my mental states. Therefore, it is peripheral awareness of one of the subject’s mental states that is present when and only when the subject harbors a conscious state. So an account of the functional role of consciousness proper would have to identify and explain the functional role of this sort of peripheral awareness.

            In the next section, we will have occasion to clarify further the notion of peripheral awareness. As we will see, a subject can be peripherally aware not only of her own mental states, but of external stimuli as well. To distinguish peripheral awareness of external stimuli from peripheral awareness of one of one’s own mental states, let us call the latter peripheral self-awareness. On the phenomenological conception of consciousness, such peripheral self-awareness is constituted by secondary self-directed intentionality.[15]

In conclusion, an adequate account of the functional role of consciousness must not only meet the identification requirement and the explanation requirement, but also the singularity requirement. If peripheral self-awareness is indeed what is present when and only when a subject is undergoing a conscious episode, then meeting the singularity requirement would involve accounting for the functional role of peripheral self-awareness. That is, the identification and explanation of the singular contribution of consciousness to the fund of causal powers of conscious states would require the identification and explanation of the functional role of peripheral self-awareness.

 

3.      Focal Awareness and Peripheral Awareness

The distinction between focal and peripheral awareness does not apply only to awareness of one’s own mental states. It applies to awareness of external stimuli as well.

Consider the phenomenon of peripheral vision. When I look at the laptop in front of me, I am focally aware of the laptop. But in the periphery of my visual field appear other objects: books on the right side of my desk, printouts on the left side of my desk, etc. My awareness of these objects is not nearly as clear or as accurate as my awareness of the laptop I am focusing on, but it would be a mistake to say that I am completely unaware of these objects. The status of the books and printouts on my desk vis-à-vis my perceptual experience is unlike the status of the table in the living room, which I cannot perceive and am completely unaware of. To distinguish among the status of the laptop, the status of the books and printouts, and the status of the living-room table, we must again introduce a distinction between focal and peripheral awareness, and say that I have focal awareness of the laptop, peripheral awareness of the books and the printouts, and no awareness of the living-room table.[16]

The same tripartite distinction applies to perceptual experiences in non-visual modalities. Suppose you are listening to Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1. Your auditory perception of the piano is bound to be more focused than your perception of the cellos, or for that matter, of the cars driving by your window. That is, you are focally aware of the piano and only peripherally aware of the cellos and the cars.

Competition for the focus of awareness is not restricted to stimuli from the same modality. My current conscious experience is focused (visually) on the laptop before me, but it has many peripheral elements, only some of which are visual. I have visual peripheral awareness of the books and printouts on my desk, but also auditory peripheral awareness of the cars outside my window, olfactory peripheral awareness of burned toast, tactual peripheral awareness of the chair I am sitting on, etc. All these bits of awareness form part of a single overall experience. The focus of my overall awareness is the laptop, which is presented visually, but I am peripherally aware of a myriad of external stimuli presented in other modalities.

It was to capture the richness of peripheral awareness and its place in normal conscious experience that James (1890) introduced the notion of the fringe of consciousness. Similar notions have been developed by other psychologists, including within the phenomenological tradition. Brentano’s notion of secondary awareness, Husserl’s notion of non-thematic consciousness, Sartre’s notion of non-positional consciousness, and Gurwitsch’s notion of marginal consciousness are all supposed to capture the same phenomenon.[17]

Interestingly, some of the elements in the fringe of consciousness are altogether non-perceptual. Particularly conspicuous are emotional and mood-related elements. If I am in a good mood as I am having my conscious experience of the laptop, the experience will include, in its periphery, a certain feeling of cheerfulness. There are also intellectual elements in the fringe of consciousness, such as the so-called “feeling-of-knowing” and “rightness” phenomena (Mangan 2001).

On the phenomenological conception of consciousness proper laid out in the previous section, another important element in the fringe of consciousness is awareness of the subject’s current experience. When I have my conscious experience of my laptop, I am peripherally aware of the books and printouts on my desk, the cars outside my window, the chair I am sitting on, etc., but I am also peripherally aware of having that very experience. This sort of self-awareness is a peripheral element in my conscious experience; it is peripheral self-awareness.[18]

Some readers may object that they cannot find anything like peripheral self-awareness in their phenomenology. Now, it is quite difficult to see how to erect an argument for the very existence of peripheral self-awareness, but let me note two things. First, in §5 I will argue that the functional role of peripheral self-awareness is such that there are good reasons to expect that something like it would emerge over the course of evolution. Second, rejecting the notion of peripheral self-awareness would force us into an unhappy dilemma: either we allow that there can be conscious states whose subject is unaware of having, or we claim that all conscious states are states the subject is focally aware of having. To my mind, both horns of this dilemma are worse options than admitting the existence of peripheral self-awareness.

 

4.      The Functional Role of Peripheral Awareness

Even those disinclined to countenance peripheral self-awareness admit the existence of peripheral visual awareness. Yet the latter should not be taken for granted. The fact that our visual system employs peripheral awareness is not a brute, arbitrary fact. There are reasons for it.[19]

            Our cognitive system handles an inordinate amount of information. The flow of stimulation facing it is too torrential to take in indiscriminately. The system must therefore develop strategies for managing the flux of incoming information. The mechanism that mediates this management task is, in effect, what we know as attention.[20] There are many possible strategies the cognitive system could adopt – many ways the attention mechanism could be designed – and only some of them make place for peripheral visual awareness.

Suppose a subject faces a scene with five distinct visual stimuli: A, B, C, D, and E. The subject’s attention must somehow be distributed among these stimuli. At the two extremes are the following two strategies. One would have the subject distribute her attention evenly among the five stimuli, so that each stimulus is granted 20% of the subject’s overall attention resources; let us call this the “20/20 strategy.” The other would have the subject devote the entirety of her attention resources to a single salient stimulus to the exclusion of all others, in which case the relevant stimulus, say C, would be granted 100% of the subject’s resources, while A, B, D, and E would be granted 0%; let us call this the “100/0 strategy.” In-between these two extremes are any number of more flexible strategies. Consider only the following three: (i) the “60/10 strategy,” in which C is granted 60% of the resources and A, B, D, and E are granted 10% each; (ii) the “28/18 strategy,” in which C is granted 28% of the resources and A, B, D, and E are granted 18% each; and (iii) the “35/10 strategy,” in which two different stimuli, say C and D, are treated as salient and granted 35% of the resources, while A, B, and E are granted 10% each.

The strategy our visual system actually employs is something along the lines of the 60/10 strategy. This strategy has three key features: it allows for only one center of attention; the attention it grants to the elements outside that focal center is more or less equal; and it grants considerably more attention to the center than to the various elements in the periphery. When I look at the desktop before me, my visual experience has only one center of attention, namely, the desktop; it grants more or less equal attention to the two elements in the periphery, namely, the books on the right side of the desk and the printouts on the left side; and the attention it grants to the desktop is considerably greater than that it grants to the books and the printouts. Each of the other models misrepresents one feature or another of such an ordinary experience. The 20/20 strategy implies that my awareness of the books and printouts is just as focused as my awareness of the desktop before me, which is patently false. The 100/0 strategy implies that I am completely unaware of the books and printouts, which is again false. The 28/18 strategy misrepresents the contrast between my awareness of the desktop and my awareness of the books or printouts: the real contrast in awareness is much sharper than suggested. And the 35/10 strategy wrongly implies that my visual experience has two separate focal centers.[21] (There may – or may not – be highly abnormal experiences in which there are two independent centers of attention – say, one at 36 degree on the right side of the subject’s visual field and one at 15 degree on the left side of the visual field – but a normal experience is clearly unlike that. Normal experience has a single focal center.)[22]

The above treatment of the possible strategies for managing the information overload facing the visual system (and perforce the cognitive system) is of course oversimplifying. But it serves to highlight two important things. First, the existence of peripheral visual awareness is a contingent fact. In the 100/0 strategy, for instance, there is no such thing as peripheral awareness: the subject is either focally aware of a stimulus or completely unaware of it.[23] In a way, the 20/20 strategy likewise dispenses with peripheral awareness, as it admits no distinction between focal center and periphery.[24] Only the three other strategies make place for the notion of peripheral awareness.

Second, if the 60/10 strategy (or something like it) has won the day over the other possible candidates, there must be a reason for that. The 60/10 strategy has apparently been selected for, through evolution (and perhaps also learning), and this suggests that there must be some functional advantages to it.[25]

What are these functional advantages? It is impossible to answer this question without engaging in all-out speculation. In the remainder of this section, I offer my own hypothesis, but doing full justice to the issue at hand would be impossible here. I will only pursue the hypothesis to the extent that it may help illuminate, in the next section, the question of the functional role of peripheral self-awareness.

The distribution of attention resources in the 60/10 strategy accomplishes two things. First, with regard to the stimuli at the attentional periphery, it provides the subject with just enough information to know where to get more information. And second, by keeping the amount of information about the periphery to the minimum needed for knowing where to get more information, it leaves enough resources for the center of attention to provide the subject with rich and detailed information about the salient stimulus. On this hypothesis, the functional role of peripheral awareness is to give the subject “leads” as to how to obtain more detailed information about any of the peripheral stimuli, without encumbering the system overmuch. By doing so, peripheral awareness enhances the availability of rich and detailed information about those stimuli. Peripheral visual awareness thus serves as a gateway, as it were, to focal visual awareness: it smoothes out – facilitates – the process of assuming focal awareness of a stimulus (Mangan 1993, 2001).

Consider the subject’s position with regard to stimulus E, of which she is peripherally aware, and an object F, of which she is completely unaware. If the subject suddenly requires fuller information about E, she can readily obtain it simply by turning her gaze onto it. That is, the subject has enough information about E to be able to quickly and effortlessly obtain more information about it. By contrast, if she is in need of information about F, she has to engage in a “search” of some sort after the information needed. Her current visual experience offers her no leads as to where she might find the information she needs about F. (Such leads may be present in memory, or could be extracted by reasoning, but they are not to be found in the subject’s visual experience itself.) Peripheral awareness of a stimulus thus allows the subject to spend much less energy and time to become focally aware of the stimulus and obtain detailed information about it. It makes that information much more available and usable to the subject.

 

5.      The Functional Role of Peripheral Self-Awareness

The hypothesis delineated above, concerning the functional significance of peripheral visual awareness, suggests a simple extension to the case of peripheral self-awareness. The subject’s peripheral awareness of her ongoing experience makes detailed information about the experience much more available to the subject than it would otherwise have been. More specifically, it gives the subject just enough information about her current experience to know how to get more information quickly and effortlessly, should the need arise.

More accurately stated, the suggestion is that when, and only when, a mental state M is conscious, so the subject is peripherally aware of M, the subject possesses just enough information about M to make it possible for her to easily (i.e., quickly and effortlessly) obtain fuller information about M. Compare the subject’s position with regard to some unconscious state of hers, a state of which she is completely unaware. If the subject should happen to need detailed information about that unconscious state, she would have to engage in certain energy- and time-consuming activities to retrieve that information.

            It is important to stress that the information provided by peripheral self-awareness concerns the experience itself, not the objects of the experience. Consider again my laptop experience. In having my experience, I am focally aware of the laptop and peripherally aware of at least three things: the books on the right side of my desk, the printouts on the left side, and my very experience of all this. My peripheral awareness of the books provides me with just enough information about the books to know how to get more information about them. My peripheral awareness of having the experience provides me with just enough information to know how to get more information – not about the laptop or books, but about the very experiencing of the laptop and books.[26]

            Peripheral self-awareness is a constant element in the fringe of consciousness: we are at least minimally aware of our ongoing experience throughout our waking life. This continuous awareness we have of our experience multiplies the functional significance of the awareness. The fact that at every moment of our waking life we have just enough information about our current experience to get as much further information as we should need means that our ongoing experience is an “open source” of information for all other modules and local mechanisms in the cognitive system. This is the basis of the idea that consciousness makes information globally available throughout the system. Baars (1988) puts it in what I think is a misleading way by saying that consciousness “broadcasts” information through the whole system; I would put it the other way around, saying that consciousness “invites” the whole system to grab that information.

It is not hard to see, on this picture, why peripheral self-awareness is a good thing to have. Consciousness is often described as a monitoring device, a device that allows us to gather and process detailed information about our very mechanisms of gathering and processing information (Lycan 1996). On the picture here defended, this is inaccurate: consciousness is not the monitoring device itself, but a gateway to the monitoring device. Consciousness does not give us detailed information about our inner goings-on, but rather makes it easy for us to get such detailed information whenever we want, by giving us just enough information about our concurrent inner goings-on to know how to get fuller information.[27] However, even though consciousness is not itself the monitoring device, the functional benefits of having a monitoring device – detecting malfunction in the processes of information gathering and processing, integrating disparate bits of information into a coherent whole, etc.[28] – explain also the benefit in having a gateway to the monitoring device. Whatever the function of the monitoring device itself, the function of consciousness is to give the subject “leads” that would prompt and facilitate the deployment of monitoring as need arise.

            The fact that peripheral self-awareness is a good thing to have may help us counter the objection, brought up at the end of §3, that there is no such thing as peripheral self-awareness. If peripheral self-awareness is a good thing to have, it is unsurprising that it should appear in the course of evolution. To be sure, the fact that a feature is good to have does not necessitate its evolution. But given that the existence of neither peripheral awareness itself nor self-awareness itself is in contention, it is hard to motivate the idea that something like peripheral self-awareness would not come into existence.[29]

            The account I have defended offers the following answer to the question of identification: the functional role of consciousness proper is to give the subject just enough information to know how to easily obtain fuller information about her concurrent experience. Against the background of §§3-4, the answer to the question of explanation should be clear: the reason consciousness has just this sort of functional role is that consciousness is essentially peripheral self-awareness, and peripheral self-awareness involves just this sort of functional role; the reason peripheral self-awareness involves just this sort of functional role is that it is a form of peripheral awareness, and this is the kind of functional role peripheral awareness in general has; and the reason peripheral awareness in general has just this kind of functional role has to do with the cognitive system’s strategy for dealing with the information overload it faces.

(This model explains both why there is such a thing as peripheral self-awareness and why peripheral self-awareness plays the functional role of giving the subject just enough information about her ongoing experience to be able to easily obtain fuller information. The key point is that providing the subject with just this sort of information is not what consciousness is, but what consciousness does. What consciousness is is peripheral self-awareness, that is, peripheral awareness of one’s concurrent experience. So in this account consciousness is not identified with the providing of the information, but is rather the categorical basis for it.)

            In conclusion, the account of the functional role of consciousness here proposed may be summarized in terms of the following three tenets:

 

  1. A mental state M is conscious when and only when the subject is peripherally aware of M.[30]
  2. The functional role of consciousness is to give the subject just enough information to know how to quickly and effortlessly obtain rich and detailed information about her concurrent experience.
  3. The reason this is the functional role of consciousness is that the cognitive system’s strategy for dealing with information overload employs peripheral awareness, a variety of which is peripheral self-awareness (hence consciousness), and the functional role of peripheral awareness in general is to give the subject just enough information to know how to get fuller information about whatever the subject is thereby aware of.

 

The three tenets satisfy our three requirements on an account of the functional role of consciousness. (1) is intended to meet the singularity requirement: it says what consciousness proper is. (2) is intended to meet the identification requirement: it says what the functional role of consciousness is. (3) is intended to meet the explanation requirement: it makes a claim as to why it is that consciousness has just the functional role attributed to it in (2).[31]

 

6.      Other Approaches to the Functional Role of Consciousness

Before closing, I would like to situate the account I have defended in relation to other central accounts of the functional role of consciousness. The purpose is not so much to argue against these other accounts as to illustrate the force of the present account.

            According to Baars (1997), consciousness does a good number of things: it prioritizes the cognitive system’s concerns, facilitates problem-solving, decision-making, and executive control, serves to optimize the trade-off between organization and flexibility, helps recruit and control actions, detects errors and edits action plans, creates access to the self, facilitates learning and adaptation, and in general “increase[s] access between otherwise separate sources of information.”[32] (1997: 162-3)

            There are two problems with Baars’ account. First, the functions he cites are not peculiar to consciousness. There is no question that conscious mental states are involved in all those things. But it is far from clear that conscious states perform any of these functions precisely in virtue of being conscious. By putting together this list, Baars is not distilling the singular functional significance of consciousness proper, but simply enumerating the functions performed by mental states which happen to be conscious. That is to say, Baars’ account fails to meet the singularity requirement. Second, all the specific functions Baars cites are monitoring functions. If the account offered in the previous section is correct, monitoring functions do not characterize consciousness proper, although consciousness does enhance the performance of those functions (by serving as a gateway to monitoring).

            Another common error is to misconstrue the relation between consciousness and its functional role. Consider Block’s (1995) distinction between what he calls phenomenal consciousness and access consciousness. Phenomenal consciousness is consciousness proper, the truly mysterious phenomenon we all want to understand. Access consciousness is, by contrast, a functional notion: a mental state “is access-conscious if it is poised for free use in reasoning and for direct ‘rational’ control of action and speech.” (1995: 382)

One problem with Block’s distinction is that any function we may wish to attribute to phenomenal consciousness would be more appropriately attributed to access consciousness, leaving phenomenal consciousness devoid of functional significance (Chalmers 1997). The source of this unhappy consequence is the notion that phenomenal and access consciousness are two separate phenomena sitting side by side at the same theoretical level. In reality, access consciousness appears to be the functional role of phenomenal consciousness. The relation between phenomenal and access consciousness is therefore the relation of player to role: phenomenal consciousness plays access consciousness, if you will. Once we construe access consciousness as the functional role of phenomenal consciousness, we can attribute again any function we may wish to phenomenal consciousness: the function is construed as part of access consciousness and is therefore performed by phenomenal consciousness. The conceptual confusion caused by Block’s distinction is overcome.

Another problematic aspect of Block’s views here is his particular characterization of access consciousness, the functional role of consciousness proper. On the account offered in the previous section, it is quite true that conscious states are poised for free use in reasoning and control. But this is a secondary function of theirs. The primary function of consciousness is to give the subject just enough information to know how to easily obtain detailed information about her concurrent experience. The secondary function identified by Block is a result of two factors: the primary function and the fact that peripheral self-awareness is constant throughout our waking life. That is to say, Block’s account offers an incorrect identification of the functional role of consciousness and therefore fails to meet the identification requirement.

Tye (2000) also identifies the functional role of consciousness in terms of poise for use in rational control and deliberation. More specifically, he claims that “experiences and feelings, qua bearers of phenomenal character…stand ready and available to make a direct impact on beliefs and/or desires.”[33] (2000: 62)

If the account defended in §5 is on the right track, then Tye’s identification of the functional role of consciousness is at least incomplete, as it leaves out the function consciousness has in giving the subject basic information about her concurrent experience. Furthermore, unless a lot rides on the phrase “stand ready and available,” the role identified by Tye is routinely played by unconscious perceptions (which do of course make an impact on beliefs and desires). So Tye’s account appears to fail the identification requirement as well.

According to Tye’s representational theory of consciousness, conscious states are essentially representational, in that what makes them the conscious states they are is their representational content. One major difficulty facing the representational theory is that, on the face of it, every stimulus can be represented either consciously or unconsciously, so the difference between conscious and unconscious states is not found in their representational properties (Kriegel 2002). Tye’s response is to claim that conscious representations, unlike unconscious representations, are functionally poised in the way described above.[34] The problem with this response is that it leaves Tye with no way to explain the functional role of conscious states. By claiming that what distinguishes conscious from unconscious states is functional role, Tye is effectively embracing a functionalist account of consciousness proper. But as we saw in §1, a functionalist account of consciousness proper is incapable of explaining why consciousness has just the functional role it has, since it identifies consciousness with the role in question, rather than construing consciousness as the categorical basis for it. Therefore, Tye’s account also fails to meet the explanation requirement.

One of the most interesting empirical findings about the function of consciousness is Libet’s (1985). Libet instructed his subjects to flex their right hand muscle and pay attention when their intention to flex the muscle is formed, with the goal of finding out the temporal relationship between (i) muscle activation, (ii) onset of the neurological cause of muscle activation, and (iii) the conscious intention to flex one’s muscle. Libet found that the neurological cause of muscle activation precedes conscious intention to flex the muscle by about 350 milliseconds and the muscle activation itself by 550 milliseconds. That is, the conscious intention to flex one’s muscle is formed when the causal process leading to the muscle activation is already well underway. This suggests that consciousness proper does not have the function of initiating the causal process leading to the muscle activation, and is therefore not the cause of the intended act. According to Libet, the only thing consciousness can do is undercut the causal process at its final stages. That is, the only role consciousness has is that of “vetoing” the production of the act or allowing it to go through.

The phenomenological approach to consciousness proper we have taken in §2 starts from the assumption that conscious states are states we are aware of having. This means that a mental state must exist for some time before it becomes conscious, since the awareness of the state in question necessarily takes some time to form. Now, it is only to be expected that the state in question should be able to perform at least some of its functions before it becomes conscious. In many processes, the state can readily play a causal role independently of the subject’s awareness of it. So it is unsurprising that consciousness proper should have a small role to play in such processes (Rosenthal 2002b). What would be surprising is for consciousness to play that limited role in all or most cognitive processes. But this cannot be established by Libet’s experiment. One overlooked factor in Libet’s experiment is the functional role of the subjects’ conscious intention to follow the experimenter’s instructions (Flanagan 1992). This introduces two limitations on Libet’s findings. First, we do not know what the causal role of the conscious intention to follow the experimenter’s instructions is in the production of muscle activation. Second, we do not know what causal role a conscious intention to flex one’s muscle plays when it is not preceded by a conscious intention to follow certain instructions related to flexing one’s muscle. Given that the majority of instances of muscle flexing involve a single conscious intention (rather than a succession of two separate but related conscious intentions), we do not as yet know what the functional role of conscious intention to flex one’s muscle is in the majority of instances.

In any case, observe that Libet’s findings bear only on the role of consciousness vis-à-vis motor output. But internal states of the cognitive system can bring about not only motor output, but also further internal states.[35] On the account defended here, the latter is more central to the functional role of consciousness. The fact that a subject is peripherally aware of her mental states plays a role in bringing about states of focal awareness of those mental states, and more generally a role in the operation of internal monitoring processes. 

The account of the functional role of consciousness I defended in §5 is thus different in clear and significant ways from other accounts to be found in the literature on consciousness, including some leading accounts in the psychological, philosophical, and neuroscientific literature.

 

7.      Conclusion

In this article, I have developed a novel account of the functional role of consciousness. This account identifies a very specific function which it claims characterizes the singular contribution of consciousness to the fund of causal powers of conscious states, and embeds this identification in a larger explanatory account of the purpose and operation of attention. According to the account I have offered, when a mental state M is conscious, its subject has just enough information about M to be able to easily obtain fuller information about it.

The account is grounded in empirical considerations but is quite speculative, in that it depends on a number of unargued-for assumptions. As such, it is a “risky” account, an account whose plausibility may be undermined at several junctures. At the same time, none of the assumptions made above is flagrantly implausible. So at the very least, the account of the functional role of consciousness here defended offers a viable alternative to the accounts currently on offer in the literature on consciousness.

In any event, if one does accept the phenomenological conception of consciousness, the account proposed here of its functional role is hard to deny. Conversely, the fact that a clear and precise account of the functional significance of consciousness follows rather straightforwardly from the phenomenological conception of consciousness in terms of peripheral self-awareness is a testimony to the theoretical force of the phenomenological conception.
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[1] According to Kim (1998), this is how all scientific reduction proceeds. Thus, the reduction of water to H2O proceeded according to the same “plan”: in a first stage, water was “functionalized,” meaning that its causes and effects were studied; in a second stage, H2O was studied till it was known to have just those causes and effects singled out in the first stage; finally, water was identified with H2O on this basis.
[2] This seems to be Velmans’ (1992) view, for instance.
[3] For concrete argumentation in favor of the causal efficacy of consciousness, see Flanagan 1992, and Van Gulick 1992. According to Kim (1998), all phenomena must be causally efficient, hence not epiphenomenal, because of what he calls “Alexander’s dictum”: to be is to be causally efficient. If Alexander’s dictum is correct, nothing can be completely causally inert. If so, either consciousness is not epiphenomenal, or there is no such thing as consciousness.
[4] Functionalism is not the view that mental states and events have a functional role – that is almost beyond dispute. What functionalism claims is there is nothing more to a mental state or event beyond its functional role.
[5] In other words, the discussion of this section paves the way for a certain argument against functionalism about consciousness, namely, the argument that functionalism necessarily fails to explain the functional role of consciousness.
[6] In this paper, however, I am less interested in the causes of consciousness and more in its effects. The notion of functional role relates equally to the causes and effects of whatever plays the role, but the ’causes’ part is of lesser interest to me here.
[7] For very concrete effects of subliminal perception on anxiety, see Silverman et al. 1978. For more general discussion of subliminal perception and its functional significance, see Dixon 1971. Another well known form of unconscious perception which retains some of the causal powers of conscious perception is blindsight (see Weiskrantz 1986). Unless the function of consciousness is implausibly duplicated, such that another mechanism has exactly the function consciousness has, any function a blindsighted subject can execute in response to her blindsighted perceptions must thereby not be part of the function of consciousness proper.
[8] For close interpretations of Brentano along these lines, see Smith (1986, 1989), Zahavi (1998a, 1999), Thomasson (2000), and Kriegel (2003a, 2003b).
[9] He writes (Brentano 1874: 153-4): “[Every conscious act] includes within it a consciousness of itself. Therefore, every [conscious] act, no matter how simple, has a double object, a primary and a secondary object. The simplest act, for example the act of hearing, has as its primary object the sound, and for its secondary object, itself, the mental phenomenon in which the sound is heard.”
[10] This is not to say that there are no important differences between Husserl’s and Brentano’s views. For a comparison of their respective views, see Zahavi (1998a). For other discussions of Husserl’s view, see Brough (1972), Sokolowski (1974), Smith (1989), and Zahavi (1999).
[11] Again, each of these views is importantly dissimilar to Brentano’s original view and to each other. But they all share the same general outlook. For discussion of Sartre’s view, see Wider (1997), Zahavi (1999), and Gennaro (2003). For discussion of Henry’s view, see Zahavi (1998b, 1999). For discussion of Gurwitsch’s view, see Natsoulas (1999). For work by members of the so-called Heidelberg School, see Henrich (1966), Frank (1995), and Sturma (1996).
[12] See Smith 1986, Rosenthal 1986, 2002a, Lycan 1996, Carruthers 2000, and Levine 2001.
[13] Focal awareness of our conscious states characterizes the more reflective, or introspective, moments of our mental life. When a person introspects, she focuses on her conscious state. When she starts focusing on something else, her state either becomes unconscious, or she retains a peripheral awareness of it.
[14] I am assuming that focal awareness is always conscious (i.e., that states of focal awareness are conscious states). This is admittedly not an indubitable assumption, but a full defense of it would take us too far afield.
[15] In the sense in which I am using the term, peripheral self-awareness is not necessarily peripheral awareness of oneself. Rather, it is peripheral awareness of a mental state, event, or process going on within oneself. This does not mean that peripheral self-awareness cannot be awareness of the self. Self-awareness in the sense in which I am using the term may be either awareness of oneself or merely awareness of one of one’s mental states – or both. We need not commit to any particular view here, although there are good independent reasons to think that peripheral self-awareness does involve awareness of the self (see Rosenthal 1990 and Kriegel 2003b). In any event, it is clear that peripheral self-awareness as construed in the phenomenological tradition, does include reference to the self.
[16] In the case of visual perception, the distinction between focal and peripheral awareness is what cognitive scientists refer to as the distinction between foveal vision and peripheral vision. Foveal vision is vision of stimuli presented to the fovea, a tiny central part of the retina with an angle on about two degrees of the visual field; peripheral vision is vision of stimuli outside that central part of the visual field.
[17] The same phenomenon was referred to by Husserl (1928) as non-thematic consciousness and by Sartre (1943) as non-positional consciousness.
[18] Indeed, peripheral self-awareness seems to be a constant element in the fringe of consciousness. This must be the case if peripheral self-awareness is indeed what consciousness proper is. Peripheral self-awareness is then necessarily an element in every conscious state, since it is what makes the state conscious.
[19] The functional analysis of peripheral awareness that I will develop in this section owes much to the work of Bruce Mangan (1993, 2001).
[20] At least this conception of attention has been widely accepted since Broadbent’s (1958) seminal work on attention. See also Moray 1969.
[21] It may happen that two adjacent stimuli form part of a single center of focus for the subject, but this situation is not a case in which the experience has two independent focal centers. To make sure that the example in the text brings the point across, we may stipulate that A, B, C, D, and E are so distant from each other that no two of them could form part of a larger, compound stimulus which would be the focal center of attention.
[22] There are other possible strategies that would misrepresent other features of normal experience. Consider the strategy that grants 60% of attention to C, 2% of attention to A, 8% to B, 8% to D, and 22% to E. It violates the principle that all elements in the periphery are more or less granted equal attention, which is a feature of the 60/10 strategy. We need not – should not – require that the amount of attention granted to all peripheral elements would be exactly identical, of course, but the variations seem to be rather small.
[23] Note, furthermore, that there are conditions under which peripheral awareness is actually extinguished. When a subject comes close to passing out, for instance, more and more of her peripheral visual field goes dark, starting at the very edge and drawing nearer the center. The moment before passing out, the subject remains aware only of foveated stimuli (i.e., stimuli presented in foveal vision), while her entire peripheral visual field lies in darkness. It appears that the system, being under duress, cannot afford to expend any resources whatsoever on peripheral awareness. The presence of peripheral awareness is the norm, then, but hardly a necessity.
[24] Although we might understand the notion of peripheral awareness in such a way that the 20/20 strategy entails that all (or at any rate most) awareness is peripheral. I think this would be a mistake, but let us not dwell on this issue. The possibility of the 100/0 strategy is sufficient to establish that there is no deep necessity in the existence of peripheral awareness.
[25] It does not matter for our purposes whether the 60/10 strategy is based in a mechanism that is cognitive in nature or biologically hardwired. It is probably a little bit of both, but in any event the mechanism – whether cognitive, biological, or mixed – has been selected for due to its adaptational value.
[26] There is a question as to what precisely one is aware of in peripheral self-awareness. Am I peripherally aware of my entire experience, including the peripheral elements in it, or only of the focal center of the experience? For instance, am I peripherally aware of my peripheral awareness of the books, or only of my focal awareness of the desktop? I will not broach this issue here, as it does not seem to bear on the issue of the functional role of peripheral self-awareness (at least not at the level at which I am interested in it).
[27] I am construing here the notion of a monitoring device in a relatively restrictive way, i.e., as describing a mechanism that gives the subject focused, rich information on its own processes and states. There is also a more relaxed usage, in which any mechanism that gives the subject some sort of information on its own states and processes is a monitoring mechanism. In this more relaxed sense, consciousness as portrayed in this paper does qualify as a monitoring mechanism.
[28] For a fuller list, see the discussion of Baars’ (1997) account of the functional role of consciousness at the beginning of §6. For more on the functional significance of a monitoring module, see Baron-Cohen 1995, Carruthers 2000, 2002, Nichols and Stich 2003.
[29] If we accept the common conception of evolution as a process of variation-and-retention, we may say that the fact that a feature is good to have does suggest that it will be retained, although it does not guarantee that it will appear through variation in the first place. The fact that peripheral awareness and self-awareness surely exist, however, suggests that the basic building blocks for peripheral self-awareness have been in place, so that the appearance of peripheral self-awareness through variation should be expected.
[30] At least this is normally or typically so. In some cases, M may be conscious when the subject is peripherally aware of a chain of focal awarenesses leading up to M.
[31] It might be objected that the sort of functional role attributed to consciousness in the present paper could in principle be performed by an unconscious mechanism, and this would defy the singularity requirement. This objection would be misguided, however. The singularity requirement is intended to rule out functions that conscious states have, but not in virtue of being conscious. It is not intended to rule out function that unconscious states could also but do not in fact have.
[32] This list is obtained by bringing together the titles of different sections in Chapter 8 of Baars 1997.
[33] Note that Tye stresses that this is the functional role of conscious experience precisely qua conscious experiences – suggesting that he has the singularity requirement in mind.
[34] About blindsighted perception, Tye writes: “It is worth noting that, given an appropriate elucidation of the ‘poised’ condition, blindsight poses no threat to the representationalist view… What is missing, on [my] theory, is the presence of appropriately poised, nonconceptual, representational states. There are nonconceptual states, no doubt representationally impoverished, that make a cognitive difference… But there is no complete, unified representation of the visual field, the content of which is poised to make direct difference in beliefs.” (Tye 2000: 62-3)
[35] Thus, a thought that it is raining can play a causal role in taking an umbrella, which is a motor output, but it can also play a causal role in producing the thought that it has been raining for the past week, which is a not a motor output but a further internal state.

 

The Functional Role of Consciousness (A Phenomenological Approach), Uriah Kriegel, University of Arizona, Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 4 (2004): 171-193

Evolution of Consciousness

Posted on April 25th, 2007 in Rationality & Science, The Mind by Dr Rationalist

Even the simplest organisms, such as those consisting of but a single cell, interact with their environments. As metabolic systems in a balanced steady-state, all organisms must obtain nutrition from their surroundings. As they do not live in a vacuum, organisms are also in constant contact with the water or air around them, and they are also exposed to solar radiation and other electromagnetic and chemical influences. The long-term interaction between organisms and environmental stimuli resulted in development of various sensory systems for detecting the diverse external stimuli on which the organisms rely for food or which they must avoid as dangerous. In both cases, a sensory apparatus had to be developed which, via the interneurons , automatically provided signals to the motoric cells for inherent responses of flight or approach.

The Phylogenesis of Symbolic Information

It is necessary to recall these ancient interactions between organisms and their surroundings because they gave rise to the development of sensory systems appropriate for the physical stimuli. However, whereas environmental stimuli in the form of energy and food were ingested, the sensory apparatus evolved into organs which did not take in the stimulus itself, but rather received information about it. Only in plants do photoreceptors still serve as a source of energy. As the environment of multicellular organisms expanded, and stimuli to which organisms had to react in order to survive became more varied, the processes of trial-and-error and natural selection led to development of stimulus filters in the form of receptor systems which reacted only to combinations and sets of stimuli that were of importance to the organism. These combinations of stimuli relationships were embodied by a sensory apparatus capable of selecting stimuli according to certain categories, determined by biological factors. During development of sense qualities in the course of evolution, the formation of invariants played a key role, for recognition of food or predators under varied conditions of light and the surroundings was essential for survival. Therefore, it was advantageous to have a sensory apparatus capable of identifying stimuli by means of a filter consisting of signals generated by the apparatus itself. This mechanism, in turn, was capable of evolution.
Very early in the course of evolution, we encounter the colorful world of flowers, colors, sounds, shapes, and scents which grew out of the interactions between insects and their environments. The question as to whether bees respond only to certain electromagnetic wavelengths, that is, whether they react to physical stimuli or actually to certain colors, was resolved by von Frisch, whose experiments showed that they really do respond to the same colors, even under changing conditions of light and wavelength.

To be sure, neither color nor light nor other sense qualities really exist in the environment: They are products of the sensory apparatus, which selects them by means of its filter. The sense qualities perceived by insects and other invertebrates are projected by the sensory filter onto the physical stimulus. Thus, the latter serves as vehicle carrying symbolic information to the sensory system. The sensory filter serves both as the projector and the receiver of sense qualities. The sensory apparatus uses its own analyzers to process the stimulus signals in such a way that it responds only to certain colors or sound sequences.

With these filters and analyzers, the sensory systems “invented” an entirely new form of information: Instead of physical properties that cannot be transferred to sensory channels, a representation of them was selected and produced, namely, the filtered sense qualities. Such a representation is also referred to as a “symbol”; therefore, one may refer to sense qualities as elements or signs of symbolic information.

As implied by the aforementioned insect’s world of colors, sounds, and scents, the sensory filters of sense qualities not only filter, but also project sense qualities onto the environmental physical stimuli, which animals take up only through the “eyeglasses” of sensory qualities. In other words, insects take up their surroundings in a form they develop themselves. The symbolic information requires a material carrier. When a sense quality is projected onto a physical stimulus, the stimulus also becomes a carrier of sense qualities, so that in this guise they may be picked up and processed by the senses. Otherwise, it is difficult to conceive of how the colors, flowers, and scents in an insect’s world might have originated.

The entire visual world is based on this type of projection: The eyes, instead of picking up electromagnetic waves which a physical object has absorbed and assimilated, receive only waves which are reflected or deflected without having penetrated the physical object. Therefore, it is not the object itself which meets the eye, but only a projection of the waves the object failed to absorb.

The sensory filter, too, functions in a way similar to that in which vision is affected by eyeglasses, through which the surroundings may be perceived as distorted or sharp, red or dark. The filter evolved by interaction with the environment and natural selection. Even though stimuli passing the sensory filter take on properties of the latter, the sense qualities still are not states of the organism whose sensory systems interact with the stimulus to produce them. At this level, the symbolic information contained in sense qualities is the product of two material systems or mechanisms, namely, the environmental stimulus and the sensory apparatus. The information achieves an existence separate from that of the filter only in that the filter projects it onto the physical stimulus, which then becomes a carrier of information to the sensory apparatus. The symbolic information exists solely in a material carrier, which thus becomes an indispensible component. If the series of material carriers in the recoding chain, to be described below, is interrupted, the information is lost.

This preconscious origin of symbolic information in the interaction of the sensory system with environmental stimuli, of which the symbolic elements or signs are the sense qualities, is also a critical factor in the development of consciousness and its “language”. The highly developed mammalian brain with its cognitive apparatus or organs is capable of obtaining the information about the external surroundings needed for central control of behavior only in preexisting terms of the symbols of sense qualities. In other words, an organism does not have to reinvent symbolic information about physical properties of environmental stimuli from scratch. “Consciousness” becomes an unsolvable conundrum if its origin is attributed only to the neural network without regard to antecedent developments. The symbols of information, that is, the sense qualities, are not derived from the neural network, which communicates with nervous impulses and neuronal potentials and stores and encodes the information contained in patterns of neuronal excitation.

Neurons and neuronal patterns are not the information itself; rather, they merely convey information. Thus, symbolic information originates outside its carriers. The sources of information for the neuronal network are the sensory systems with their receptors. A neuronal network that is cut off from the sensory system is incapable of creating symbolic information in and of itself; even to obtain information about its own state of excitation, the nervous system requires a sensory apparatus. Without a sensory apparatus, the nervous system receives no symbolic information, either about events within itself or about outside stimuli. Actually, an organism is unaware of processes which transpire subconsciously and automatically. Many neuroscientists ignore this fact and attribute their expertise to the nervous system. Notwithstanding, the nervous system is unsurpassed as a storage unit and processor of signals it obtains from the sensory apparatus and as a carrier of information.

In invertebrates, the sensory apparatus is directly connected to effectors by way of interneurons. The sense qualities of signals elicited by stimuli are analyzed, then signals are transmitted directly to the motoric cells, which react to the signals with genetically determined patterns of motility.

Even invertebrates are capable of reinforcing the connections among heavily used pathways of excitation, and thus of learning, despite lack of cognition, within narrow limits. However, aside from genetically programmed sensory filter and analysis cells, invertebrates lack the ability to store newly acquired information, to be recalled for later use. The memory of invertebrates still consists of the variable strength of interneuronal synaptic connections.
The Development of Cortical Information Storage and the Neural Code

Organisms had to develop a cognitive apparatus in order to utilize information about the outer environment to adjust their activities, thus using learning processes to expand the less adaptable behavioral program established by the genes. A long period of development was necessary before organisms were able to store and analyze information in the cortical network and centralize their controls in the reticulo-thalamo-cortical system. Only the organisms equipped with such a system became capable of taking up symbolic information and storing it.
In the course of time and evolution, organisms developed a neural apparatus that enabled them not just to react to symbolic information, but to utilize the sense qualities as elements of an internal language. This internal language opened unlimited possibilities for new symbols designating objects and events, such as the human language.

This purpose was served by the neocortical network, among others, whose primary and secondary sensory areas represent the peripheral sensory receptory system in the cortex, and continue its functions of analysis and filtering in a more refined way. For example, the visual system in the occipital and temporal brain lobes comprises six different fields, V1 to V6, in which light differences, colors, orientation and movement as well as shape and contours of objects are analyzed separately in specialized fields and neuronal assemblies. This analysis of incoming signals from the receptor fields of sense organs is a continuation of the sensory system’s filtering function, by means of which the manifold sense qualities are selected before the act of seeing can take place. This subconscious analysis of cortical sensory fields, unlike the organization of the invertebrate brain, is not directly connected to motoric functions or effectors. The neural representations or cortical sensory detectors are the neural carrier or code for the sense qualities, which must be decoded into the original symbolic information in order to be invested with semantic meaning.
The Preattentive Phase

Preconscious, preattentive analysis precedes the first storage of information and conscious perception; it has a latency period of about 60 ms. The signals are transmitted to the sensory fields of the cortex by way of the lemniscate tract of the spinal cord, crossing two synapses. This process has been most precisely studied for the visual system.

During the preattentive orientation phase, the organism (more precisely, its central control system) and the stimulus excite primary arousal of the activation system itself and and the sensory fields. The body and its senses become aligned with the stimulus via the sensomotoric aminergic and cholinergic paths of the reticular brain stem, which probably releases the neurotransmitters noradrenaline, dopamine, serotonin and acetylcholine into the extracellular cortical fields, raising the excitation level of certain areas in preparation for uptake and processing of sensory signals. Furthermore, by way of branches of the sensory tracts to the reticular system, the stimulus induces a higher state of excitation in select groups of neurons. In the cerebral cortex, this leads to so-called expectation potentials, which increase gradually until the level of activation of the sensory areas becomes high enough to receive and process sensory signals. With a latency period of 70 to 500 ms, this preattentive preactivation phase then proceeds with the components N 100 to P 300 of the endogenous or exogenous event-related potentials to a state of conscious attention. During the preattentive phase, the subconscious transformation of sensory cells to sensory detectors by the sensory signals sets in, and the sensory neuronal groups must be primed for this function. Only after such preparation can the sensory apparatus be aligned with the stimulus and turned to it centrifugally, so that perception may occur. Experts still disagree about the latency period that elapses between the stimulation and conscious perception; in contrast to the 60 ms mentioned above, Libet found a latency of 500 ms. In any case, it is certain that more time elapses between stimulus and conscious perception than the signal needs to travel from the periphery to the cortex, even if it must cross two or three synapses. The brain needs this time in order to transform the signals into detectors and align them centrifugally with the stimulus.

During the preconscious sensory impression of the preattentive phase of perception, the sensory stimulus triggers the formation of detectors in the cortex. In other words, a neuron or group of neurons is attuned by signals of the sensory system to a certain sense quality, for which the cell or cell group may then function as a detector. Since this detector function is stored both by facilitation and in a pattern of excitation, it may be referred to as a code for and carrier of sense qualities.

Preattentive orientation proceeds subconsciously at the level of the nervous system. Not until sensory perception is attained can attention focus upon information as an object with which it can operate; only when this level is reached does preattention make the transition to the conscious attention of a cognitive system.
The Reticulo-Thalamo-Cortical System (= Activation System)

The task of the sensory system, which includes the sensory fields of the cortex, in the preattentive phase is to analyze stimuli, so that the sensory system can filter the stimuli and align the filtered sense qualities with the stimulus. Preattentive orientation precedes conscious sensation; it is the focussing, concentration, or strengthening of the excitation or activation of a neuronal field with sensomotoric functions. This activation of attention proceeds from the activating system and the nonspecific excitation which turns sensomotoric fields on and off, and involves activated groups of neurons in its functional unit. The relationship between the activation system and attention is so close that they are referred to as the attention system. Some of its manifold, reciprocal pathways of excitation extend from the brain stem across the limbic system to the prefrontal cortex; another path runs from the reticular system of the brain stem across the intralaminary or nonspecific thalamic nuclei to the upper layers and to layer VI of the cortical columns, which are joined by the lemniscate sensory tracts in layer IV (Newman/Baars 1993).

Since the activation system has been mentioned several times, a brief introduction to this neuroanatomic innovation in vertebrates is necessary. As recently as 1949, G. Moruzzi and H. W. Magoun discovered in the brain stem a structure apparently devoid of specific sensory or motoric function, which was the reason why it had been overlooked for so long. However, the role it plays is a crucial one. Gradually it became evident that this structure serves as a central activating system that both monitors and regulates the level of excitation of the entire organism. It is conjoined with the limbic system, and through it with the autonomic nervous system and the hypothalamus to form a functional unit extending to the nonspecific and intralaminary thalamic nuclei and communicating via two tracts with cortical structures, especially the limbic prefrontal brain. The activating system contains its own nonspecific excitation tracts, by way of which it monitors and regulates not only itself, but also sensory and motoric functions. Because of its preeminence and the control function it exerts, it is a sort of metasystem within the central nervous system.

The attention system is served by neurons in the parietal, temporal, and frontal cortex as well as in the region of the supplementary motoric areas in field 6; the best-known example is the frontal visual field. In the immediate vicinity of these sensory fields with attention functions are the sensory hand-arm field and the like, all of which serve to align the body and sensory systems to the stimulus. There are several visual fields (prefrontal, supplementary, and parietal fields); the same is true of the other sensory systems. There are also several hand-arm fields in the immediate vicinity of the visual fields. This proximity suggests a coupling of eye-hand-arm control by the activation system. The premotoric cells of the hand-arm field (the anterior part of field 6) discharge during intentional hand movements, such as conscious grasping and when the mouth is used for similar intentional movements. The neurons also fired even if the ipsilateral arm or the mouth was used, indicating that the neurons do not reflect muscular activity; as further evidence, when the muscles were used for motoric actions, the neurons remained silent. Stimulation of the arm-hand fields elicited coordinated, stereotypic movements of the contralateral arm. These fields of selective attention serve to align the body and senses toward the stimulus (G. M. Edelman et al. 1990). These and the observations described above support the notion that the activation system has a whole roster of secondary sensomotoric fields at its disposal for vision, hearing, etc., distributed all over the cortex, when exercising its function of sensomotoric attention and coordination. The process of sensory perception and awareness begins in such secondary fields, which are subordinated to the metasystem. By way of these cortical fields, which are connected to the superior colliculi and the reticular nuclei of the brain stem, muscles of the sensory receptors are aligned toward the stimulus and adjusted so as to be able to follow the moving stimulus. This has been studied in detail for visual processes (Ch. J. Bruce 1990). The next question is how visual processes become seeing, and how other senses elicit conscious awareness and perception.

The development of symbolic information was possible only in organisms with some degree of central concentration of drive and behavior in the reticulo-thalamo-cortical activating system to make them capable of activity.

The contention that the activating system truly participates in conscious sensory perception and recognition, memory, and imagination is supported by several uncontroversial findings:

If the nonspecific impulses between the intralaminary thalamic nuclei and the cortical sensory fields are blocked, consciousness is lost; the same thing also happens when the reticular system of the brain stem and the nonspecific thalamic nuclei are completely interrupted.

If the collaterals, i.e., the branches, of the sensory tract to the reticular nuclei of the mammalian brain stem is interrupted, the animal ceases to react to stimuli, although signals still reach the intact cortex, where they can be detected (D. B. Lindsay 1957).

If the reticular system of the midbrain is severed, the decerebrated animals lose the capability of attentive, conscious, centrally regulated behavior (S. Grillner 1990).

The prerequisite for conscious behavior in humans is simultaneous activation of the cortical columns of the sensory fields, i.e., of the upper layers or of layer VI by the nonspecific excitation of the activating system, and of layer IV by specific sensory excitation. If any one of these tracts is interrupted, conscious perception ceases (J. Newman and B. J. Baars 1993).
Therefore, conscious behavior evidently results from the synchronous interaction of two systems, namely, the reticulo-thalamo-cortical activating system (also referred to as the metasystem) and the specific sensomotoric system.

Most neurophysiologists concerned with explaining consciousness now recognize the role of the reticular activation system in conscious processes of attention, sensory perception, and memory. However, instead of explaining how the neural network and its processes elicit conscious behavior, Edelman, Crick and many others offer masterly descriptions of the neural events that accompany conscious behavior. These descriptions are still within the confines of psychophysical parallelism, which lacks appropriate categories to which the role of the reticulo-thalamo-cortical activation system, for example, may be assigned within the more comprehensive system of the organism of the whole. Such descriptions and analyses remain at the level of the neuronal network and its processes, which run in parallel to conscious processes. In other words, it is not enough to verify with psychophysical parallelism the existence of synchronous interaction between nonspecific activation system and the specific sensory system during conscious behavior. It is essential to demonstrate the active regulatory and monitoring functions exercised by the reticulo-thalamo-cortical sensory fields on specific sensory apparatus, including the cortical sensory fields involved in conscious processes (e.g., feeling, perception, memory, etc.), in order to supercede the level of psychophysical parallelism, since these systemic properties overstep the limitations imposed by the properties of the neuronal network.

Without Interaction with the External Stimulus, the Neural Code Cannot Be Deciphered

Although the preattentive sensory impression that precedes conscious perception and serves in formation of cortical sensory detectors and neuronal carriers of information by analyzing input signals in the various sensory fields has frequently been studied, documented, and proven by neuropsychologists and neurophysiolgists, the significance of this event has largely escaped attention. Nevertheless, the explanatory model for perception presented here stipulates preattentive analysis of stimuli before the activating system is able to align the sensory system with its appropriately attuned filters centrifugally toward the stimulus, from which it may decode the sense qualities. Many reputable researchers believe that the sensory fields of the cortex not only represent the indispensable analyzers of the stimulus signals, but go beyond that to actually generate sense qualities, for example, the categories of color in the visual system. In support of this notion, they refer to the observation that malfunction of the sensory fields causes the corresponding sense qualities to disappear. This observation, of course, is unquestioned, but the interpretation is subject to doubt; for although the cortical analyzer may be an indispensable prerequisite for sensory perception, it is not the only one. The sensory system, with its cortical sensory detectors attuned to the stimulus, still must be aligned with the physical stimulus in order to decode the sense qualities. Sensory qualities are generated and perceived by the system as a whole only when the physical stimulus meets the detector and information carrier attuned to it in a feedback excitation circuit.

In contrast, S. Zeki, among others, attribute to the sensory fields of the cortex the ability to generate various sense qualities such as light, color, tonality, and scent (”transforming the signals reaching it to generate constructs that are the property of the brain, not of the world outside, and thus in a sense labeling the unlabeled features of the world in its own code”). Naturally, this would be the simplest explanation; but it is refuted by the fact that people born blind or deaf cannot be made to see or hear by electrical stimulation of their intact sensory fields. In other words, it is not enough for stimulus signals to simply arrive at the sensory fields of the brain, be analyzed there, and be transformed into detectors of selected sense qualities by the cortical filters. In addition, the sensory detectors and neural carriers of informaiton thus produced must be confronted with the stimulus, which must be present if the sensory system with its adjusted filters is to extract the sense qualities from the physical stimulus. This applies, of course, only to the elementary, nonspatial sense qualities.

When the sensory system and the reticular activation system report a stimulus and simultaneously activate the corresponding cortical sensory detector, the activation system directs aligns the cortical detector and its sensory system toward the stimulus. Corticofugal influences modulating the afferent impulses from the periphery have been reported in a number of publications (G. D. Dawson 1958; K. E. Hagbarth and D. J. B. Kerr 1954; G. E. Mangun and S. A. Hillyard 1990, pp. 271 ff.). This control center of centrifugal excitation involves the following events: The sensory system permits the stimulus to appear only through its filter, that is, the sensory system understands only its own projection of the stimulus, namely, the sense qualities it generates itself. However, these are not arbitrary products of the brain, as some presume. The symbolic information, that is, the sense qualities, can be generated by the sensory system only if the the physical stimulus is actually present to interact with it. Symbols invented by the brain would be self-contradictory, for they would represent no other physical reality. As already mentioned, electrical stimulation of cortical sensory cells fails to elicit perception of the respective sense qualities in persons born blind or deaf, even if their cortical sensory fields are intact. However, if the organism has already had such sensory experience, e.g., once seen colors or heard sounds, these experiences can be elicited again by electrical stimulation of the cortical storage, as experiments by Penfield, Libet, and others have shown. The initial sensory experience must therefore be gathered in the confrontation and interaction of the sensory system with stimuli from the outside world. This also applies to the so-called internal stimuli of the limbic system, which must first make a detour through interoceptive tracts of the peripheral or autonomic nervous system before they can be felt and perceived as sense qualities by the cortical detectors.

In addition to this evidence, several other observations also contradict the view that stimulus signals are transformed into sense qualities by the brain alone. Finnish researchers found the primary visual field of the cortex in blind people to be utilized by the sense of hearing. “In the deaf, the areas of the temporal lobe in which sounds are normally processed are used instead for processing visual information” (R. Ornstein, R. F. Thompson). In Paris, Michel Imbert and Chr. Matin of Pierre et Marie Curie University interrupted the neural tracts connecting the thalamus (lateral geniculate body) and the visual cortex in a newborn hamster, since in these mammals the brain development is not yet complete at birth. The visual nerves were then attached to the somatosensory tracts, which had been likewise been cut, so that visual signals were sent to the somatosensory fields of the parietal cortex. After the animal recovered, the researchers were able to derive visual signals from the parietal field; the visual behavior of the hamster did not differ from that of normal animals.

These experiments clearly indicate that light, color, sound, and other sense qualities cannot be generated solely by the sensory fields of the cortex. The properties of analysis and filtering in the cortical fields are developed by interaction with peripheral sensory receptors by way of connections between the receptor fields and the cortical representations. Actual deployment of the filter function of the sensory system is possible only with an external stimulus, and the filter can switch to a generator of sense qualities only by interacting with this complementary part.

The Mechanisms of Generating Information

The symbolic information is generated by the interaction of two material systems, namely, the physical stimulus and the sensory system. In the course of evolution, they have become assimilated and adapted to each other and developed two complementary systems: both the physical properties of stimulation that must enter the receptor system and the filters of the sensory systems are adjusted to each other. The sense qualities emerge as products of the interaction between the physical stimulus and the sensory system. When sense qualities are projected onto the physical stimulus, the latter becomes their carrier, for symbolic information needs a material carrier. The sensory system reads or scans the carrier in order to obtain symbolic information generated within itself.
In mammals, the preconscious generation and transmission of information has been transmuted in that the sensory system is now part of an organism capable of self-regulating behavior. After preconscious adjustment to the stimulus, the central neural governor once again confronts the sensory system with the stimulus, but this time as an organ of attention under the control of the organism’s central regulatory system, i.e., the activating system.

The condition of the sense qualities in the carrier of the physical stimulus is also the only decoded condition of the sense qualities to which the brain, by way of the senses it controls, has direct access to sensation and perception. Without these sensory events, the brain fails to perceive any decoded sense qualities, and without perception of sense qualities there can be no psychological or mental world; that is, there is no differentiation between subject and object until sense qualities are perceived. The self-generated conditions of the sense qualities are hidden from the brain or kept at an unconscious level until they confront the sensory system in a physical information carrier as an external object, rendering them accessible. This is made possible, as it were, by a trick of evolution, which has unlimited inventiveness: The same sensory filters that permit the sensory system both to project sense qualities onto the physical stimulus and to utilize the stimulus as its carrier of information also read and perceive the self-generated sense qualities from it, because they fit it like lock and key.

The sensory receptors and the sensory filters are not the only ones having a lock-and-key mechanism consisting of their self-generated sense qualities projected onto the physical stimulus; the cortical sensory detectors, too, are attuned to the sense qualities projected onto the physical stimulus as a key to a lock. The cortical detectors and the sensory filters are complementary systems, and form a functional unit themselves. For the transmission of symbolic information from the outside into the brain, evolutionary processes have led to a chain of complementary systems, along which symbolic information is transmitted and recoded from one level to the next higher one, without ever losing the material carrier, even temporarily. Sensory receptors and cortical sensory detectors are examples of such complementary systems, across which the same symbolic information in the decoded state is transmitted from the physical carrier to its neural code in the cortex. Since the complementarity or tuning between the peripheral receptor and the cortical detector systems is determined during embryonic development and in the subsequent period of learning, the simplest neural frequency code of all is sufficient: on or off, excited or inhibited. If complementary systems are activated, they are tuned in to each other, related to each other, or self-referent.

In principle, sensation is decoded when the central neural metasystem utilizes the nonspecific activation to align the sensory detector and the sensory system to the stimulus. Upon meeting it, the detector “recognizes” the physical information carrier by means of the tuned-in sense qualities, because they fit together. The long-established lock-and-key mechanism lives on in a more advanced form in this process of recognition, which is reminiscent of recognition of a receptor by a ligand. The information is transmitted by its original carrier, the physical stimulus, to the neural carrier, the detector, by way of an activity circuit with manifold feedback between the peripheral sensory receptors and the cortical sensory detectors.

The stimulus instigates a periodic process. “An optical or acoustical stimulus leads to periodic discharges in the addressed nerve cells”, wrote E. Pöppel. These discharges occur at intervals of about 30 ms, as shown by electroencephalography. Their periodicity enables the cortical structures to analyze the incoming signals, while once again aligning the sensory organ (e.g., the eye) to the physical stimulus, all at the same time. The centripetal and centrifugal excitation of sensation forms the feedback loop, already referred to several times, between the peripheral and cortical systems, and establishes synchronous peripheral decoding and its cortical representations.

There is a way to obtain scientific evidence that the neural processes under study actually do involve transmission and processing of sense qualities. It is based not on introspective experiences, but rather on verifiable data, in a sense, meta-data. To mention a few:

Conscious processes of sensation require that both the system of activation and specific sensory systems are simultaneously operative and interacting.
During the preattentive phase preceding conscious sensation, the cortical sensory detector is formed by an unconscious sensory impression. Without a sensory detector, no perception or experience occurs.
Attention structures in the parietal, prefrontal, and temporal associational cortexes aligns the sensory systems centrifugally to sense qualities of the stimulus, which are attuned to the detector.
Sense qualities are not immediately retrievable from the brain without previously having been read or scanned by the sensory organ from the physical stimulus.

On the other hand, sensory perception without intact cortical representation is impossible (cf. “Blind Vision”).
Sensory perception occurs between the periphery and the cortex in a centripetal and centrifugal multiple feedback loop, in which specific and nonspecific impulses are also simultaneously dovetailed at different levels.
These and other data give us some knowledge of events of sensation, attention, and other conscious processes. At the same time, they permit us to draw inferences about processes which we cannot observe directly, but which are prerequisites for observable processes. Data of this nature are provided by experimental cognitive psychology.
Evolution developed the solution to a problem that network theoreticians have been working on without success to date. However, the point of departure for evolution was not a mechanical network, but rather an organism with a central activation system. One must find the activity of an organism capable of self-regulating behavior behind the feedback excitation loops of sensation in order to understand what actually transpires with these feedback signals of the nervous system. The origin of symbolic information in the interaction between physical stimulus and sensory system as well as the developmental stages leading to perception of these sense qualities by the attention of a mammal can be traced step by step (Hernegger 1995).

Decoding the Neural Code in Sensation

The neural network is a highly organized, complex system of nerve cells that can be broken down all the way to the level of its molecular components for study. The nerve cells have no “inner life”, either individually nor as a group; they are capable neither of sensation nor of feeling. First, the activating system must align and prepare the sensory system and the cortical sensory detectors with the environmental stimulus before they can receive and process the sense qualities. Under the guidance and control by the activation system, the sensory apparatus, including the cortical sensory fields, is transformed to its organ of cognition. The transformation is initiated by the prior cortical analysis of signals from the peripheral receptor and the concomitant formation of a cortical sensory detector; the organ of recognition of the activation system can perceive external stimuli through its complementary filter only in the form of sense qualities, for the filter is now also the receptor of the sense qualities it generates itself.

But how does a perceived sense quality become an object of attention of the activation system?

Here, too, the importance and irreplaceability of the cortical sensory detectors is evident, even if it were only because of preattentive sensory impression represented by the neural code, which is later decoded by way of an excitatory feedback circuit with the perceived sense qualities. In this way, the neural carriers of information in the cortex are given the semantic meanings for the organism’s central controlling system, which can now direct its attention, that is, its nonspecific excitation, to the cortical sensory representations or include and incorporate the excitation patterns of the decoded sense qualities into its own system. The activation system is actually capable of including neural structures in its functional unit and releasing them again. The inclusion of the sensory apparatus in such a functional unit transforms the sensory apparatus into an organ of perception of the activation system, the representation of the organism as a whole.

Before sensation occurs, the unconscious, preattentive sensory impression involves formation of a cortical representation or sensory detector of sense qualities in the neural code of the nervous system. This code must be decoded for the information to become an object of attention.

Once they have been tuned in to the stimulus, the sensory systems, regulated by the central system of attention, are aimed outward at the stimulus, in order to decode the neural representations or the neural code of the cortex by sensation or perception of sense qualities upon meeting the stimulus. Decoding means transforming one code into another one, or into a “language” which the recipient can “understand”.

The recipient capable of “understanding” the language of sense qualities is not the isolated nervous system, in whose code the information is already stored, but rather the whole organism. Initially, although the sensory systems were directed toward the external environment, the organism was unable to sense, perceive, nor recognize anything, for lack of corresponding internal conditions, but was only capable of picking up symbolic information from outside of the central nervous system. For this purpose, it became necessary to transform the sensory system and the sensory cortex into an organ of recognition.

Decoding occurs via the feedback excitation circuit between the sensory receptor and the cortical detector. While the stimulus signals are sent inside to the brain, the brain directs the eye or ear (the sensory receptors) to the outside. By way of the reticular excitation pathways, however, the limbic-autonomic and the peripheral nervous systems, i.e., the entire organism, is involved in this process of sensation, perception and recognition, especially since somatosensory perception is involved in every other sensation. In sensory perception, feedback occurs between the organism and the nervous system by way of these complicated loops, and not only within the neural network, as contended by Edelman and most neuroscientists who are trying to find an explanation for consciousness. For this reason, the conditions with which the organism responds to sensory perception involve not only the nervous system, but the organism in its entirety. The two spheres are integrated by the feedback loops, however. Thus the organism is the receiver, for which the neural code must be decoded.

Sensation is reported to the corresponding cortical sensory fields via two separate pathways. The sensory signals reach the brain by way of a tract from the spinal cord. In the brain stem, collaterals branch off to various reticular nuclei of the activation system. The specific sensory tracts proceed further across specific relaying nuclei in the thalamus to the sensory fields of the cortex, but the nonspecific excitation in the reticular system of the brain stem divides into several paths. One such path leads to the part of the forebrain known as the limbic cortex, and another runs parallel to it through the nonspecific intralaminary thalamic nuclei to the same columns of the cortical sensory fields as the specific tracts, but in the upper layers (usually I and II) or in layer VI of the columns, whereas the specific tract has as its goal cells in layer IV of the same column. Feedback loops between the periphery and the cortex and between specific and nonspecific excitations synchronize these events.

The feedback excitation circuit of sensation or sensory perception occurs as long and as often as necessary until a firm linkage between the peripheral picking-up of sense qualities and their cortical representations has been developed. It is now known that short-term memory enters a long-term linkage by way of the hippocampal system. However, this association must be continually renewed, either by the same sensory experience or by dreaming (the REM phase of sleep). Complete sensory deprivation causes the brain to create hallucinations, during which, as in dreams, stored patterns are endogenously activated in the absence of a corresponding external stimulus.

The nonspecific neural patterns of long-term memory, which are complementary to the specific patterns, store the attention conditions of the activation system with which the organism perceived the decoding of the sense qualities. These conditions must be renewed again and again by practice and linked to the neural code.

With every new experience there is a tendency to disassociate the sense qualities from the environmental stimulus, to make it an autonomous, operant “coin” for the central controlling system. Parallel to this disassociation from the external stimulus, a linkage develops between the decoded sense qualities and their neural code or representations. Every sensation is a transfer of the symbolic information from the outside or from the periphery to neural representations by way of a pattern of connections, which finally form cortical excitation patterns.

Transformation of the Code of Symbolic Information

Before organisms equipped with sensory systems appeared, the lock-and-key mechanism was the code enabling information to be passed on. In the genes, in the immune system, and in transmission across synapses, this lock-and-key mechanism between ligand and receptor molecule is still to be found.
With the advent of sensory systems in organisms, a completely new kind of information coding cropped up, namely, symbolic information defined from the outset. The transition from an information filter to self-generated, detached information in the form of sense qualities was a fairly complicated process, especially since sense qualities cannot exist without a material carrier. First, for the neural network, the symbolic information contained in the sense qualities was translated into the neural code of nerve impulses and stored as a pattern of excitation of neuron groups. Then the central activating or attention system of the organism had to retranslate the neural code into sensory perception and associate the sense qualities decoded in this way with their cortical representations or carriers.

In the transformation of sense qualities to an object of an activating or attention system, somatosensory perception plays a critical part; it either precedes all sensation and perception, or transpires parallel to it. The body of the organism itself is represented severalfold in the parietal cortex (in areas 1, 2, 3, 5, and 7), and receives stimulus signals from the entire body surface, as well as from joints and muscles, by way of somatosensory senses; these exteroceptive somatic senses are supplemented by the interoceptive senses from the peripheral and autonomic nervous systems. This somatic sense, which is coupled by feedback with the motoric and activation systems, is crucial to the development of consciousness, for the self-reference of the periphery and the cortical equivalents by way of feedback between somatomotoric and somatosensory systems is the framework of all other sensations andperceptions. In other words, once this storing of experience of the body itself begins in the fashion described, it is continually renewed and elaborated. These somatosensory qualities derived from one’s own body become the first “language elements” of the brain. They are simultaneously a state of the body and an object of attention, i.e., the somatosensory qualities are experiences of bodily conditions. The states of the body itself were able to become the object of attention only by being perceived in the way we know as symbolic information about the physical properties of stimuli impinging on the body. These somatosensory sensations are unique, because they can take place even without involvement of other sensations; the condition of one’s own body can be perceived only as symbolic information. In other words, only symbolic information contained in somatosensory qualities can be an object of attention and perceived; somatosensoryqualities represent physical and energetic events within the body. In this fashion, an infinite series or infinite regression of conditions is prevented. The initial sensory perception cannot draw upon another condition, sensation, or feeling; it is actually the initiation of a process from which and in which conscious perception originates and happens. The organism perceives its own condition by way of symbolic information of somatosensory qualities as an object of its own attention.

Each sensation and perception can happen only by way of symbolic information of sense qualities, for there is no other way to become an object of attention or sensory cognition. It is naive and unreflected to attribute to the nervous system the ability to directly experience its processes and conditions. Only symbolic information can become an object of attention at which the sensory or cognitive systems are aimed. The only properties of physical events or objects which can be perceived are those which can be transformed into sense qualities. Consciousness and cognition have their wellsprings in this object formation.

Somatosensory perception proceeds along reciprocal pathways of the nonspecific mediodorsal thalamic nucleus to the somatic fields of the parietal cortex, among others. The somatosensory perceptions are connected in a special way, directly and inseparably, with the excitation of the activating system. Self-referring somatosensory decoding is the prerequisite for any subjective experience and the states it entails, for in this case the roles of sense qualities as objects and as states coincide in the decoded sense quality; with somatosensory perception, the organism also has an object of its attention, but the object is a condition of its own body. For this reason, in this context we speak of self-reference. The dual nature of decoded sense qualities as an object and as a state of the attention system may be explained by assuming that the activating system regards the decoded sense qualities as an object of attention, and incorporates it into its own system by way of nonspecific excitation; alternatively, the activation system may extends to include the cortical structures serving as sensory representations. The basis for this contention is the already mentioned fact that sensory qualities do not reach a conscious level until the excitation of the specific sensory systems and the nonspecific activation system unite to produce a state of common, synchronous excitation.

The perception of sense qualities happens via the previously described excitation loops in various patterns of excitation in the sensory fields and the prefrontal, parietal, and temporal, as well as the subcortical, reticular, and limbic-autonomic components of the activating system. The organism, which articulates itself in these patterns of excitation, is both carrier and object of the perception; its activating system is its organ by means of which the cortical structures of attention are steered toward the decoding process or to reactivate stored representations.

The organism, which distributes its nonspecific excitation to various cortical regulatory structures, is therefore what senses, perceives and feels. If the excitation of the activation system is turned off, the organism ceases to perceive anything. In this way, the organism, or its activating system, is in a state influenced by the process of sensation; this state is not consciously perceived as such, for only its products and the object it is attuned to, i.e., the perceived sense qualities, reach the level of consciousness. However, those sense qualities include somatosensory and interoceptory perceptions, including bodily states and the autonomic nervous system. The reference to this state of the organism, which is the foundation of conscious perception, is important for understanding the reactivation of memory; for it has been postulated that the program for reawakening of consciousness is coded in the nonspecific stores. The same condition enables the organism to perceive the decoded sense qualities as the object of its attention.

Before consciousness came into being, there were neither sensations nor feelings, perceptions of sense qualities, nor imagination. Nor was the brain able to generate these psychic events all by itself, so its only option was to take up information from the outside or from the environment and convert it to self-generated sense qualities. The road to conscious perception and cognition led from the filter of the sensory systems through the neural code of the brain to its decoding, based on the interaction of several complementary systems. The nonspatial sense qualities themselves are the elements out of which spatial forms, movements, and orientation of the body are constructed. The information symbol of the nonspatial properties bears no resemblance to the information carrier or the code, which is often a carrier of information as well. However, the brain’s code for space and time properties retains a spatio-temporal similarity, a quasi-isomorphism with the spatial stimulus properties. Several nerve structures in the peripheral receptor, in the thalamus, and in the sensory fields of the cortex serve to analyze it. And these spatial secondary sense qualities are the elements for objects, classes of objects, and entire categories.

With this inexhaustible reservoir of symbolic information, the human brain was now able to creatively construct new mental worlds. The potential combinations possibilities of the elements of symbolic information, i.e., the sense qualities, are just as inexhaustible as the sounds of human speech. As a matter of fact, sense qualities and human language share the same line of development.

Let me recapitulate the critical stages in development toward consciousness:

  1. The origin of the development was the sensory system with filters for sense qualities, the elements of symbolic information.
  2. The sensory system changed with the development of the cortical network and the central driving or activation system, and became a centrally regulated organ.
  3. Every new perception is preceded by a preattentive sensory impression for unconscious analysis of the stimulus signals, resulting in formation of a sensory detector before perception. In the second, conscious phase of sensory perception, the sensory system can therefore be aimed outward and selectively, its filters already tuned in, toward the environmental stimulus. The filters match the sense qualities as a key matches its lock or a template its matrix. The sense qualities gathered in this way are the decoding of the neural code in the cortex. The peripheral process is connected to the sensory target neurons in the cortex by way of a feedback excitation circuit, forming a unit. The long-term connection between the neural code and its decoded sense qualities is established by learning.
  4. The symbolic information, or sense qualities, thus become an object of central attention. This object formation is the origin of cognition and consciousness.

The mere description of the neurophysiological substrate of sensation and perception, however comprehensive and detailed, can do no more than relate the observable events that accompany the process of conscious perception. The widely-held notion of psychophysical parallelism is satisfied to describe the correlation or parallelism between physical (i.e., neurophysiological) and psychic (i.e., conscious, phenomenal) events, without offering an explanation of how conscious behavior came into being from these neurobiological prerequisites. The neobehaviorists tend to consider the description of the physical, neurobiological events sufficient to explain them. In order to understand what goes on in neurophysiological processes, it was necessary to regard them in a more comprehensive framework of relationships and interactions, in which the central nervous system wass not treated as if it were an isolated, autonomic entity, separate and isolated from the organism.

We have replaced psychophysical parallelism, which for a century has amassed an incalculably rich collection of observations and data, by a different model that attempts to explain the interaction of various components not reducible to each other, i.e., symbolic information and the nervous system. In our model, the observations of psychophysical parallelism have a new importance and another interpretation; the temporal correlations of inseparable events are now regarded as interactions and interdependencies of systems that generate new products and new systemic properties. The process of sensory perception can be described separately from the standpoints of sensory physiology and perception psychology, and both descriptions are correct. Nevertheless, the same sensory perception can be described, as here, under the assumption that the other two are an information process in a dynamic cybernetic system. All three descriptions are justified, but they answer different questions.

The description presented here does not merely draw upon results of neurophysiological and psychological research; it also integrates them by studying system levels within the organism and how they relate to one another. E. Pöppel formulated this systemic approach as a question: “How do individual system levels in biological systems come into being? How does something higher develop from a lower level?”

Conscious behavior has many facets, and can be defined in quite various ways. On the one hand, it is not an independent being hovering outside the body and transcending the nervous system. On the other hand, in contradiction to the so-called identity theory, it cannot be identical with the nervous system, for the first thing to become conscious is symbolic information about the external world, impinging from the outside and not generated by the nervous system alone.

The process of conscious behavior thus always involves two irreducible elements: a) the recognizing organism, and b) the recognized information, in which, in turn, information about the physical properties of the external stimulus must be differentiated from the self-generated symbol (i.e., the sense quality), by means of which the information is received by the sensory system. The symbolic information therefore goes beyond the neural process and is not reducible to it. The sensory apparatus and the sensomotoric cortex develop increasingly into organs of transmission, analysis, processing, and storage of this symbolic information, which it translates from one code into another during transmission from the peripheral sensory receptor to the cortical network, where finally the cortical representations are decoded into the original language. The symbolic information is what remains; it must not be confused or identified with the nervous system that transmits, processes and encodes it.

The sense qualities have not ceased to fascinate modern thinkers since John Locke (1632±1704). Immanuel Kant (1724±1804) regarded them as subjective forms in which we see things, and which rather tend to interfere with seeing “the things themselves”. In that era, the notion of information was hardly important, but Shannon’s concept of information turned out to be unsuitable in all attempts to apply it to consciousness. It was another train of thought in modern times, embodied by E. Cassirer’s “philosophy of symbolic forms”, Karl Bühler’s “theory of speech”, or Susanne K. Langer’s “symbol in thought, rites, and art”, to name but a few, that paved the way for the notion of symbolic information. This notion probably had little or no influence on Shannon and Weaver as they developed their theory of information. Regarding sense qualities as elements of symbolic information about the physical properties of environmental stimuli opens entirely new perspectives and possible explanations for consciousness research. In this sense, consciousness research is part of the basic science of language theory, linking the origin of human language to phylogenetic development. Conversely, consciousness research profits from the methods and categories of language research, as long as the common fallacy of coupling consciousness with the origin of human speech is avoided, i.e., confusing cause and effect. It is not inconceivable that Shannon’s concept of information and the development of mathematical formalism in theory of information that followed may also be applicable to symbolic information, permitting it to be quantified. Notwithstanding, such quantifying of information should not be confused with a mathematical model explaining consciousness; we are still far away from that.

 

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R. Hernegger, Change of Paradigms in Consciousness Research: On the Evolution of Consciousness

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