Personal identity is one of my favorite philosophical subjects to think about. It's been a mystery to me literally as long as I can remember. I remember being a kid and creeping myself out by wondering things like, "How do I exist?" and "Why am I me rather than someone else?" "If you replaced all my memories with other memories, would anything of me remain?"
Philosopher Julian Baggini recently gave a talk on this subject at Tedx.
I mostly agree with what he says, but I have my quibbles and additions.
Things and their properties
Baggini claims that objects are mere aggregates of properties, and so it makes little sense to look for the essence of water beyond its formula H2O or the essence of a watch beyond its parts. Likewise we should not look for a self beyond the parts of which it is composed: memories, beliefs, patterns of behavior, etc.
It doesn't seem that objects uncontroversially are their properties, though. If that were the case, then—keeping the example of the watch—I might not be able to tell the difference between the watch which is on Mr. Baggini's wrist and Mr. Baggini himself. The watch face, watch hands, gears, wrist band, skin, forearm hair, veins, and bones are all in very close proximity with one another, yet we know some of those properties form an arm and others form a watch. Yes, we could remove the watch and find out it's separate, but we could do the same thing with the skin and veins and make the same claim.
If we're dissatisfied with that account of things—which we should be, since it doesn't seem specific enough—we might switch to a more scientific, less subjective account. Then we go beyond the issue of objects and their properties and get into the realm of experimental science. There it turns out that things like watches and forearms are not in fact real "things" at all. The particles and forces composing them are. Then we might say that where the Indian Ocean ends and the Atlantic Ocean begins is a matter of convention, but the properties of H2O are not.
But in fact the same problem we had with objects and their properties pops up here, too. There's a debate in the philosophy of science about whether laws of nature really exist, or whether they're just observed regularities. Our senses or our instruments tell us hydrogen and oxygen behave this way under these circumstances, but it's not as though we perceive the necessity or universality in that. And yet, we do believe mathematical formulations like E=mc2 are more than mere conventions. They seem to constitute real insight into nature itself. And our basic curiosity as human beings leads us to believe there are other such laws "out there", waiting for us to find them.
Selves and their Mental States
The same line of reasoning I've used here for physical things can also be applied to the mind and the notion of the self. If I reflect upon my experience, I'll observe sensations, memories, beliefs, cognitions, judgments, emotions, and the like, but I will never observe anything in addition to those things that I might, with right, apply the term "self". The philosopher David Hume famously pointed this out in the 18th century, but it's really an old idea, and Baggini rightly attributes it to the Buddha.
But the story doesn't end there, just as it didn't in the case of physical objects. While it's true that I have no sensation of a self apart from the aggregates mentioned above, there is a sense in which I am given to myself that has nothing to do with these other things. Namely, I am aware of myself as this awareness.
If I recollect something embarrassing or shameful from my past, I might think, as Baggini suggests, "That's not me!" or "I'm not like that any more!" But of course that is you, and that's why you feel ashamed! Just because something happened in the past, and just because I was acting upon beliefs I no longer hold, there is still something that appears constant, and that's the mental "stage" that the events took place on. Regardless of whatever else changed, those things happened to me, not to anyone else.
But when we say "to me", we don't always mean they happened to my body. We often mean something like that they existed for me, and that's the dimension of experience Baggini does not adequately flesh out. When I perceive a ripe, red apple, there are three things: the act of perceiving, the apple itself, and the knowledge, however implicit, that I'm undergoing that experience. This is what the French philosopher Jean Paul Sartre called "non-thetic awareness". It doesn't require a special act of reflection (which Sartre called "thetic awareness"). If it did, then self-awareness would require an infinite regress of awareness of awareness of awareness... Instead, it's an immediate intuition we have, before we apply concepts to our own experience, that, indeed, this isn't just happening, it's happening for me.
So there's a parallel problem here to the one we had with physical things. It's not enough to describe self-experience just in terms of its properties (the sorts of things that pop up as objects of experience), because there's still a subjective component that has to be taken into account. This is important because, no matter how I decide to describe myself—whether by my beliefs, my memories, my actions, or whatever—I'm going to include in that account that I am also a subject, i.e., the experiences happen for me.
The Intentionality Thesis
The real spooky stuff starts when we try to get to the bottom of what it means for something to be for me. The overwhelming temptation is to attempt to understand subjectivity as just another thing in the world, i.e., as an object. And indeed, we do something like this when we reflect upon (using thetic self-awareness) upon our own experience. But if something is an object for us, it can't be us, and so when we deliberately reflect upon such states, we find that we're "too late", so to speak, and what we were trying to grasp has been converted into its opposite. In order to understand subjectivity, we have to understand it as subject and not as object. And that's very hard.
One solution to this problem is to argue, as both Heidegger and Sartre did, that awareness—they called it "intentionality"—always only has as its content some external thing that is not intentionality. So when I perceive that juicy red apple, I am perceiving the apple itself, not some property of perception. This flies in the face of some of our intuitions about experience, according to which our minds only represent the world, and we're always only deal with our mental states about the world, not the world itself. The argument in favor of the intentionality thesis is that there's no experiential evidence for the representationalist view. I see evidence of the apple and nothing else. I don't even know what a representation would look like, so why should I believe I "have" it?
Well what about illusory objects, beliefs, and mental pictures? Aren't they just contents of the mind? According to the intentionality thesis, our perceptions can be wrong, and not everything we perceive or experience belongs to the physical world. But you have to be careful what theoretical components you bring in to explain this. First, if I have some hallucination, this is proved by comparing my experience with the experience of others, sometimes but not always by means of experiment. At no point do I ever get to immediately compare my experience of something to reality in and of itself. Second, even in those cases where I'm aware of something that has only subjective reality, like a belief, I am only aware, again, of three things: the belief, the act of believing, and the implicit awareness that I am the one believing this. Nothing whatsoever about that experience entails that there is another entity, "the mind", and that the belief and the believing are taking place "inside" that entity. There's just the object, the act that "reaches out" for the object and which can be distinguished from it, and the bare, minimal sense that this is an experience for me.
Now, if you have a good argument against the intentionality thesis—which you might, since it's controversial—then you'll wiggle by the next move. But if you can't, fasten your seatbelts.
No-Self
If there's always only these three components—intentional act, intentional object, and non-thetic self-awareness—then there is no "mind space". The mind is just a theoretical construct. All there is is just intentionality. But this means that, whoever "we" are, we're not our minds, at least not in the sense of being a container of experiences, because there is no such thing.
You might think, "Yes, but there is the intentionality itself, and the intentionality is aware of itself. I am the intentionality."
Good. But what is intentionality? Nothing. I mean that in a technical sense: it is not a thing. It can't be. To be a thing means to be an object for intentionality. If I can see it (or perceive it or think it or desire it or...), then it cannot be me. And when intentionality is aware of itself, as in non-thetic self-awareness, it has itself as bare intentionality, not as anything else. Intentionality—really awareness in general—is therefore "empty". There can be no separate self to find "inside" of it, because there is no "inside" to intentionality. Awareness exhausts itself completely in the act of being aware of the object. The only "beingness" to be found is on the other side of intentionality, on the side of the object.
Sartre wrote a book about this. It should be plainly obvious from what I just said why he called it Being and Nothingness. It's a long book, because he felt a lot of interesting things followed from this.
But you don't need to embrace existential phenomenology. The almost identical realization was made 2,500 years ago by the figure we call the Buddha. Some of the details are different, but the main difference is that the Buddha advocating using meditation and not just reason to discover the truth of anatta or "no-self". If you follow the meditation instructions given by the Buddha, you should be able to perceive no-self as well as the characteristics of impermanence and suffering. And then you will be free of the cycle of samsara or suffering and achieve happiness.
Transcendental vs. Empirical
Now, you might think that was a very verbose way to say what Baggini managed to get across in a lot fewer words. Not quite. There's a subtle but important difference in what I'm saying. The sense of no-self that Buddha, Heidegger, and Sartre discovered and talked about is different from the sense of no-self that Hume and Baggini point to. The latter is an empirical sense of no-self. It's saying that there's no way to cobble together a separate, permanent sense of self out of things like memories, beliefs, thought patterns, actions, personality, and the like, because (a) these things themselves are always changing, and (b) upon reflection there is nothing else I could possibly base a sense of self on.
True! But this line of thinking leaves untouched a transcendental sense of a self. According to this view, you can keep my memories, thoughts, personality, and everything else, because it's my consciousness that's truly me. And while there may be no good external, empirical evidence for the existence of this consciousness, I still know it inwardly. And this inward grasp I have of myself as a separate, transcendental being is inviolate, since it depends upon no particular conscious awareness. I might "lose my mind", but only in a manner of speaking! If I have crazy thoughts, there's no doubt those thoughts are mine, because they take place inside my mind.
That's the notion of self that Buddha demolishes. Rather, that's the notion of self Buddha claims is illusory, and its illusory nature can be clearly perceived if one carries out a careful, systematic investigation of experience itself. And unlike a philosophical argument, which may leave an illusion intact in practice even while destroying it in theory, following the Buddha's procedure is supposed to permanently remove the illusion and grant one an unobstructed, permanent view of reality.
Conclusion
So I really wanted to make that distinction, because I think too quickly people want to say, "Oh right, of course, there's no permanent self. We all know that." But the claim is actually a bit more disturbing than that. Whatever happens in the "outside" world, we tend to think we're somehow inviolate "inside", that this is the true home of the self. But if Buddha and the transcendental phenomenologists are right, then we're wrong about ourselves—profoundly wrong.
Showing posts with label personal identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal identity. Show all posts
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
you
On the ride into work today I was thinking about some of the Great MysteriesTM. Things like, "Why does anything exist?" or "What the hell is up with quantum mechanics?"
I've always been partial to the mysteries surrounding consciousness and personal identity. Yes, things like quantum entanglement are weird and interesting, but for me they don't pack the same punch I feel when I think about how there could be something like consciousness. All the mysteries about the physical universe seem to concern the same basic sort of "stuff". But the idea that there should be a non-extended, subjective, first-person-only viewpoint on things is really strange.
Even stranger than that—at least in my opinion—is that there should be something like personal identity. I say "like" because we're not even sure what we're dealing with here. The paradoxes of subjectivity creep me out a lot more than the paradoxes of quantum mechanics.
For instance, each of us has the immediate impression of being a continuous person through time, each at the center of their own experience. I not only have memories of being a 6 year old. I also have the intuition that the self who perceived, thought, and lived as a 6 year old is the same person who perceives, thinks, and lives now. It's not as though my "soul" "died" at some point along the way and was replaced by a new one. It's still "me". Part of what it means to be conscious or to be a consciousness is that a whole set of things are mine and are always only mine—in principle.
And yet what is this "me"? Whatever goes on in the mind—be it perception, consciousness, the sense of self, etc.—is at least caused by (if not identical with) what happens in the brain. And yet the contents of those neurons are being turned over all the time, and the cells themselves are also replaced over the course of months or years. None of the atoms composing me as a child are in my body now. If there's nothing permanent in me that is physical, then how could there be anything permanent in me that is subjective, either?
Sartre argued for the same outcome, though he did so from a phenomenological rather than a physical perspective. In his essay "The Transcendence of the Ego" he argues that intentionality is the sole structure of consciousness. It's the "aboutness" of consciousness that makes it what it is, not that it belongs to an ego. There could be an ego in consciousness, like when I reflect on the fact that I'm typing a blog entry. But there's no way to objectify the ego of that second-order consciousness without invoking a third-order consciousness. In other words, consciousness is a purely internal, subjective phenomenon, and as soon as you turn it into something objective—like when you locate the ego in consciousness—you have turned it into the object of a new consciousness, or a new intentionality. The idea that there is a transcendental ego that subsists outside of each conscious state and acts as the "hub" of the multitude of states is an illusion. Each consciousness is its own "thing", absolutely free from other consciousnesses, even within the same "person".
The early Buddhist position is similar to Sartre's. This is a useful book on the subject. Buddha disagreed with the idea that consciousness is pure intentionality, but he arrived at a similar conclusion with regard to the impermanence and illusory nature of self.
Perhaps we can salvage the idea of a self if we assume it is a form or pattern of matter rather than the matter itself. If my sense of self persists despite the constant turnover of matter in my brain, then perhaps it is the arrangement or form of that matter that makes up who I am rather than the stuff itself. But there are problems with this solution, too.
Imagine we have the ability to destructively scan your brain at a resolution good enough that we can recreate its exact patterns (arrangement of matter) in a new brain. Presumably something like this happens in Star Trek. Your old body is wiped out, and a new one replaces it. According to a patternist view of self, you should experience no break in continuity between your old self and new self. It's the same pattern, after all.
But is this true? How do we know the new you is really you? It will act exactly like you. It might even really be conscious. But from the interior, subjective perspective of the old you, maybe you went to sleep and never woke up, and this new person came into existence, having all your memories, thinking it's really you (but it's not). It would be like a replicant from Blade Runner, thinking it had a past when it really didn't.
But, you might say, don't we turn over our matter all the time? Each person goes to sleep every night and wakes up the next morning. Maybe the person who goes to sleep is not the same person who wakes up. But we have good (internal) evidence that this is not the case. Therefore, there's nothing to be concerned about in this scenario. It's nothing that doesn't happen all the time. It just happens all at once rather than taking days, weeks, months, or years.
Even if this is true, we can upset this self-assurance further by adding a detail to the thought experiment. Assume the scan is non-destructive, so that the original you is preserved when the new you is created. Imagine this happens when you are asleep, so you don't even know it's happened. You wake up and find you standing over you! The new you says, "I have excellent news. The consciousness transfer worked. I'm over here now. We won't be needing you anymore!" (I suppose all this depends on your personality. Some people might be more excited to have an army of clones of themselves.)
In that case we have two identical patterns (at least at the point of creation—they'll diverge after that) but also two identical consciousnesses. Clearly you (your consciousness) aren't in two places at once. There's only one "you", laying helplessly in bed as the new you decides the "transfer" was successful. There must be something more to personal identity than a mere pattern.
This goes back to the ontological gap between objective and subjective things. Subjective experiences are essentially internal and personal. They belong to a person, but a person is something that endures over time, throughout change. This concept doesn't show up anywhere in a purely physical understanding of the world. Of course there are scientific ways to study people. My body is also an object of scientific (and generally empirical) inquiry. But the personhood of my person is not. Insofar as patterns are empirical things, they're not capable of capturing personhood.
So this doesn't leave us with a whole lot to work with. In that regard it's not much different from other puzzles, like those mentioned above. But the fact that this puzzle reaches down to who we are on the deepest, most essential level is what's most disturbing.
Why are you you? That's strange.
I've always been partial to the mysteries surrounding consciousness and personal identity. Yes, things like quantum entanglement are weird and interesting, but for me they don't pack the same punch I feel when I think about how there could be something like consciousness. All the mysteries about the physical universe seem to concern the same basic sort of "stuff". But the idea that there should be a non-extended, subjective, first-person-only viewpoint on things is really strange.
Even stranger than that—at least in my opinion—is that there should be something like personal identity. I say "like" because we're not even sure what we're dealing with here. The paradoxes of subjectivity creep me out a lot more than the paradoxes of quantum mechanics.
For instance, each of us has the immediate impression of being a continuous person through time, each at the center of their own experience. I not only have memories of being a 6 year old. I also have the intuition that the self who perceived, thought, and lived as a 6 year old is the same person who perceives, thinks, and lives now. It's not as though my "soul" "died" at some point along the way and was replaced by a new one. It's still "me". Part of what it means to be conscious or to be a consciousness is that a whole set of things are mine and are always only mine—in principle.
And yet what is this "me"? Whatever goes on in the mind—be it perception, consciousness, the sense of self, etc.—is at least caused by (if not identical with) what happens in the brain. And yet the contents of those neurons are being turned over all the time, and the cells themselves are also replaced over the course of months or years. None of the atoms composing me as a child are in my body now. If there's nothing permanent in me that is physical, then how could there be anything permanent in me that is subjective, either?
Sartre argued for the same outcome, though he did so from a phenomenological rather than a physical perspective. In his essay "The Transcendence of the Ego" he argues that intentionality is the sole structure of consciousness. It's the "aboutness" of consciousness that makes it what it is, not that it belongs to an ego. There could be an ego in consciousness, like when I reflect on the fact that I'm typing a blog entry. But there's no way to objectify the ego of that second-order consciousness without invoking a third-order consciousness. In other words, consciousness is a purely internal, subjective phenomenon, and as soon as you turn it into something objective—like when you locate the ego in consciousness—you have turned it into the object of a new consciousness, or a new intentionality. The idea that there is a transcendental ego that subsists outside of each conscious state and acts as the "hub" of the multitude of states is an illusion. Each consciousness is its own "thing", absolutely free from other consciousnesses, even within the same "person".
The early Buddhist position is similar to Sartre's. This is a useful book on the subject. Buddha disagreed with the idea that consciousness is pure intentionality, but he arrived at a similar conclusion with regard to the impermanence and illusory nature of self.
Perhaps we can salvage the idea of a self if we assume it is a form or pattern of matter rather than the matter itself. If my sense of self persists despite the constant turnover of matter in my brain, then perhaps it is the arrangement or form of that matter that makes up who I am rather than the stuff itself. But there are problems with this solution, too.
Imagine we have the ability to destructively scan your brain at a resolution good enough that we can recreate its exact patterns (arrangement of matter) in a new brain. Presumably something like this happens in Star Trek. Your old body is wiped out, and a new one replaces it. According to a patternist view of self, you should experience no break in continuity between your old self and new self. It's the same pattern, after all.
But is this true? How do we know the new you is really you? It will act exactly like you. It might even really be conscious. But from the interior, subjective perspective of the old you, maybe you went to sleep and never woke up, and this new person came into existence, having all your memories, thinking it's really you (but it's not). It would be like a replicant from Blade Runner, thinking it had a past when it really didn't.
But, you might say, don't we turn over our matter all the time? Each person goes to sleep every night and wakes up the next morning. Maybe the person who goes to sleep is not the same person who wakes up. But we have good (internal) evidence that this is not the case. Therefore, there's nothing to be concerned about in this scenario. It's nothing that doesn't happen all the time. It just happens all at once rather than taking days, weeks, months, or years.
Even if this is true, we can upset this self-assurance further by adding a detail to the thought experiment. Assume the scan is non-destructive, so that the original you is preserved when the new you is created. Imagine this happens when you are asleep, so you don't even know it's happened. You wake up and find you standing over you! The new you says, "I have excellent news. The consciousness transfer worked. I'm over here now. We won't be needing you anymore!" (I suppose all this depends on your personality. Some people might be more excited to have an army of clones of themselves.)
In that case we have two identical patterns (at least at the point of creation—they'll diverge after that) but also two identical consciousnesses. Clearly you (your consciousness) aren't in two places at once. There's only one "you", laying helplessly in bed as the new you decides the "transfer" was successful. There must be something more to personal identity than a mere pattern.
This goes back to the ontological gap between objective and subjective things. Subjective experiences are essentially internal and personal. They belong to a person, but a person is something that endures over time, throughout change. This concept doesn't show up anywhere in a purely physical understanding of the world. Of course there are scientific ways to study people. My body is also an object of scientific (and generally empirical) inquiry. But the personhood of my person is not. Insofar as patterns are empirical things, they're not capable of capturing personhood.
So this doesn't leave us with a whole lot to work with. In that regard it's not much different from other puzzles, like those mentioned above. But the fact that this puzzle reaches down to who we are on the deepest, most essential level is what's most disturbing.
Why are you you? That's strange.
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