Valuable, cutting edge of science collection
In this review of John Brockman's accessible and valuable collection of essays by some of our finest scientists, allow me to concentrate on one essay, "In the Shadow of Culture" by biologist Brian Goodwin. Indeed, let me concentrate on one idea in that essay. (In a sense this may demonstrate the value of the entire collection.)
Goodwin writes about consciousness and feelings in a manner that reveals what I think is a fundamental misconception. Here in part is what he writes:
Clearly, a primary aspect of consciousness is feeling... So within the question "Where does consciousness come from?" there is the question, "Where do feelings come from?" The answer we are forced to give in science is that feelings arise from a particular dynamic organization of insentient matter, such as nervous systems at a particular level of complexity and order. Our feelings arise as emergent properties from something that has not the slightest trace of anything that could be called feeling or sentience. (p. 48)
The feelings that he sees arising are not, however, emergent properties of the organization of our gray matter and its interaction with the world, but are better understood as perceptions of that organization. As evolutionary creatures all our interactions are experienced as feelings, some good, some bad, some painful, some boring, some neutral, some below the threshold of awareness, some so unrelated to our status in the world as to be almost without affect, depending on the circumstances in which they are experienced. The emergent properties of Goodwin's complexity science are properties not of the perception of phenomena but of the phenomena themselves. Thus an emergent property of water, in an example given by Goodwin, is the precise structure of a snowflake. In our brain/body system an analogous emergent property would be the precise structure of the neurological, muscular, glandular, etc. aggregate at any given time. Our perception of that aggregate is experienced by us as feeling (sometimes called consciousness).
Consider the experience of taste or scent. There is no way you can adequately describe the taste of a mango or the scent of a rose to someone else. A rose smells "sweet." It smells "floral," etc. We are always reduced to sharing our subjective experience of the world with others through the use of analogy or comparison. Light of a certain wave length hits our eyes and is perceived by the eye/brain system. We experience the perception as "red" and we have certain feelings associated with red. If it is in the shape of a strawberry (and we're hungry) our feelings about it may be pleasantly anticipatory. If it is in the cylinder of a traffic light as we are in a hurry to get somewhere, we may experience it as an annoyance. In any case what we are experiencing is light of a certain wave length in an enormously complex context. But how to describe the pure sensation of redness to someone else? It's impossible because what we are attempting to describe is indescribable. Our consciousness is likewise indescribable. We do know that one person's experience of color is similar to another's. A strawberry is seen as "red" and not orange by almost everybody. Whether the subjective sense of red is the same is impossible to determine. We will always have to compare the experience to something else in an attempt to see if our experience is the same. We will never be sure.
"Consciousness" then is not an emergent property of the brain but is our subjective experience of an emergent property. It is a perception. Incidentally, this is why it is believed in Hinduism, for example, that our brains constitute a sixth sense, a way of perceiving the world in addition to the senses of taste, smell, touch, hearing and sight, and are not, e.g., calculating machines. We can "see" things that other animals cannot.
There is an awful lot of ink about the "mysterious" and unfathomable nature of consciousness and feeling being spilled in learned journals and in books published by esteemed presses that would disappear overnight if this fundamental distinction between experience and phenomena were kept in mind.
Another way to look at this is to understand that pain and pleasure, boredom and exhilaration, and all the other emotional experiences of humans (and animals) are mechanisms that work to direct our behavior in adaptive directions. The real emergent phenomena are our behaviors. Thus inert matter organized by evolution leads to the building of rocket ships to transverse space and to the cultivation of varieties of apples and grains to nourish the organisms that design and build those machines. The "consciousnesses" and the "feelings" experienced are not to be confused with the actual drawing of the blueprints or the tightening of the lug nuts.
The sense that Goodwin (and many others) have that there is not a clear connection between feeling and consciousness, on the one hand, and inert matter and energy on the other, is nonetheless entirely valid. At the deepest level we can make no connection between one thing and another. What is the connection between the symbols in the equation 2 + 2 = 4? What is there between the plus sign and the two? Empty mental space? Or what is the connection between one moment and the next? No one knows. Indeed, does time flow or is time an eternal now or a cycling thing? We do not know. Indeed, at the most fundamental level we know nothing about the world. We know only how to manipulate phenomena to our (perceived) advantage, or, put another way, how to behave in ways similar to those that the evolutionary experience of our species has found adaptive in the past.
Perhaps we can get a general picture of what science will be like in the next fifty years by noting that of the 25 scientists that John Brockman has cleverly assembled here (and even more cleverly induced to write speculatively about the future), five are biologists, eight are psychologists, three are neuroscientists, but only one is an astronomer/cosmologist (Martin Rees) and only two are physicists. Clearly the emphasis is on biology and the brain. No doubt something will happen in the next fifty years that will make Brockman's eminently reasonable choice of scientists seem improperly skewed; yet it is just this baseline of expectation that will allow us to compare. (By "us" I mean those, not myself, who will be alive fifty years from now!)
The truth is, something always happens that surprises us. To extrapolate from present trends to future actualities is to be assured that we will miss something. That "something" is by its very nature unpredictable. Nuclear energy is an example. No nineteenth century physicist could have predicted the atomic bomb. Go back further in time and no one could have predicted electrical appliances or the telephone. Before photography and electricity, the idea of television was next to impossible.
On the other hand some developments are not only predictable but have been foreseen. These include airplanes and rockets to the moon, submarines and motor cars. These are examples of new technology being predicted from existing technology. Some of what is written about in these 25 essays by imminent scientists is of this order: an extrapolation of current trends and technology to a time fifty years in the future. What will we know and what will we have developed by then? is the question being addressed in this fascinating collection.
In a sense what these essays do is the near equivalent of what science fiction has done for us in the past. Evolutionary psychologist Geoffrey Miller puts this idea in a slightly different way with this observation: "A century ago, we had to rely on the novels of Henry James to portray human consciousness in high-resolution detail and rich-spectrum color. In the future, we won't be able to rely on mass culture to do that--Viacom and Disney don't see the profit in it. But we may be able to turn to science to fill the void." (p. 87)
What makes this collection so effective and such an informed pleasure to read is the discipline specificity made possible because the ideas are coming from 25 individual directions. Developmental psychologist Paul Bloom, for example, sees the need for "a theory of moral development...informed by work across disciplines, including cognitive psychology and evolutionary theory." (p. 81) But he isn't optimistic. "It may be that the nature of moral thought or consciousness is simply beyond our understanding...We might be like dogs trying to understand calculus." (p. 82)
Dissimilarly John H. Holland believes that "The number one priority on a fifty-year scale is bringing Earth's human population down to a value more in line with renewable resources. Some of our most serious large-scale problems--inadequate food production, forest depletion, global warming, energy shortages--are traceable to a surplus of humans relative to resources." (p. 178) I also like his retrospective observation on pages 176-177, "By the mid-twenty-first century, much of medicine as it was practiced in the latter part of the twentieth century--for example, using surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation to treat cancer--will look as ineffective as the bloodletting of earlier centuries."
A startling view is that of AI expert Rodney Brooks in his very interesting essay, "The Merger of Flesh and Machines." He believes "there will be an alteration in our view of ourselves as a species; we will begin to see ourselves as simply a part of the infrastructure of industry." (p. 191)
In contrast is computer scientist Jaron Lanier's reaction to the idea of "an inevitable singularity, which is expected sometime in the next half century." (An idea I first encountered from L.A. futurist John Smart in association with the ideas of Ray Kurzweil.) "This singularity would occur when computers become so wise and powerful that they not only displace humans as the dominant form of life but also attain mastery over matter and energy so as to live in what might be described as a mythic or godlike way, completely beyond human conception. While it feels odd even to type the previous sentence, it is an accurate description of the beliefs of many of my colleagues." (p. 217)
Brockman provides a short bio for each scientist at the end of each essay along with a mention of some of their works. After reading psychologist Nancy Etcoff's lucid and penetrating essay, "Brain Scans, Wearables, and Brief Encounters," I have been inspired to read her Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty, a book I have twice (inexplicitly) passed over. What really sold me on Dr. Etcoff are the following insightful quotes under the subheading "Freud Moves Out; Darwin Moves In" (pp. 283-286):
"The practice of psychotherapy will be reoriented from a focus on disease to a focus on vulnerabilities, from symptoms to adaptive defenses...."
"The energy, creativity, and charisma associated with mild mania may offer a fitness advantage to some people with the disorder, or to other people in whom the genes do not cause the disorder but have the beneficial effects."
"Certain symptoms will suggest design trade-offs prompted by mismatches between the present environment and the ancestral one, or simply exaggerated normal defenses."
"Mild depression may serve the adaptive function of conserving resources in times of hardship, signaling others that help is needed, and allowing time for reassessment of goals. Mild depression may also be a sign of submission when the individual cannot or does not wish to oppose the hierarchy."
Concluding, let me say that by projecting from the present we may anticipate the future, but we may also more clearly understand the present.
--Dennis Littrell, author of “The World Is Not as We Think It Is”