Human knowledge has, in the broadest sense, progressed along two separate tracks, one being knowledge of the world of subjective experience, and the other the world of external objects—what can be called the “internal perspective” and “external perspective,” respectively.
Our mastery of our inner experience has culminated in the development of literature, and our mastery of the external world culminated in the development of modern science. But the ultimate task remains: reconciling these two perspectives to create a theory of consciousness that actually makes sense.
That’s the ambitious topic explored in neuroscientist and novelist Erik Hoel’s nonfiction debut, The World Behind the World.
Hoel begins by reviewing the intellectual history of literature, noting that, as he puts it, “the development of the intrinsic perspective was the process of evolving our language and concepts such that the richness of access consciousness began to approach the richness of phenomenal consciousness.” The idea here is that, as we developed the language (access consciousness) necessary to express our subjective experiences (phenomenal consciousness), we become better able to understand our inner, mental and emotional lives, culminating in the masterpieces of literature that explore the depths of our psychology (an approach largely missing from much of ancient literature). To Hoel, it’s not that consciousness just suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the historical record; rather, we developed the language necessary to understand and express it better.
Hoel turns next to science, which, ironically enough, made progress only by removing all references to subjective experience. This began with Galileo. As Galileo himself wrote:
“Philosophy is written in this grand book, the universe, which stands continually open to our gaze. But the book cannot be understood unless one first learns to comprehend the language and read the letters in which it is composed. It is written in the language of mathematics, and its characters are triangles, circles, and other geometric figures without which it is humanly impossible to understand a single word of it; without these, one wanders about in a dark labyrinth.”
Hoel explains that, “When championing that science should be in the language of mathematics, Galileo argued that science should focus on four properties of matter, all of which are susceptible to mathematical formalization: size, shape, location, and motion.” But Galileo also knew—and himself admitted—that science therefore had only limited explanatory power.
And so what we subsequently gained in scientific knowledge we achieved only by sacrificing half of our reality, focusing exclusively on mathematics and matter and ignoring the mind. But this begs the question: If the only way we can make progress in science is by removing subjective experience (consciousness), then how can we then use science to explain consciousness? Perhaps it’s more than just difficult in practice, but rather impossible in theory.
In fact, if Galileo were alive today, he likely wouldn’t be very impressed with our supposed leading candidate for providing a scientific explanation of consciousness—neuroscience. Hoel, a neuroscientist himself, points to the field's many faults, chief of which is its embarrassing lack of progress made over the decades relative to other scientific fields like genomics or virology.
Case in point: The neuroscientist Christof Koch recently lost a bet to philosopher David Chalmers, made 25 years ago, in which he claimed that science would, by now, have a complete theory of consciousness. This unequivocal failure perfectly encapsulates the problem with neuroscience, and it doesn’t look like it's likely to change anytime soon, even with better technology.
As Hoel puts it, neuroscience is about as useful to understanding how the mind works as “trying to understand a clock by examining the shadows it casts.” Sure, we have the hazy statistical averages from fMRI machines that map out a series of opaque or transient correlations, but, as Hoel puts it, “What does mere [neuronal] involvement tell us, beyond what areas to avoid during neurosurgery? Almost nothing.”
fMRI statistics are only superficial representations of neural activity; neural activity is itself only a superficial representation of mental processes; and mental processes, studied directly via psychology, seem largely chaotic and non-replicable. So what we’re left with is layer upon layer of abstraction, and, as you move further and further from the mental processes themselves, you get less and less reliable or predictive data.
As Hoel notes, this may largely be a problem with science itself, or at least with our overestimation of its abilities. As Hoel wrote:
“Science can strike even its admirers as a joke when they’re in darker moods. In such a view, science appears to be merely a series of prosthetics, donned by hairless apes. Telescopes are just farther-seeing eyes, radios merely a way of shouting loudly across mountaintops, microscopes simply large magnifying glasses, computers just a way to externalize and formalize our language—even impressive biomolecular armament like CRISPR are merely an extremely tiny and precise set of scissors. And the useful power of these prosthetics often fools us into overestimating our own powers, as if enhanced sight or hearing meant actual true understanding.”
Additionally, if humanity’s most secure form of knowledge, mathematics, was shown by Kurt Gödel to be incomplete—in that no formal system can prove all of its proposition using its own axioms—and, further, since science is largely based on the language of mathematics, it seems to be an inescapable fact that science will always exhibit explanatory holes.
Even Stephen Hawking “came to believe that scientific incompleteness is necessitated by the simple fact that science itself uses mathematics, and mathematics is itself paradoxical in nature,” as Hoel explains.
Complicating matters further is, as we’ve said, the fact that the scientific knowledge we do have is achieved through consciousness, but only by removing consciousness from the equations. To then expect to be able to turn around and use science—which presents models that remove the very thing we are most interested in (consciousness)—to provide a full explanation of consciousness seems, at the most fundamental level, paradoxical. And it certainly isn’t going to happen by mapping correlations obtained from an MRI scan.
So where does that leave us, then?
According to Hoel, we must remain content to allow science to do its thing, providing useful models from which to understand and control the material world, without being deluded into adopting an attitude of reductionist scientism towards philosophical questions and paradoxes. And to recognize that the internal perspective is every bit as important to human experience as is the external perspective. In fact, the failure to recognize this leads otherwise intelligent people to make some serious intellectual mistakes.
For example, the modern denial of free will is simply the wholesale adoption of the external perspective. As Hoel wrote:
“And what does it mean to not believe in free will? What is the impetus of this belief? I think, fundamentally, that it is simply taking the extrinsic perspective of the world as literally as possible.”
The philosopher Colin McGinn may have put it best, regarding the limitations of the human mind and, therefore, of the external perspective, to understand consciousness and free will:
“Properties (or theories) may be accessible to some minds but not to others. What is closed to the mind of a rat may be open to the mind of a monkey, and what is open to us may be closed to the monkey. Representational power is not all or nothing. Minds are biological products like bodies, and like bodies they come in different shapes and sizes, more or less capacious, more or less suited to certain cognitive tasks…. We could be like five-year old children trying to understand Relativity Theory…. We constitutionally lack the concept-forming capacity to encompass all possible types of conscious state, and this obstructs our path to a general solution to the mind-body problem. Even if we could solve it for our own case, we could not solve it for bats and Martians.”
The list of difficulties is substantial: Mathematical and scientific incompleteness. Cognitive limitations. The overwhelming complexity of the world. The measurement problem. These are all major roadblocks to understanding that the scientist cannot simply ignore or shake their head at. They are deep epistemological issues that may forever delimit the explanatory power of science itself. (And no, this doesn’t mean religion fills in the gap by default; if anything, religious reasoning is infinitely less reliable than even scientific reductionism.)
The evidence for this is the fact that every other materialistic field of science has made astronomical progress over the last couple centuries, while our understanding of consciousness is no better, really, than the ancient Greeks, or what is expressed in the best literature.
Hoel concludes the book by offering something very rare for a neuroscientist: a scientific case for the existence of free will, based on the concepts of scientific incompleteness and “causal emergence,” an area he has directly researched. This isn’t the place for a critique of this view, however; you’ll have to read the book for the details and to form your own conclusions.
But here’s what I think we can say: Since free will is dependent on consciousness, and since we have no scientific theory of consciousness, and, further, since science is incomplete and that causation is proving to be more complicated than we thought, it makes sense to reserve judgment regarding the existence or non-existence of free will. But, since free will seems so obviously true and is so crucial to the internal perspective, it also seems reasonable to maintain this belief unless some kind of extraordinary and irrefutable evidence presents itself. Or, as Christopher Hitchens more succinctly put it, “ Yes I have free will; I have no choice but to have it.”
In any case, for those who like the idea that we may not be fully deterministic biological automatons, you now have a fairly sophisticated scientific defense of free will based on the lifelong research of a prominent neuroscientist. Whether he’s right or not is beyond my ability to answer, but I have a suspicion it may be beyond everyone’s.