The origin of my consciousness

 

Intelligence is the ability to solve problems, and consciousness is the ability to feel things and have subjective experiences — Yuval Noah Harari

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

A dreary summer afternoon, and there is absolute stillness all around. Not a single leaf on the trees outside is fluttering.

A while back, when I stepped out onto the screened porch for a minute, all I could hear was the buzzing sound of cicadas and flies. It feels as though I am the only one around here, living on some frontier outpost of humanity, waiting for the next supply ship to arrive and bring some cheery news from the Earth.

There is not much else to do here except watch flies scuttle around busily or think about philosophical questions like what consciousness is and what it might have been its origins.

There is an effervescent beauty in philosophical musings. They are also a bottomless source of questions to keep my mind engaged and keep soul sucking boredom at bay.

It is fun to ponder over the origin stories of common objects that are around me — why something is what it is? Do things owe their origin merely to chance accidents or there is some inevitability to their existence?

Why do I have physiological mechanisms for sensing the environment, or for that matter, is there a reason that I have five senses and not six? Are there plausible explanations for observable facts around me?

Philosophical musings, although may not have practical utility, they keep my mind engaged and help me feel connected to something larger than myself. They allow me to transcend the narrow confines of my ego.

So, what could be origins of my consciousness and the reason that I am aware of a fly buzzing around, and when it lands on the cup of muddy coffee I am drinking, it makes me react with annoyance.

There are two origin stories for consciousness. One perspective posits that consciousness is an entity of its own. It is separate from the physical brain, which receives sensory input and seems like an integral and a crucial component for my awareness. This view, known as dualism, suggests that a non-physical substance or property constitutes consciousness.

The alternative view posits that consciousness is a construct of the physical brain’s myriads of activities. This notion argues that consciousness is an acquired capacity and hinges on the workings of the brain. Along the evolutionary path, the capacity for consciousness evolved to give biological organisms an edge in the race to acquire finite resources, thereby increasing their chances of survival and reproduction.

It is easy to comprehend that all biological organisms require a mechanism to (a) sense their surroundings, (b) interpret the sensory input, and © make an inference from the input received and react accordingly. These are the three basic functions of the brain. If I did not have these traits, I might as well be a rock.

Starting from that premise, it is not difficult to envision that as brain functions and structure acquired more complexity to coordinate increasing specialization of different organs, a nascent capacity for proto-consciousness (e.g., a capacity to remember what happened in the past few minutes ago) may have evolved.

Once the capacity to consciousize was there, it gave an enormous edge in the race for survival and reproduction. Shaped by the hands of natural selection, the nascent capacity for proto-consciousness continued to get better and better.

Neuroscience and cognitive science are advancing the understanding of the physical basis of consciousness. The biological foundations for memory already exist and are connected with the concept of synaptic plasticity.

With a neurological basis for memory in place, cognitive science can build on that foundation to develop macro-level explanations for the hallmarks of consciousness such as perception, attention, language, reasoning and problem-solving, flow of time, and metacognition (the ability of consciousness probing itself). These are the traits that are used to define the capacity (or can serve as markers) for consciousness.

This pathway for evolving a capacity for consciousness is a plausible narrative.

A corollary to the possibility above also comes to mind that once the capacity for memory is there, and I am aware of the past, an awareness for the future has to come in. I cannot imagine a world where an awareness of the past without an awareness of the future, and vice versa, can exist.

Plausible as it may be, there are lots of unanswered questions that are associated with the notion for a physical basis for consciousness though:

· Why is there such a big gap in the capacity for consciousness between me and countless biological organisms that exist around me? How and when did this quantum leap happen?

· A more fundamental question, however, is how to measure consciousness to begin with? It is only when I can do that that I can ask if the capacity for consciousness falls on a continuum.

· How consciousness relates to the subjectivity of experience? Is it because of the different physiological structures of the brain? Is it because synapses differ from person to person and (with age for a person) and synapses are what makes us.

· How does capacity for consciousness evolved subsequent to my birth — am I as conscious on the day I was born vs. when I was twenty vs. when I am at 66 now vs. when my current cognitive abilities will decline with age?

· What role the brain as an interpreter of sensory input plays in what ‘consciousness is?’ Does the biological, chemical, and electrical activity in the of brain the seat of consciousness or it is a two-way street?

· Does consciousness and IQ have a connection? Does someone who can speak 58 languages has higher level of consciousness than me who has difficulty keeping track of one.

· Does consciousness…

…and the list of questions can go on and on and is long enough to keep me gainfully occupied for the rest of my living days.

For now, the buzzing fly just could not resist committing hara-kiri and dived into the cup of stale coffee. Time to get up and make a fresh cup of tea.

Once again, the world of living trumps the work of thinking. Thankfully, it always does.

Ciao and thanks for reading.

Finding long lost pennies

 

With ample time to spare
it was a no surprise I discovered
nooks and crannies
brimming with doubts, regrets,
and
long lost pennies
concealed along side streets
that crisscross
a now
empty mind.

Breathing alone can’t make me live

 

The wise ones told us
      to wash dishes
while washing dishes;
be mindful,
      and not let
the mind wander,

      for a wandering mind
is a life
      half lived.

They also said
that diaphragmatic breathing
is a cure for all
      that ails us, and perhaps,
this world too.

They just forgot to mention
      one small detail -
when you are hurting within,
      mindfulness of breathing
is a thought
      that is farthest away
from one’s reach.

Over billions of years

 

A whole lot had to happen -

the Big Bang, the galaxies, the stars
the Milky Way, the Sun, the Earth,
the first drop of rain,
and
the first tear of
heartbreak and pain,

and had to happen
      just in the right way
for you to nibble,
      playfully,
on my nipples
and send waves of tsunamis
      traveling up my limbs.

It always makes me wonder
that over billions of years
how did the universe transpired
to create a moment
      sublime as this.

Did it all unfold
      just for you
and me?

Consciousness and existential crisis

 Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth — Alan Watts

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI: Consciousness Probing Itself

One of the fundamental causes for the ailment existential crisis is my capacity for consciousness that also makes me aware of the future. It is in the future that mortality resides, and the recognition that I live for a finite span of time lurks. It is said that if I live in the present moment, and thereby, not being aware of the future, I will be connected to immortality or timelessness. But who can manage to always live in the present? For that matter, what is ‘present’?

Along with the awareness of the future, the recognition of my mortality is validated further by the memories from the past (e.g., memory of loss of friends and family that are no longer with us) that I carry.

Being aware of the future and remembrances of things past are hallmarks of the capacity for consciousness. Indeed, various definitions of consciousness are peppered with the word ‘awareness’. Wikipedia suggests that consciousness, at its simplest, is “awareness of internal and external existence” and may include cognition, experience, feeling, or perception. It goes on to say that “It may be awareness, awareness of awareness, metacognition, or self-awareness…”

Merriam-Webster describes consciousness as “the quality or state of being aware especially of something within oneself.”

What fun I can have splitting hair and continue to ponder on a concise definition for the capacity for consciousness, but whatever it may be, the fact remains that with the awareness of the future it brings, I am also aware that I may no longer be an I in the next moment. Knowing this fact is the cognizance of mortality that fuels and sustains the ailment of existential crisis.

The consciousness and capabilities it provides me with has helped greatly in the evolutionary race for survival and reproduction. It is because of this capability that my species has come to dominate the Earth and has become its self-appointed manager (although humans are not very good at it).

As beneficial as the trait of consciousness may be, it is a double-edged sword — it allows me to be aware of the continuity of time and helps define me and my identity, at the same time letting me know that for me time is also finite.

The capacity for consciousness is no free lunch.

Another trait of consciousness is that it can explore itself. The capacity of consciousness allows me to ask a basic question where consciousness may have emerged from?

Perhaps the self-referential nature of consciousness and its ability to probe itself makes comprehending it an impossible task. The more it probes and learns about itself, deeper questions about itself it comes across.

But for now, let me not chase my own tail and focus on where consciousness may have come from.

There are basically two possible answers to this question. — consciousness is an entity that is independent of the self I am. Alternatively, like other parts of me, it is also a biological construct.

If consciousness is independent of my physical form then even after I perish, the consciousness (presumably in some way influenced by what I have been) will continue on.

If it is a biological construct then both my physical form and my consciousness will cease to exist at some point in time. Among the two, conceptually this option is a much easier answer to construct but is much harder to swallow and the discomfort leads to the ailment of existential crisis. [The former is a more acceptable option but is full of riddles].

The feasibility of the second alternative being possible is not that hard to envision.

In an environment, to be able to survive and reproduce, a biological organism has to have some mechanism to (a) sense its surroundings, (b) interpret the sensory input, and © react to it [what kind of reactions). This necessity of these three functions is the blueprint of nervous system and the brain.

Following evolution as biological organisms became more complicated and started to develop specialized parts, the nervous system and brain had to also evolve more sophisticated capacities to coordinate different specialized parts.

Along the trajectory of developing and achieving more and more sophistication, the nervous system and brain, perhaps by accident (either genetic mutation or because of the environmental pressure to be better than others, at some point may have evolved a nascent capability for memory formation. Giving an advantage in the race of survival and reproduction, the nascent capacity for memory would evolve further to become a trait. Once established, it ultimately matured into a capacity to remember the past, and that by definition, an awareness for the future.

Following this plausible path, here I am living with the capacity of consciousness that wants to explore itself. I have a memory of the past, an awareness for the future. I also have the cognizance of my mortality, and with that, the ailment of existence crisis.

Once in a while I also wonder in what way the capacity for consciousness probing itself helps in any way and how does all this philosophizing matters. Is knowing or not knowing what consciousness is and what its origin would be of any utility.

In those moments of doubts, I am reminded of something I read in a book by Daniel M. Klein (Every Time I Find the Meaning of Life, They Change It: Wisdom of the Great Philosophers on How to Live): “My [philosophical] wonderings certainly never really get me anything or anywhere. But they do happen to make me feel more alive.”

These wonderings certainly do make me feel more alive. They also connect me to a larger universe, make me look beyond the confines of my narrow self. They prove to be soothing balm to calm the ailment of existential crisis. They help provide a meaning and purpose to life that the aware of mortality is constantly trying to marginalize.

Ciao.

Note: Writing ‘capacity for consciousness’ over and over starts to feel tedious. When queried, one of the suggestions from ChatGPT for a verb alternative for ‘capacity for consciousness’ was Consciousize (kon-shuh-sahyz): To become aware or make someone aware. Example: The mindfulness workshop was designed to consciousize participants about their inner thoughts and emotions; I can consciousize; I consciousize, therefore I am.

Not a bad suggestion.

Buffering existential crisis

 

You don’t find oak trees having existential crisis. ‘I feel so rotten about myself. I don’t produce as much acorns as the one next to me — Adyashanti

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

For some, the cognizance of mortality is a cataclysmic event. Although its precise consequences are unpredictable and could be either positive or negative. They might lead to debilitation, foster spiritual development, or serve as a wellspring for creativity. In one way or another, the event can end up turning one’s life upside down. It disrupts our assumptions, challenges our purpose, and forces us to confront our finite existence.

In the presence of mortality, even seemingly simple acts like reading, learning, and working take on a questioning hue.

The cognizance of mortality is like Dementors — it can slowly drain happiness and vitality.

The cognizance of mortality makes us wonder about the meaning and purpose of life. Balancing mortality and life within us can be challenging, if not insurmountable.

The dysfunctional union of mortality and life is the beginning of the existential crisis and makes us question life’s meaning and purpose. Why are we born with a beginning and an end? What purpose does our finite existence serve on this Earth? If all is going to end in the loss of the self that we cultivate with much effort and diligence, what is the point of the journey and all the effort it entails?

While being born was not our choice, we must carry on despite existential crises. To be able to live with a semblance of sanity, we have to find (and build) a meaning for our existence. While doing that we also need to accept the fact that the meaning we construct may not last forever.

We must acknowledge that circumstances change, and the protective moat of meaning we construct may eventually run dry.

For instance, aging or other factors — social, cognitive, or physical — may necessitate us to retire and make us question our identity. The loss of a loved one may bring questions about existence anew.

Change can also be as subtle as our evolving values; what was meaningful yesterday may lose its impact today.

When change occurs, successfully navigating the transition involves rebuilding our inner moat and finding a new meaning and purpose for life.

Ultimately, a recipe for a peaceful life involves skillfully confronting changes and fortifying our moats against existential crisis.

With all that the cognizance of mortality can gift or curse us with, what brings it on to begin with?

Our awareness of mortality fundamentally stems from our awareness of the future. Our capability to think about the future, in turn, is part of the matrix that our consciousness is.

One hallmark of our consciousness is the ability to perceive the flow of time — to know where we were, where we are, and where we might be tomorrow. It is remembering the past, knowing the present, and thinking about the future.

Consciousness is a double-edged sword. It granted us an advantage in the game of natural selection for survival and reproduction. It also gifted us with knowledge of the future.

It is in the future where mortality lurks, and it is our ability to think about the future that its cognizance emerges from.

I guess consciousness is no free lunch. At least some of us have to pay a price for its gift.

Ciao.

Of interest:
Building a framework for Living — A laminated guide
Paradox of Living
The ailment of existential crisis
Taming Mortality

Life in different parts of the universe

 

There are more stars in the heavens than all the grains of sands covering the world’s beaches — Carl Sagan

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

While watching Star Trek, once in a while I stop and think that while visiting far corners of the galaxy the Enterprise not only comes across biological forms, but they also share similar sensory traits as I do.

Us and the aliens Enterprise encounters share a common perception of the world. They have physiology for visual perception that is sensitive to same part of electromagnetic (EM) spectrum — the EM waves between 380 nanometers (nm) (violet) to about 750 nanometers (nm) (red). They have auditory senses that respond to compression (or longitudinal) waves between 20Hz to 20,000 Hz.

It could just be a construct of the mind of the script writers (it is a show made for entertainment). However, there could be a physical basis for it.

The previous posts (see links below) had discussed that in an energy constrained environment, emergence of the mechanism of natural selection is an inevitability. Following the principles of natural selection, the sensory traits of biological organisms on the Earth, including us, have evolved to best fit the environmental conditions.

The reason my eyes are sensitive to a particular part of the EM spectrum is that the Sun (that is the source of all energy for biological organisms on the Earth) emits radiation intensity of which peaks in the range biology of eyes is sensitive to. Evolving under the constraint of the characteristics of the Sun, the physiology of eyes developed accordingly.

Knowing a physical basis for the characteristics of my sensory physiology provides a clue why the Enterprise encounters biological organisms like me.

Let us consider some facts about stars and the Sun.

The Sun is one star among billions that reside in a galaxy called the Milky Way. The number of galaxies in the universe is estimated to exceed a trillion. By any estimate, the number of stars in the universe is staggering.

Astronomers have measured the distribution of various characteristics of stars like their size, brightness, surface temperature and have classified them in many ways. One way of classifying stars is according to their temperature.

The temperature of stars ranges from about 30,000 K to 3,000 K. The temperature of the star also determines the spectral power distribution (SPD) (which refers to amount of radiation a star emits at different wavelengths).

The relationship between the wavelength at which the SPD peaks and temperature is known as Wein’s law and states that the peak wavelength of emission is inversely proportional to the temperature of the star. The peak of emission wavelength of hot stars is towards shorter (bluer) wavelengths, while cooler stars peak at longer (redder) wavelengths.

The SPD of the Sun peaks around the wavelengths that the physiology of our eyes is sensitive to. No surprise there as natural selection shaped it to be so.

Among the billion or more stars in our galaxy about 3–4% of stars share the same SPD characteristics as the Sun. In the neighborhood of those suns if biology evolved and progressed to where we are today, the physiology of their eyes, by necessity of natural selection, would be somewhat similar to ours.

We would share organs for visual perception that will respond to similar wavelengths.

And so, the possibility that while visiting far corners of the galaxy, the Enterprise comes across biological forms that share sensory perceptions like I do, does not have to be a complete fantasy. Its plausibility is grounded in sound physical basis.

Ciao.

Of interest:
The reason I see and hear what I see and hear
Fitting in a Puddle
Natural Selection: Could there be any other alternative?
Inevitability of Natural Selection
Inevitability of Natural Selection (Take II)

A reflection on death

 

It’s part of the privilege of being human that we have our moment when we have to say goodbye. — Patti Smith

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

As years pass and another birthday is on me, mortality comes to say Happy Birthday. These days, sometimes it forgets to add “and many more.” Or that omission is on purpose. It knows that there are not that many more birthdays left for me.

Also, as I get older, visitations of mortality are happening more and that too in between birthdays.

In the days of my youth, it was not so. Then, it did not even bother to visit me every birthday. Things change.

An unintended consequence of getting old and facing frequent visits of mortality is that I often find myself pondering over the moment of death. The moment of crossing over from the realm of living into the land of something that I know absolutely nothing about.

For the moment of death, I have no words to describe what to expect or not to expect.

For all I know, there is nothing after. Perhaps it is as simple as that, and I will just cease to exist.

The moment of death will be like entering a room, looking around, reaching out for the light switch and turning it off.

With so many billions of people that have already crossed the threshold of death, there is surprisingly little and anecdotal evidence at best about what may be there.

Dying has been a massive experiment since the origin of life but there is not much to say about it.

Other than death happens, and not knowing much about death, I often find myself wondering what the moment of death would feel like?

The closest I have ever come to seeing someone crossing over the threshold is sitting next to my father in a small hospital room on the night when he made the journey. When it happened, I was holding his hand and thinking that my small gesture may help him in some way. Something like holding the hand of a child to help take its first steps.

Before he did cross from the world, his breathing was getting progressively intermittent and then it stopped. Something in his biology wanted to keep on living but it was too tiring of an effort to make.

When the moment did arrive, nothing unusual happened. I am sure he was not in a cognitive is a state to know what was happening. As far as I can tell, he was unaware of going over.

His case was not in any way unique.

There are so many roads travelling along which one can cross over the threshold between life and death without being aware of the moment of taking the one final step — it could occur during sleep; it could be after we have already lost our cognitive abilities to process sensory inputs; it could be a sudden accident; it could be a moment like in Hiroshima or Nagasaki.

In all such cases, the opportunity to be aware and learn something about the moment of death is not there.

There are also paths when the moment of death is known — death row inmates; the decision to end one’s own life because of being in constant pain and of no hope of recovery (euthanasia).

In those instances, can one develop a playbook of dying on how the approach the moment of death, so the fragment of experiences gets recoded, and the journeyperson keeps sending reports until the communication slowly breaks away.

It would be like an astronaut whose communication is gradually fading while sending reports back to the base in Houston. “Houston, we are drifting away in space and because of the leak, our oxygen level is steadily going down.” As moments tick away, messages get progressively intermittent and finally completely break off.

The line on the heart monitor flat lines.

The irony is that even though mortality is visiting increasingly more and keeps reminding me of death, I would never know what that experience would actually be like except that I will not be what I am now.

To know anything better than I know now, there is no experiment I can think of, or design an experiment to know more about the experience of death and communicate it to those that would be left behind.

Would it not be interesting if the approach to the moment of death was like falling into a black hole.

As I approach the event horizon of death the time slows down (at least from the perspective of people who are observing me). I approach the event horizon but never fall through the event horizon and have the luxury of sending communiques about by experiences.

Perhaps, moment of death is a singularity which we not been able to comprehend yet. But our quest continues.

Ciao.

Articles of interest:
If death was Zeno’s paradox

If death was Zeno's paradox

 

“Death’s got an Invisibility Cloak?” Harry interrupted again. “So he can sneak up on people,” said Ron — J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Arun Kumar

Arun Kumar + AI

There’s a paradox in wondering whether I can perceive objects or understand notions that I have never experienced.

Can I perceive a world beyond the range of my sensory physiology, which is shaped by the guardrails of what enhanced my chances of survival and reproduction.

The fact of the matter is that what I can perceive in the external world is restricted by evolution optimizing my traits to best fit the environment it had to work with. That is the reason that my eyes respond to electromagnetic spectrum between violet (380 nanometers) and red (750 nanometers). And to those experiences I have given names - violet and red.

Can I even imagine or have the words to describe what would 4th dimension of space, if it were to exist, would be like? What would it feel like to be in it? How would I describe the direction that is other than left/right, up/down, front/back.

For that matter, would 4th space dimension even be dimensions like space I am familiar with?

If the 4th space dimension does exist, and since I do not have words to describe it, perhaps I will invent words nadri and sadri to mimic left/right in the world of my current familiarity. Those words sound like a good choice as any. How else left & right themselves would have originated? In the beginning, they might have sounded silly.

A positive aspect of the things I cannot experience is that generally they do not generate the emotion of unease or fear. How can I be afraid of things that I cannot sense?

What I love, hate, fear, starts with what my senses deliver to my brain, where based on past experiences, the sensory input gets processed into an emotion, and then, into actions.

Among the class of objects that I have no firsthand experience with, and thus, have no prior frame of reference under which to categorize them and discuss, the notion of death and cognizance of my own mortality holds a unique position.

I have no firsthand idea what the moment of death feels like, and I will never know. While alive, by definition, I have not felt death, and as long I am alive, I will not feel it either.

And yet, the thought that at some moment in time my ‘self’ will cease to exist, while I have not a shred of clue what would happen to the self beyond that point, death has been an unsettling thought that keeps recurring.

It is a thought that has modulated my (and humanity’s) behavior in so many ways.

What is death anyway? I do know that it is a point of transition when I step from the realm of conscious self to a different realm. I have observed that happen round me. [Note — In that way death is somewhat different from say the 4th space dimension I do not even know if it exists. I have seen handiwork of death everywhere even though I have no personal experience of it.]

I saw death happen with my father lying in the hospital bed and watching him take his last breath. I have watched his unconscious body trying to hold on to this realm but eventually let go. When the breathing finally stopped, I was still around but he was either in a different world or he just was not anymore.

That is what is the fear and unease of death — knowing that it exists and also knowing that the act entails destruction of self and what it has been (without a phenomenological evidence that it continues on).

Would it not be wonderful if the moment of death was something like Zeno’s paradox? It would be exquisite to feel the experience the moment of death getting nearer and nearer but never arrive.

The moment of death as an asymptote. One by one layers of onion peeling away but never revealing the central core.

The thought becomes a poem in mind:

Could death’s moment
mirror Zeno’s paradox?
How exquisite — forever nearing the void,
yet never gone.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.