Saturday, August 24, 2024

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.

Wednesday, August 21, 2024

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

Saturday, August 17, 2024

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)

Saturday, August 10, 2024

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