Right now the yard is covered in thick snow. It is a world he has never known. When he goes outside, he runs, back and forth wildly, in leaps to keep his chest above the snow. Then he stops, bends forward, pushing his head deep into the white powder, and does a somersault, flopping onto his back, then kicking himself around in circles. Then he stops, jumping up completely still and alert, looks quickly from side to side, then rolls onto his back again, rolling and kicking snow into the air while snorting. Again, I don’t know why. I tell him that he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He also has obsessions, namely tennis balls. Always, he carries at least one around with him. He even drops one into his bowl as he eats, apparently because it’s all good. He can hold them between his paws, while he’s laying down, his stubby claws looking more like fingers, wrapping around the little ball. He even rests his paws on them, slowing rolling them around under his touch.

Whenever I come upstairs from down, there is at least one tennis ball on the steps, waiting for me. I am expected to bring it to him. When I stand near the bottom of the steps, doing dishes or making coffee, I almost always hear a thwunk, thwunk, thwunk as a ball slowly bounces down the steps. Looking up, he’s laying at the top of the stair with his paws hanging over, staring down at me with a big grin, waiting for me to throw the ball back up to him. It’s irresistible. I throw it up to him, where he catches it, chews it for a moment, then sets it on the ground between his paws. Moments later, he hits it with the top of his nose, sending it bouncing back down the steps to me, with that silly grin.

There is existence and awareness in that creature, that is not illusion, I have no doubt. There is a soul, as certainly as we might have one. This is beyond most forms of Christianity, and many other religions as well. In this, at least, those religions are wrong. And so are people who believe cats can even compare.

He has a darker side as well, manifest through pathological jealousy. Any other dog who dares comes near to say hello, he intercepts, and shoves firmly away, but in the friendliest of ways. He is the only one that will have our affection.

There is even self-sacrifice. Hating riding in the car, he lays down stiff and motionless in the back seat, completely unresponsive. It isn’t terror or sickness. It’s more like the ultimate in “grin and bear it”. So why, you might ask, is he forced to ride in the car? And the answer would be, he isn’t. He insists on going because it’s a much better alternative than you leaving without him.

I think it is likely, in his dog brain, that he has no awareness differentiating himself from humans. Laying down next to him to pet his head, you will find his paw on your own head, which is not always pleasant, when claws are loving torn down your cheek.  Nor always, your arm held firmly between his jaws when he is exceedingly happy about something. He has learned to curb his enthusiasm, to a degree, but not enough, by intent, to squelch his personality.

Sometimes he needs to be reminded, not of his status, but of his limitations; those sometimes arbitrary-seeming rules of conduct. For example, the table is not his place to eat. The counter tops are sacred places, with strange and wondrous things to smell and eat, but never to trespass upon. And all of this is accomplished through the two soul-crushing sounds for which everything must stop. “No!” “Bad!”

Happily for him, almost everything else is good. It is a peculiar and simple life, almost always coming back to tennis balls. There are times when he brings two or three in his mouth to you, laying them in your lap, wide-eyed and waiting for you to throw them. But other times, when you might be in the mood to play, he will hide them from you. And still others, he will hoard them between his paws, in an iron grip. He prefers sharing the tennis balls on his own terms.

But, being smarter than he, I have discovered ways to circumvent his particularities. I keep a spare ball, all my own, out of his sight. One bounce of that ball, anywhere in the house, and he will completely forget about any balls of his own. One bounce, knowing that another ball exists that is not his, and he will fixate, absolutely, on making it his own. It does not matter that he already had two or three balls. If you have one, he must have it. I have learned to exploit that laser-sighted greed to swoop in and steal the balls he left unguarded. He knows this trick by now. I can see it in his face, when he hears me bounce that ball, out of his sight. He knows I will end up with his, and hesitates. But another bounce will drive him over the top, where he simply must have it. And then I’ve won.

But other times he will just bring a mouthful of balls to you, laying them in your lap. Or sometimes he spreads them out on the floor in front his face, where he lays with his chin on the ground, staring at you until you come take them to play. If you stand near them, he will spring to his feet, crouched in a serious four-legged kung fu pose, completely motionless, waiting to catch the ball with his paws if you happen to kick one instead of picking it up.

It is far more interesting when a relationship is not domineering. Personalities blossom, in unexpected ways.

Here, the Fourth of July is very loud, with fireworks shooting up into the sky in any direction you look, with the occasional bright white flash of some deafening explosion. Jake loves the Fourth of July. He is the only dog I’ve known to love it. He runs out across the yard, barking at the lights and sounds, in a happy, not at all anxious way. And when he is hot from running, like the rest of the summer, he will lay in his little plastic swimming pool of water, rolling around in near ecstasy.

After balls, water is his second love. Even though he cannot sink his teeth into it, he tries. When you pick up the hose, he runs toward you, expecting to be squirted. He requires it. You cannot expect to use water from the hose without this dog finding a way to get in it. Even strong jets of icy water he will lay down in, as if it is the most nonintoxicating and pleasant massage.  Short bursts he will bite at, trying to catch, or bat at with his paws. He is a strange dog.

Did I mention he does yoga? He loves to stretch, and loves help stretching further. Maybe this is how he can so easily leap into the wheelbarrow with such balance. Perhaps that is why his paws are more like hands. Certainly his flexibility, strength and precision set him apart from most other dogs. Perhaps this is just the pride of a parent.

For my part, I have never thought of Jake as a dog. Well, consciously you must. But I give him the benefit of more. Actually, I try to do that with all dogs. And yes, even cats. Well, after that initial period of ignoring them completely until they put themselves at a disadvantage by making the first gesture of friendship. But where they might walk away, I’ll listen. Even though it’s questionable they deserve it, after such games. But not all dogs, do I think of, as more than dogs. Their characters can be radically shaped by we humans. To me, that is a nearly overwhelming consideration. But it is not, for all humans.

It is a peculiar thing, the spirit of an animal. And peculiar even ourselves, when we have such power over it, what we choose to exert in that dominion. It is something telling, as all acts, and all inactions, are confessions of ourselves.

I can say he is a bad dog. Or a good dog. And I determine all boundaries and structures of his world. But I forfeit that power, as much as I can. Instead, I choose to be one creature to another with him. Perhaps this is how he can be something more - how he can be such a strange and wonderful dog.

In a large way, this is because of my dad, by his example, or the voodoo that seeps in through the alchemy of families. It is a realization that gives me pause. Because, if I must admit many things, it gives me, perhaps, just a glimpse, of my own wheelbarrow.

You might be seeing me, standing in it now, from your perspective that encapsulates such creatures. But I can talk. And were I to, I would tell you, I am not feeling particularly clever. I like the wheelbarrow. It’s a little above the ground and it’s fun to balance. Even when I get scolded. Or laughed at. I mean, look at this, standing in the wheelbarrow. You glorious little lunatic! Yes, you.

And so we know, there are people who say, treating your dog as an equal is a bad thing. They say, they need the discipline, hierarchy and rule of the pack. They are happier that way. Well, it isn’t true. They need excrutiatingly honest and sincere interaction with you. That’s all. And yes, that is a far taller order.

You must do things that you normally would not. Particularly if you have never done them before. If you are the slightest bit curious, that is, or think that you should. Or feel that you must.

I’m not going to say why. Just do it. If it doesn’t harm anyone. Take a peek behind those corners, inside those dark closets and basements, and under those stones. Stick your toe in. Take a leap. You just have to.

I did something completely out of character a couple nights ago. Something that I never do. Well, that I haven’t done for a very, very long time. I felt like I should, but I didn’t really want to. Even the thought of it made me feel awkward and uncertain. But strangely, that awkwardness began to bother me in other ways: it should not feel awkward, nor should it make me feel uncertain. And that’s what convinced me over the hump. I decided to do it. I was going to pray.

I know! But I’m telling you, you have to be able to take your own advice. Do something crazy. I told Jeff’s aunt, who seems like this sweet, wonderful lady, that I would pray her hip replacement surgery would go well. It seemed a nice and innocuous thing to do. But it wasn’t long before I wanted to back out of that promise.

But how could I? Backing out of something like that is like killing a butterfly, just to be mean. Not that I would know. Then I thought, well, while I’m it, I guess I’ll throw in some bigger ticket items, like including soldiers and civilians in the prayer, too. It couldn’t hurt, and would give me more bang for the buck.

And as that night wore on, the impending bizarre event loomed heavier and heavier on the near horizon. Why was it was such a big deal? It irritated me that it was a big deal. Was it irrational, being so bothered by something so benign? Was it my rationality that was offended, eliciting an emotional response of dread? That didn’t even make sense. Sure, rationality ought to be dispassionate, but even when it’s not, getting dread from something like having to pray just didn’t make sense. After all, this was simply a task that needed doing. Cut and dried. Matter of fact. But for some reason, it was HUGE. This made no sense.

Eventually it was time. Lights out, cell phone positioned, I took off my clothes and climbed into bed. Eyes closed. Laying on my back. Darkness. Ok. Here we go…

Now, simultaneously and contradictorily, in both hubris and jest, which you Psychologically dominated people are welcome to erroneously interpret as false modesty, I say that a lesser man would have just played with himself and gone to sleep. Nobody would be the wiser, if I just skipped out on this praying thing. Sure, I might have to answer to someone asking questions, but it would be a minor lie. Laying there, considering, I was on the verge of doing just that. But somehow, it sucked me in. I had to do it. I was going to pray. It was just too weird. I had to.

Ok. Wriggle, wriggle. Eyes closed. Dark. Silence.

I become very aware of the Earth at times like this, and our movement through everything out toward the stars — at least in my imagination.

Ok. Pray. Ok… Umm… Ok. Uh… who do I talk to? Where? Do I just think words, or do I speak into the darkness? Ok. I don’t need to speak. Thinking the words would be better. I’m sure he’s psychic. Well, he or she. Or whatever.

But words are so narrow. God has to be way larger than that. I can send him whole big landscapes of thought, instead of just narrow little words. I just can open up everything I am, and broadcast it out there, like an Arecibo made of meat and electricity. I wonder if satellites can pick it up? Damn freaks who go into the military to be voyeurs. Then again, people just broadcast themselves on webcams…

Ok. Wait. A prayer. It’s simple. Just pray for the hip. And not to the Hindu pantheon either, because she’s Christian. Those Hindu gods wouldn’t care about her hip. But why not? But maybe I could be just kinda Hindu-ish and unite with the vibrational energy that permeates the universe and make it flow into her hip toward the future when she’d be in the hospital. Gads, but it might short out the operating room equipment.

Damnit. God. Pray to God. Ok. God. Big guy. Yup. Ok. “Um, hi God,” I thought at Him.

Oh, how stupid is that? The creator of all existence, at all scales, both huge and subatomic and vast, and all the crazy intricacies, and I’m going, “duh. Hi God.” I mean, I can’t just outright talk to him, right? I guess he could have invented English, and speaks it. Or he’s like connected into everything, and I don’t even have to talk, because he knows it all, and made it all.

Damn. Hmm. Well, maybe I can just lay here, and be cosmically connected to him, and he’ll know about the prayer. Yeah. Ok. Deep breath. Focus. God blob. God blob… ok.. like all over the place and around, everywhere. Christ, how do I tell something so huge to make some person’s hip be ok? I mean, if the hip is bad, isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? How arrogant of me to try changing that plan. Or maybe he likes bad things until we beg him to make them good. That’s not very nice. Yeah, that whole problem of Evil existing so prominently. And those weak arguments about free will being the reason for it. Bah!

Man, but that lady’s hip. She seemed so sweet and nice. They’re going to have to slice into her, shatter her hip into pieces, dig it out, and put some synthetic bones back in her. That sucks. I bet lots of people end up going through that. All kinds of nasty, terrible stuff as you get older. And even those soldiers. I wonder how many of those young guys had to get their hips replaced cuz they got blown up? Lucky to be alive I suppose. So many bodies and lives, really. Strangers. I wonder what their stories were like? Never will know now, I guess. Silly young humans. Killing people. Getting killed. With all the conceits and vulnerabilities you see, in same people out here, walking around at a market. People that can kill people. Or get their own bodies ripped open by others.

And it wasn’t long before I found myself lying there, in the Dark, and in the Silence, amazed at all the images and feelings moving through me. I told myself, I’m not there with any of those people — I don’t know know any of them. It doesn’t matter. And it became even more proundly sad. And I found myself wanting, more than anything, for them all to be better. For them to be lifted out of that. To be free.

Stupid prayers. It wasn’t even a prayer. Well, maybe. I don’t know. But I was done. It was no different from, during every day, when you stop all the silliness around you, just to absorb in the world - to let your existence touch you, how it will. Or the existences of others. I don’t want that burden lifted. I need to feel that weight. I need to work to lessen that burden, and not just for myself.

Maybe that’s something God told me, in his language. I wouldn’t presume. Maybe when you pray, you’re not supposed to talk, or ask for things. Maybe you’re supposed to just open up and listen. Maybe our whole lives are supposed to be one, ever-present prayer. Maybe that’s why I felt so awkward, going to ask for something.

I wonder what people ask for, in their prayers. Or if they even pray, just to pray. Just to listen.

I guess I don’t know how to pray any more. Or I can’t. I tried, though. And I heard something really huge. And I am still really, really sad.

That last piece

Here’s a reminder, too. I was criminally negligent in supporting the positions for those three main views of consciousness in the last piece, Am I Alive? I am working under the assumption there is a reason philosophy departments are small. Very intricate and in-depth discussions for each of those positions exist, and are easily accessible if you have an interest in the detail. Even more importantly, distilling those arguments into quick examples lets me be lazy, too.

In addition to being told definitively what consciousness actually was, I was also pointed to a fascinating project within IBM’s Cognitive Computing group. This project just received $5 million in funding from the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the same agency that funded the creation of the Internet, and many other incredible (and dubious) things.

The award funds IBM’s proposal, “Cognitive Computing via Synaptronics and Supercomputing (C2S2)”, which will be the first step in fulfilling DARPA’s “Systems of Neuromorphic Adaptive Plastic Scalable Electronics (SyNAPSE)” initiative. Another company, HRL Laboratories, which is owned by Boeing and General Motors received three times this amount. HRL Laboratories is also involved in DARPA’s Cognitive Technology Threat Warning System, and their Urban Reasoning and Geospatial Exploitation Technology (URGENT) program, which wants to revolutionize urban combat using three-dimensional object recognition.

Anyway, IBM has built a rat brain. Well, not really. They’re simulating one on a supercomputer. Neural networks were long considered the most promising path toward simulating cognitive functions with computational devices. That approach focuses upon the role of neurons in the brain. However, neurons actually account for a very small fraction of the brain’s circuitry. Most of the circuitry are synapses, which connect the neurons together. Many synapses are connected to a single neuron. In fact, IBM’s rat brain has 55 million neurons and 442 billion synapses. That’s pretty much the same as a real rat brain. In comparison, a human cortex has around 22 billion neurons and 176 trillion synapses.

The IBM rat brain is somewhat larger than a rat, though. Their rat brain requires a 32,768 processor supercomputer with 8 trillion bytes of memory. It consumes more energy than 1,000 typical households. That is one fat rat.

And alas, it will probably never be on par with a real rat. Real rat brains, like our own, operate asynchronously, with variable timing (frequencies) and ooze chemicals as well as electricity. Being biological, they are also adaptable and fault tolerant. And most importantly, memory is not so separate from the processing. Traditional computers always keep memory separate from the processor. Then again, rat brains don’t run Linux.

But the IBM folks are well aware of their limitations. This is an incubation project. Cognitive Computing differs significantly from traditional artificial intelligence. Artificial intelligence identifies problems, then comes up with ways to address those problems programmatically. On the other hand, cognitive computing does the engineering first (by reverse-engineering the brain) and worries about the more programmatic problems later.

The supercomputer is used only as a simulation. The intention is to build chips and electronics with a similar structure like a brain. They then plan to ram it full of sensory input from sensors all over the world, to create a “world brain”. I tell ya, these military guys are crazy. The idea is actually to overload this brain with sensory input. Part of me is suspicious, thinking these guys are hoping to create a physical structure modeled after a brain, and then by flooding it with sensory data, it might just burst into life with some ability to perform cognitive functions on that data. Or maybe even come alive… No, they would never say that.

What they do not intend to create is an actual rat brain, or human brain. At least that’s what they are saying. But you know mad scientists, particularly when they’re working for the military. They want to create computers that can get closer to the efficiency and power of biological brains, and this is, to them, in large part a structural issue.

What is interesting, philosophically, is suppose they do create a synthetic human brain. Would any mind, or consciousness, that arose from this brain also be synthetic? Or, for that matter, what exactly does synthetic mean? If souls exist, what is mind without a soul? If mind, or consciousness, is simply an illusion, is there anything wrong with just shutting it off and dismantling it, after we turn it on? Or if consciousness is only an illusion, is there anything wrong with just “turning off” a person’s mind?

Before we can deal with any of these questions we must define, if only in very broad terms, a nature of consciousness. Consciousness is something more than illusion. It may be an aggregate of biochemical processes, or it may be something related more closely to a notion of spirit. But to say that consciousness, which we all seem to experience, is merely illusion is to side step, in the name of convenience, the very basis of our ability to reason and perform science. Consciousness must exist or there is no context in which we might ask questions, formulate answers, be curious about matters, or feel anything at all. If consciousness is illusion, what is being tricked, if not consciousness itself? Consciousness precedes itself, when examining itself.

However, to say that consciousness exists is not to say that spirit exists. It may very well be that consciousness cannot exist independently of some physical substance. It is to say, however, that consciousness currently appears to be a more abstract quality than something wholly physical. That is, though consciousness may be dependent upon the physical, consciousness itself may not physical, any more than the processes of mathematics is physical. In fact, it is metaphysical (devoid of the pedestrian connotations).

I cannot touch my consciousness, or the consciousness of another person, nor can I smell it, see it, or measure it. This is does mean that consciousness is an illusion. Consciousness must exist before I carry out any processes of science. In order for me to see, taste, smell or feel, or on higher orders, evaluate, determine and hypothesize, I must have a consciousness. Whether or not this consciousness is dependent upon the physical, I am stuck with its necessity. Even though considering the consciousness illusory may help win some arguments, the problems created by such a proposition far outweigh any gains. Consciousness does exist and it is something metaphysical. It might even remain metaphysical, even if the bridging problem between physical, biochemical processes and the manifestation of consciousness are eventually solved.

This admission should not, in any way, fly in the face of science. Many abstract, not altogether tangible things exist that are, for some reason, wholly accepted by science. One of these things is mathematics. Another is the laws of physics themselves. Scientists have no problem accepting that some abstract laws exist that somehow determine the behaviour of everything physical. The question here is, what holds these laws? Why is there an electromagnetically negative charge and a positive charge, and only those two? What determines the probabilities associated with quantum mechanics? In science’s inference of multiple universes, where even the laws of physics can be utterly different in different universes, how are those laws of physics imprinted into that particular nature of reality? Perhaps consciousness is something abstractly structural like this. But it is abstract, similarly, beyond any given physical system. But again, that is not to say that it is not dependent upon a given physical system.

And now to the meat of things, the reason for this piece, which continues after the last one that left us questioning whether consciousness even exists, as most of us assume it must. For if we are questioning the epistemology of consciousness itself, where does that leave us when we consider other people, or other beings, or things, besides ourself? If we question the very possibility of consciousness, what possible hope is there for any sense of ethics or morality - of right or wrong?

First, I want to distinguish between ethics and morality. Here, ethics will mean something we can think about and discuss to reach conclusions. Morality will mean something that we learn through tradition, or are told. This being said, morality will be left out of the discussion altogether. This is done in the interest of expediency, since morality does not lend itself well to any reasonable discussion. Its basis sits in absolute notions that are generally entrenched and immobile. I leave it for people to shout about on the back porch between beer drinking and farts, until they reach their conclusions through a wrestling match, or a bloody club.

If a scientist or philosopher is of the ilk to question the existence of actual consciousness, it is altogether likely they are also of the ilk to question the existence of a basis for any ethics, let alone good or evil.

When you consider consciousness an illusion it is very difficult to reasonably consider ethics. Ethics seems intrinsically oriented toward life, and becomes more relevant the higher you go up on the complexity of life scale. If there is no consciousness, any notion of a higher order of life scale is arbitrary at best. Would you consider applying ethics to the way a physical cluster operates as individual components? How can mechanical operations be ethical or unethical if no consciousness guides them? Without consciousness, things function as they do. Ethics is replaced by gross domination through a preponderance of purpose, or just simply strength.

However, since we can more sanely say that consciousness is something more than illusion, we can also find a place for ethics. Perhaps not for good and evil, but ethics, most certainly. Here the question becomes, is there such a thing as right and wrong, or good and bad, that exists, similar to consciousness, or the laws of physics, in its own true abstraction? Stay with me scientists…

The question of ethics is a very old one; ancient even. Right now we are looking at these questions of ethics and consciousness, framed by a backdrop of new technologies, during a period increasingly dominated by scientific thinking. It is important to keep in mind that rational thinking is timeless, though not all rational positions remain rational over time. The questions of ethics are richly discussed in texts throughout many centuries, distinct from religion. My one selection here, for your consideration is this:

Let’s say that a dog exists. It’s a good dog, but occasionally bad, as dogs are. There is plenty of food for the dog, and the dog will not harm its environment. It will not overly reproduce. In fact, let’s assume there are no ill effects whatsoever from this dog existing, and there never will be. The question is, is it better that the dog lives or dies?

You would be an unusual person indeed if you claim the dog ought to die, when there are no bad effects from it living. If you just hate dogs, substitute a cat, or a monkey, or better yet, yourself. Particularly when you substitute yourself, even saying that it makes no difference whether you live or die rings a little untrue. Most people would agree that, all things being equal, it is better the dog, or you, should live, rather than die. But what makes it better? This is certainly not something purely mechanical.

Interestingly, you can take this even further back, to address concerns about the origin of the universe. Why does the universe exist? Why did it come into being? Well, is it better that the universe came into being, than if it did not? This is the exact line of reasoning early philosophers used to posit the existence of an ethical universe. Personally, I have a hard time accepting that the universe sprang into being because it was supposed to, along with all its physical laws. Nevertheless, there is something to be said about a natural state of ethics, alongside our conscious determination and use of the natural laws of nature.

It will be interesting, if we manage to create a synthetic, or even “real” consciousness - will that consciousness have a similar sense of the inherently ethical? Will it know that being alive is better than being dead? Will it know that promoting non-truths is bad? Or does it require emotion for such determinations? Does consciousness itself require emotion?

But I think the important thing for us to realize is that science and rational thinking does not require us to throw out any value we place upon life, nor to give up on what we know to be ethical choices. Science is still entrenched in its long war against the domination of religious thought. Unfortunately, it runs the risk of creating a narrow dominion of thought all its own, in the process. If we are to have truly open minds, our thoughts and perspectives must be willing to travel beyond their comfortable and familiar contexts, if only just to take a quick peek.

For all the dogma and doctrine out there, the important thing is that we are all alive, participating in, and affected by what each of us embrace, promote, or even just participate within. Life has intrinsic value that is greater than any equation or any religion. Life’s value is greater than any system of government, economy or social tradition.

It is a quality of life that it must grow. Consciousness must grow. However, reductionism and normalization should only be considered a fertilizer for the soil, and not the cage. Otherwise, we run the risk of scientific oppression that would make religious oppression pale in comparison.

In other words, is your awareness of the world and who you are, simply a condition of electrical and chemical interactions between cells?

This is a very simple question. It’s the simple answer that reveals enormous problems. Yes, or no.

My consciousness is considering the ramifications of either answer right now. Don’t mind me. It’s just some chemicals sloshing about. But consider - the answer, yes or no, is important. If known with certainty, the answer to this simple question would topple many fundamental assumptions we currently entertain. Either way it goes. And most of these fundamental assumptions we do not consider. In grossly simplistic terms, do we have a spirit? What does it mean to be conscious?

If our consciousness is a by-product of chemical interactions, there are few compelling reasons that we should also have a spirit. If I feel joy as a result of something I hear, it’s just chemicals flowing around in one area, which trigger a blob of chemicals in another area which creates a “sensation” (whatever that is) of joy, which in turn triggers more blobs of chemicals in another place which may bring back memories to my consciousness of similar joyful things, in whatever region of the mass of neurons in which the consciousness actually manifests.

However, if our consciousness is spiritual in nature, how do we explain the oftentimes profound alteration of our conscious state through brain injury, biological diseases, or chemical alterations? If we have a spirit, how can our personalities be so radically altered by physical changes to a materialistic brain?

These issues may seem purely academic, with little importance in our daily lives. But the issue is significant. Both science and religion exert tremendous force upon our lives. When considering the nature of consciousness, each “team” plays by a completely different rule book, and their game effects us all both directly and profoundly.

For example, brain drugs are now prescribed to people of all ages, even children, with alarming frequency. These drugs represent a major portion of pharmaceutical profits. They are backed by science and the belief that consciousness is, at least, in large part a materialistic process. But if we believe our consciousness is purely biochemical, why not throw chemicals at our biology? Doing so, we can alter our state of mind to happily accommodate any feelings or perceptions we have of the world, or ourselves. We can alter our consciousness to be content with any stimulus or situation. In essence, we can engineer a paradise for ourselves that is completely independent of anyone or anything in the external world. If we are simply biochemical, why not have this bliss?

Well, for one, the people handing out the drugs could get away with murder. But so what? Isn’t some notion of morality and ethics dangerously close to spiritual considerations? I admit there are possible reasons why not, that do not require us to have a spirit. For example, if we all were engineered happy and content regardless of our environment, we might find ourselves soon extinct as a species. Why does it matter that a plague kills everyone? We are happy. Perhaps there is some biologically hard-coded imperative for survival. If we have engineered ourselves into happiness, have we engineered out this imperative? This could be a valid reason to avoid engineering our biochemical consciousness that is not dependent upon having a spirit.

But even this raises a question toward the spiritual. Is our biological imperative toward survival an imperative for only our own survival, and not necessarily the survival of other people? It would seem so. If many other people were to die, there is less competition for food, for mates, and less chance that I will be killed by someone else. Though rational, this is not how most people think. For some reason we find it important that other people should live, instead of die, even when they are not part of our “pack”. Perhaps we feel this way because mirror neurons in our brain somehow allow our consciousness, whatever that is, to place ourselves in the position of others. And because we can imagine ourselves in another person’s shoes, we choose to want them to live, rather than die. Of course, this argument skips the whole problem that we simultaneously know that we are not that person, yet still choose that they should live. That argument relies upon us having, at minimum, empathy. Who knows what combination of cell types and chemicals would cause our consciousness, in whatever grouping of cells it lives, to experience empathy. But maybe empathy isn’t a feeling. Maybe it’s a purely mathematical phenomenon.

One of the largest problems science faces when trying to explain consciousness is providing an account for consciousness in the first place. Is consciousness inside our brain? Where is it? Does it simply manifest itself somehow as a combination of all biochemical processes which occur in the brain? Would our consciousness exist if we had no body, other than a brain, nor external senses? You see, it is one thing for us to affect consciousness in some physical way, but it is quite another to actually pin it down.

The prevailing wisdom of science says that consciousness does not exist, in and of itself, but is rather an illusory result of electrical and biochemical processes that occur within the brain. What we consider our self, or our consciousness, is really an illusion. Our consciousness is just a systematic and recursive material, or mechanical, process that results in some meta-state that we imagine we experience, which we call consciousness. But really, this consciousness is nothing more than a plethora of mechanical processes occurring, which give us the illusion.

To some, believing this explanation turns us into little more than zombies who wander about doing our mechanistic things. You might appear conscious to me, but really you are a mass of predictable mechanics. I must confess there are times when this seems true. But is it the whole picture?

In the West we have a long history of separating the mind from the body. Our thoughts, and therefore our ability to reason, are dependent upon our ability to sense and observe the world. Our mind, which most agree is the seat of our consciousness, is dependent upon our body to provide the sensory input we use to consider the questions of science, and even questions of our own consciousness.

One of the first questions we must ask is, why would this mechanical process have a curiosity about its own consciousness? Is it another biological imperative related to survival that has trickled up over centuries of evolution, that makes us curious in growingly abstract ways, as our brain power develops? I wonder, also, at what point during our evolution, did consciousness, or our illusion of it, spring into being? Are dogs and cats conscious? It is evident to me that they do, at least, have something equivalent to mirror neurons. Or are they just different models of a machine?

But if we believe that consciousness is an illusion, then what, exactly, is being tricked? Is it an illusion that fools itself?

Something rationally critical breaks when we say that consciousness is an illusion that rises up from materialistic processes. But we can fix that. If we say that consciousness does, in fact, exist, and that it is not an illusion, but is solely dependent upon materialistic biochemical processes in the brain — that works. In this sense, consciousness really does exist, but not without our physical gray matter.

This seems far more likely to me than consciousness being an illusion. But it does little to explain how our consciousness comes into being from these material processes. The best explanation I have heard claims that the brain operates in an electro-chemical “loop”. When it operates above a certain frequency, we have consciousness. Below that frequency, we do not. Perhaps it is just a matter of putting all the materialistic pieces together, and eventually we will have our answer about the nature of consciousness. Or, it may be that we are only side-stepping and delaying the inevitable problem: trying to tie the metaphysical to the physical.

But what is metaphysical about having consciousness arise from something material? The same question confronts the science of artificial intelligence. How can something intangible and unphysical, like consciousness, be created from a machine? Their answer? Well, we find ourselves back to the original, predominant scientific position: that there really is no such thing as consciousness — it is mere illusion. By saying this, science does not have to confront any questions about the metaphysics of consciousness. Consciousness just doesn’t exist. Our sense that we are conscious is an illusion. Then here I am again, fooling myself. Or my consciousness. Or whatever. Brainsss!!

Another way to consider the problem is to return to Descartes. The one thing I can say with certainty is that I have consciousness. Anything I learn beyond this comes to me through my senses which may be wholly inadequate to determine any true reality. In this scenario, our consciousness becomes the most fundamental thing in the universe, while all other things are speculative. There is something comfy in this manner of thinking, but it is also an isolating and wholly inadequate position to explain consciousness.

In a similar vein, we might say that consciousness is our spirit which inhabits a materialistic body. In this, we are back to dualism, and we also cannot easily explain why our consciousness is altered by physical changes to our brains. It just doesn’t work.

So, if we look at big score board so far, it appears the spiritualists lag far behind the materialists — yet of the materialists, the ones supporting a true existence of consciousness, rather than some illusion of consciousness, are ahead. OK. Now let’s give the spiritualists some game.

Let’s think of our life, clear back to childhood. Remember how different you were back then? Imagine how different you were, all along the way of your life, up until where you find yourself right now. Some people can’t believe the things they used to believe. It’s almost as if you were another person. But you weren’t another person. You were you, all along the way. It still is you. But you’ve changed. Your consciousness has changed. It’s evolved. You perceive things differently, yet still the “essence” of what makes you, you — it’s still there. And it’s the same. This is one quality of our observed experience of consciousness that materialists will have a difficult time resolving satisfactorily. Not only do we have a current sense of self, but we also have the sense of a meta-self that has always remained in place throughout our life’s experiences.

In many ways, the older civilizations of the world, such as India, have dealt with the concepts of the spirit in relation to science for far longer than the West. Their philosophical works are an interesting read. Interestingly, a good deal of their philosophy deals with an integration of the mind and body, including through such practices as yoga. Yoga seeks to bring the mind and body into a harmony. It does not treat the mind separately from the body — they are one organism, and that organism is you. They take it even further, though. The mind may have many thoughts and ideas running around within it. The practice of yoga seeks to still that chaos in the conscious mind. In their terms, the content of the mind is constantly changing. However, the context of the mind is unchanging. This contextual representation of consciousness is what we might call a spirit, and it sits beyond both the mind and the body. In this way, if the mind or body is damaged, the spirit remains, while life remains. This is true, even when our mental consciousness appears radically altered — the content of the mind can change, but the context of the mind does not.

In this way, the essence of who we are, or our spirit, escapes the logical problem associated with having a notion of spirit in the event of brain damage. In other words, just because our behaviour or personality changes after physical brain damage does not mean that the essence of our spirit is changed. It is only the mental processes that are changed, much like a broken bone. This escape trick is no worse than the escape trick of saying that consciousness is only an illusion. It also explains how we maintain an abstract sense of self despite radical changes to our consciousness over time, even though the natural acts of learning.

If we can look internally, which is, of itself, another argument against illusion, we can actually get a hint of the difference between the content of our thoughts, and the context in which those thoughts occur. Similarly, most people in the world believe in reincarnation, where after death, and before we were born, we were someone else, or even something else. We might have been male or female. We might have been a dog, or a spider. In each of these, the content of our minds would change. However, the context would always be us.

As rigorously as many scientists rail against any notion of spirit, claiming access to tangibly provable and all-encompassing knowledge, it is somewhat ironic to hear, so often coming from them, this notion that we humans are “star stuff”, and, in essence, the universe trying to understand itself. Perhaps they mean this purely mechanistically. Why would the universe seek to understand itself? Is that mechanical?

Who knows? I like the idea, though. Unless I just seem to like it. But maybe that’s enough. It certainly isn’t going to keep from exploring more. And it’s certainly not going to cause me to just patently accept all sorts of things that stem from people believing one way or another on these issues. Perhaps that makes me a squeaky cog in the great cosmic zombie machine. Perhaps it damns me. I just want it to be an honest game. And this game is far from over.

In physics, the laws governing our existence are expressed as mathematical objects. We do not question whether our existence must, necessarily, obey laws. We assume that reason exists, in at least some form, at all levels, even within chaos. We tie the concept of chaos to randomness, and by doing so, we constrain existence, at least in part, with our mathematical objects. This may be a preconceived bias which limits a broader understanding, but it does impose definitions that we can utilize and manipulate within our framework of pseudo-certainty, that is a mathematical representation.

Language is a similar construct. As creatures with unique consciousness, we vibrate the air in defined ways that represent, more or less, the consciousness we are currently experiencing and wish to communicate to another consciousness. However, each consciousness exists in relative isolation from any other, much like parallel universes could be, and any communication of information between islands is fraught with potentials for error. For example, a word might not be understood in the same way on each island, or a string of words may have differing connotations that have arisen from the other consciousness’ history or bias. An even more challenging issue is the fluidity inherent within the island of each consciousness that is, by its very isolation, patently distinct within its own experiential awareness that changes, sometimes even radically, over time.

Objects we create (words or phrases) that are meant to be shared between islands have nowhere to exist, except within whatever space it is that we might label a mutually agreed-upon landscape of language. There is no metaphysical cathedral that houses the canonical truth of each object we have created, except, indirectly, by our further mutual agreement to imbue selected people with the responsibility of maintaining them, which is itself, fraught with peril. It is something, though. And it is a wonder we can communicate at all, particularly in the more abstract.

Mathematics has an easier time, at least within its foundations. The number “2″ is well understood within our intersubjective landscape. Any misunderstanding or argument between islands about the number “2″ would almost certainly be specious. This is an object that can reasonably be considered safely canonical. Even though it does not exist. I have never seen a “2″, in and of itself. But I have seen the curvy numeral written down many times, and have even determined a quantity of 2 for various things. I know — I lead a wildly abandoned life. But I would be hard-pressed to actually show you a “2″. That’s because it isn’t a thing, but rather a representation of an abstract concept. It is not really physical. Addition and subtraction are also abstract concepts, applied to other abstract concepts. As we’ve discussed earlier, mathematics is an abstraction, tied to the physical in only the most tenuous of ways through the concept of quantity. This has proven to offer us great benefits, but it can also hinder us when it is believed as a canonical representation of the totality of our existence. There is no basis for such an assumption, despite stacks of mathematics on paper.

It seems the human being is prone to adopt beliefs. This is how scientists, even physicists and mathematicians, can believe in God without violating the sanctity of their disciplines: because their disciplines arise from belief, they are accustomed to belief. The only difference between religion and science is the voracity of their self-consistency and their openness to new perspectives. These are constant challenges where religion, more often than not, falls short. But so does science. And like religion, science usually falls short when the canonical caretakers of the holy objects become more interested in their own personal perpetuation than their sacred duty toward humanity and the purity of their calling.

However, these are callings that are far removed from the more humble life we each lead as we return home at the end of the day. At home our concerns turn toward foraging for food, our feelings for the people in our lives, or having a comfy, warm bed in which to dream. While mathematics is removed from us and defined with rigor, the language of our time spent more at rest is sloppier, and is often downright messy. Some would like to bring the certainties of religion or science home with them in an attempt to impose comfort upon the messiness they might otherwise experience, but these are usually vain attempts. The messiness bleeds through. Something about us is wider than any discipline can contain. We are not entirely defined by the dominance of objects created within the outside world. We are aware of our island-hood, and the world we perceive externally is not, precisely, the sum of everything that we are, or might be. Even when we try to impose its order upon ourselves, our gut knows the difference. We will go into the applicability and validity of the discipline of psychology and neuroscience in subsequent pieces.

Language, that is extended to us from our culture, is the defining bridge to the external world. Our senses are also a bridge, but they lack any objective definitions without language. Our senses merely allow us to perceive and experience the external world. Language helps define common sensual experiences between us. The difficulty arises from the fact that our awareness is separated from the awareness that exists within other beings, and the only way we have to bridge these islands is a rickety structure composed of words. This is, perhaps, part of the appeal of mathematics — it is rigidly defined with only a small propensity for misunderstanding and error. However, mathematics is incapable of representing the spectrum that is the diversity within our inner lives. Though less prone to error, its vocabulary is utterly inadequate. We appear to be stuck with the uncertainty and error of language between us. And as an interesting aside, it is also fascinating to note that our understanding of these more pristine maths are formed through the messiness of language and what those words conceptually represent. But we’ll steer clear of that messiness for now.

Our inner experience is rarely what other people perceive. The inadequacies of language are not the only cause. Because of our uniquely individual craziness, we do not always construct language that is a true representation of our inner experience. Also, sometime we hear language differently than was intended, either because of that same uniquely individual craziness within ourselves, or the clumsiness of the person constructing the language toward us. And this is with truth as the backdrop. If we bring in the possibility of deception, we bring a wrecking ball into an already precarious and delicate environment. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, this is all too common and is the source of a great deal of the confusion that permeates our society. Deception is always willful, even when it is simply a will to ignore or disregard the validity of some known or perceived truth. In many ways, this is the worst deception of all. Silence, indifference, or disregard allows deception to perpetuate and flourish. It is selfish, and almost always meant for one’s own perceived benefit.

But what is selfishness, other than a word? How is it possible to say that selfishness is bad, when each self is their own isolated island? The answer is simple when you realize that other islands exist, and are every bit as important as your own. There are lots of people like you, living on their own crazy, isolated islands. Even when they claim they are not. Particularly when they claim they are not. And in that, paradoxically, even though we are completely isolated, we are all in the same boat. If I’m not mistaken, I think that some form of love might fit in well just there. And though love can be considered selfish, it also, paradoxically, is the furthest thing from selfishness. Isolation is, intrinsically, a lonely existence. Though some religions try, they cannot command love between islands. And deception always results in isolation. If connections are to occur, each island must, through its own self-awareness, become aware of its isolation and seek to bridge that isolation in ways that are not based in deception. Or instead, remain in isolation. Anything else is a power play through manipulation.

If a sense of mutuality can exist between islands then an awareness of isolation also exists. Some means will be sought to create bridges in the interest of that mutuality. But if a keen awareness of the isolation between islands exists, how can one possibly avoid having a more passionate response that necessitates creating the most intimate connections possible? Though this situation is rare, here we must take care to balance between the negative forces that stem from desperation and panic, against the far more positive and powerful forces that such passion can engender as a motive for the fulfillment with all its benefits of unity. And even this must be balanced against the necessity of distinction, from which the true beauty and strengths of humanity’s genius emerges. This is the beautiful aspect within the darker nature of Existentialism.

It leaves me asking, as I look out upon the world, what is really important? Between each of our islands, what bridges have we built, or allowed to be connected to us? In what ways does mutuality currently manifest itself? Is it truly proven that deception results in isolation? Does it matter to our isolation if we are the ones deceiving, or the ones being deceived? And the most difficult question of all, why does this state seem to remain, in perpetuity?

I suppose that our self awareness is one thing, while our interactions with the world is another. This is inherently deceptive. Perhaps we must do, to get what we want. It is the exchange of one price, at the cost of something else. I suppose it all depends upon the value we place on one thing or another. And now, I feel like I’m caught up in the mathematics of economies. It is an intriguing symptom.

In that warm, comfy bed of mine, though messy, I had a dream the other night. Some people say I was experiencing random firings of neurons, while other say I was “sifting” through the day’s information. Nobody can say much about the particles. I only know that I had a dream. There was a large, flat landscape seen at a distance, like the world. It ground was a reddish-brown, cracked, clay desert at twilight. Lots of people were walking about in between plastic outcroppings in the plain that were shaped like rounded tombstones, but had brightly-glowing and colorful neon symbols that flowed in pleasant designs. They densely covered the plains while people walked amongst them, absently avoiding collisions with these colorful objects. All our interactions flowed through them, yet we always avoided touching them. Circles were always the most prominent design on the tombstones.

None of this was unpleasant. However, it did make me feel a little like a radio controlled robot, and I knew that everyone else was feeling the same thing. Mountains were off far along the horizon. We knew we were a colony, of sorts, and there was nowhere else to go. As Burroughs would say, “The theater is closed.”

But I woke up and decided to write this anyway. I feel compelled. It might be love. Or maybe religion. But then again, nothing is certain. Right?

Just a bunch of words, tenuously tied to the intimate experience of our unique existence. You can see such awareness in some people. Others might never get there. Still others are terrified. It’s not easy, with such awareness, being deceptive. Unless you are completely ruthless. That is effective evil. And it exists. It is a purity of self-interest.

Mutual interest does not just happen as a by-product of self-interest. Mutual interest strikes deep into the chest. It is undeniable. It is a function of awareness. And that, in my belief, is the mountain to whose heights we must aspire. Any other basis is petty and inevitably mean.

David and Goliath

A few of you English majors will roll your eyes at me for saying this, but I used to love reading fantasy books. Notice that, in acquiescence, I said books, not literature. Then again, I’m being disingenuous. Because I know at least one of you lit types likes fantasy, too. Your secret is safe.

Jackie’s primary complaint with fantasy is that everything is made up. Nothing is real. She found it difficult relating to fabricated worlds with their wildly absurd political systems, the over-the-top wicked or good characters, and fairies. We don’t have any fairies here.

My retort was always, “well, isn’t everything just made up here, too?” I never said it was a good retort. I was still a music major, yet to be bludgeoned to death by philosophy. At least I can take solace in knowing, that at least on some instinctual level, I was on the right track. I never managed to convince her to read any fantasy, though. Unless she sneaked it, guiltily hiding her newly found, unseemly habit from view. It wouldn’t surprise me. Her focus was Victorian Literature, after all.

I never realized when I first started reading fantasy that one of my favorite aspects was the mostly distinct separation between good and evil. Of course, a good person can get possessed by some demon temporarily, committing evil acts, but you knew they were really just a victim; a good person, who made a mistake, or things were out of their control. The heroes are often normal people who find themselves caught up in extraordinary circumstances that never appear extraordinary at the time. They usually have no intention of being a hero and even resist it. They cannot imagine themselves heroes. Nevertheless, some nugget of good within them eventually drives them to sacrifice everything; their vocation, their family life, and even their self-interested desire just to live a simple life. They sacrifice it all, to do what they know is right — to do what must be done, even though they are convinced of their own failure from the outset. This is what makes them a hero.

We are inundated with marketing, spin and double-speak. It’s no wonder we have difficulty distinguishing our heads from holes in the wall any more. I’d like to forget about the hole in the wall for a minute, and focus on your head. And heroes.

Heroes can be anyone, but they are not just anyone. Heroes are not manufactured. Most heroes never know fame. Heroes do not have to kill people, or be killed. But all heroes are willing, and often do, sacrifice or risk everything they have or hold dear, in order to do what is right. And often, doing what is right benefits others while not necessarily benefiting the hero.

All cultures I know have the concept of a hero, with much the same definition. Something deep within our nature causes us to revere heroes and gain inspiration from their example. However, it is important to keep in mind that simply having reverence for someone is not enough to make them a hero. Being inspired by someone does not make them a hero. It only means that you like them, and possibly admire what they stand for, and may even wish to shape your own life accordingly. But unless they meet the requirements of being self-sacrificial in the cause of ethical truth, they do not meet the standard of being called a hero.

Does McCain’s capture by an enemy, and his survival of the ordeal make him a hero? No. It makes him a victim, who survived to live another day. We can be inspired by the story. We can be inspired by McCain himself, as the victim who survived. Does his supposed refusal to accept an offer of freedom from this enemy, unless all the other prisoners are released, make him a hero? Possibly, weakly so. It could also make him an idiot, since he could have left the prison camp and reported back valuable intelligence to our military forces that might have brought a quicker end to his comrade’s plight. I see no heroic qualities in McCain lately, at least. Which makes me question much of this legend. I also see no heroic qualities in Obama, just to be fair.

If you are a businessman who makes an innovation and tons of money, and you make all your employees rich too, are you a hero? No. If you join the military are you a hero? No. If you kill a bunch of Iraqis or insurgents are you a hero? No. If you risk your life to save a comrade are you a hero? Yes. If you risk your life to save a member of the Taliban are you a hero? Yes. If you leave your home on a quest to truly help people in need without any particular gain for yourself, are you a hero? Yes. If you blow the whistle on your boss, despite any sense of loyalty, when they are committing an act of “evil”, and there is no other recourse? Yes. If you are a leader or politician who stands up for what is truly right, despite what it might do to your career, are you a hero? Yes.

In fantasy books, much like in life, a true hero never considers themselves to be one. It is that quality of personal disassociation that gives them the moral clarity to perform acts of heroism. They have stopped thinking about just themselves. In the end, they are not so much concerned with their own life as they are about their effect upon the world, and other people, by their actions. Nearly any selfless act taken in the name of the ethically true is an heroic act.

The tragedy is, most of our heroes carry out their monumentally important acts without any acknowledgment. It is even common that lesser people often clamor to take credit for these heroes’ sacrifices and accomplishments, when events turn out well. This may be a sad blow to a hero, but that’s okay. Because the hero knows that what was truly important, they accomplished.

This is the story of the unsung hero. It is the story of some rare and few people, who are really very much like ourselves. It may be the story of best possible thing we can do with our lives. I certainly think the world could benefit from a few more true heroes.

It certainly is not easy navigating this world we have concocted — this fantasy we live within. Yet every day we are presented with opportunities to become true heroes. It is a fundamental characteristic of heroes that they live, in a sense, outside the structures most people find themselves within. This is often what puts them at odds, or at risk. And they willingly, though sometimes hesitantly, take that step into risk, for the greater good of all. Imagine what a different world it might be if people were more willing to take that step; to become heroes. All these people, standing outside of things, in the terms they know to be truly right. Standing outside of things, but still very much within each other’s midst.

One might be tempted to ask, well, what is ethically right, and subsequently dismiss any greater potential, because any answer must be arbitary. But I don’t know if the answers are really so arbitrary. I’m not so certain we have no idea what is truly the ethically right thing. What I do know is that heroes often make excuses to delay their journey. They don’t believe they are heroes, and they do not want to be. Yet somehow, the true hero eventually takes that step. And even unsung, such acts are the stuff of legend.

- René Descartes

This was a clever Frenchman, born in the late 1500’s. René was a philosopher and a mathematician. In fact, he invented analytic geometry, or Cartesian geometry. For some reason, truth was important to René. He is also considered the founder of modern philosophy, creating a solid intellectual basis from which the natural sciences could evolve.

René believed we must throw out all ideas that cannot be reasonably proven. Often, he toyed with more abstract mathematics as an exercise to better understand truth. In doing so, he laid the foundations that led to Newton’s calculus. He is also the origin of the phrase, “I think, therefore I am.”

Unfortunately, that phrase is not exactly mathematical. But we’ll afford him some leeway. After all, he was bringing philosophy and mathematics together in new and exciting ways, and the “why am I?” question is an oldie but a goody. However, it does bring to light a certain difficulty that we still face today.

Modern philosophers know that “Cogito ergo sum” is not, actually, a very good proof. But René was hindered in large part by not taking his own advice: doubt, as far as possible, all things. René believed that our minds exist separately from the physical world, and as such, were not really subject to ontological considerations. He did not imagine that our consciousness might arise from the physical properties of our existence. So, in a way, he was putting the cart before the horse.

This is not surprising. The duality of mind and body was a concept solidified within the minds of his contemporaries. It was both a social given, and a spiritual “truth”. Interestingly, he did not believe animals had minds. Nor did they feel pain. This was well-reasoned. He often performed vivisections upon live animals to study them. I wonder how he held to his belief, as the animals cried out and struggled. Perhaps it is one of the powers of science, that allows us to carry on in our convictions despite contrary appearances. At least when our convictions are well-reasoned.

Chris and I have had some fun discussions lately, some of which are related to consciousness and existence. There is always something refreshing about returning our attention to origins. One thing is clear, we live in very different times than René, when Western civilization was taking its first steps toward the Age of Enlightenment. They were trying to make sense of the physical within a world of the spiritual, while we are left trying to find at least some room for the spirit in a world of mathematics.

How different we have become, even those of us who claim to lead “the simple life.” Our electricity flows to us through the equations of electromagnetism. Our shoes, ropes, jackets and food containers, formed by petrochemistry. Our money, an imaginary collection of computer memory addresses, modified by equations. Our minds, altered, repaired or enhanced through specific chemicals, electricity and physical modification. The machine work within the cells of our bodies, re-programmed and turned loose by conscious design. And the very fact that my words enter your mind now, a result of quantum positions within the subatomic…

Who needs a spirit any more? When the cells of my body that somehow comprise the mind that speaks to you, are not even real, but are instead a vibrating collection of particles that both exist and do not exist. And each of them, surrounded by a vast sea of empty space. Who needs a spirit, when I am mostly insubstantial already?

When mathematics has all the answers, what is the difference, if you maximize a ledger balance or not? What does it matter, the risk assessments in war? In the collection of particles, of dust, that we are, that move out with our will, which among them is the greatest? Which is the least? Which is me? When all things are functions to be weighed and solved, playing out from their own accord, what does anything truly matter?

This abstraction, with its dehumanizing characteristics, can be attributed to the inherently metaphysical status of mathematics. It brings us far up above ourselves, where we can look back down. It is a peculiar phenomenon. In science, phenomenology is making observations that lead to some conclusion that pays no attention to how we feel things should be, nor what they actually mean. Quite differently, in philosophy, phenomenology is, in a way, the search for a bridge that might somehow lead out from just yourself, to other people, ideas or things.

In philosophy we reached a crisis of sorts with the Existentialists, after our long passage through the the Age of Reason and the Age of Enlightenment. In a sense, it carries us through the processes of logic and mathematics, then plops us down squarely into meaninglessness. We can observe the processes of our world, but in doing so we must acknowledge that these observations originate from our bodies. However, our bodies and the senses we inhabit, are limited. We may construct machines that extend our senses well beyond their limitations, but only along the narrow lines we designate as extensions, i.e., vision or sound. The question arises, is the truth of truths constrained by our physically perceptual and rationally conceptual human limitations? Such a notion is extraordinarily prejudiced and leads us to consider the absurdity that lives at the foundation of science when it purports to be anything more than an art. Art, which merely hints at truths through the tools of its trade. And like all art, what is pleasing to our aesthetic we grant validity, meditation and devotion.

Mathematics exists within its own universe. It is self-referential — self-contained. It follows a logic more pristine than our human thoughts, nestled within the gross confines of language, can achieve. In mathematics, we can determine with certainty whether something is true or not, yet this truth is only valid within the universe of mathematics. If we choose to apply the universe of mathematics to the larger reality we inhabit, we do so only with risk. The bridge between the universe of mathematics and our universe of existence is a metaphysical bridge. In other words, an atom does not work out the equations of quantum mechanics to decide its next action. Nor can we pass laws in mathematics that force the physical universe to behave in different ways. We shape, and reshape our presumptions within the universe of mathematics in an effort to conform to the phenomena we observe within our own. And in doing so, we claim the prize: physics and metaphysics merge. This is the beauty we attribute with truth. However, philosophers, except for the exceedingly naïf ones, understand that truth need not be beautiful. In fact, truth does not, necessarily, require any aesthetic at all.

In this sense, the aesthetically pleasant merging of the physical and metaphysical universe through mathematics can, at best, be considered a metaphor for truth. This metaphor is constrained by the limitations of our senses. Although science can make predictions and often control our physical universe via its metaphysical tools, it is important to remember its more artistic basis when considering the truth of truths.

As we discover an aspect of our existence, even through science, it is often our first thought to re-shape that metaphorical truth toward something even more ideal. In effect, to “correct” a part of our existence within the physics we believe we inhabit. In other words, we may discover a truth, yet even though our understanding of this truth is incomplete, we might have within our minds an improvement upon this truth, which, through our metaphysical tools, we often seek to modify into an idealized state. This is a dangerous flaw inherent within the belief of science as truth: our incomplete understanding of truth often leads us to alter that truth toward an ideal, founded upon nothing but our own prejudices or desires. This is what leads us to consider the prospect of filtering out gay babies, since they will not procreate or will be evil. This is what leads us to ethnic cleansing, based upon a system of rationality. Or war. where millions can be killed based upon probabilities or the maximization of abstract numerics which we imbue with cultural power. Or pharmaceuticals that restrict our minds within the narrow bounds of some normalized function.

Unlike other art, a strongly absolute and literal validity is bestowed upon science. This is, perhaps, why science, like all art, is often under attack by social forces who are determined to instill their own ideas of truth. There is, perhaps, some characteristic of art that we innately recognize as a metaphor for truth. This can easily threaten ideologies based upon weak tautologies. Science, even more than other arts, can threaten as a result of the profound validity we bestow upon it.

However, this power comes at a price. Unlike other arts, science is incapable of critiquing itself. In other words, science cannot question the foundations of science, within the terms of science. In this sense, as a means of determining truth, science becomes, like mathematics, a universe unto itself, self-referential and solipsistic. As such, it lives in isolation as an abstract construction as all beliefs do. We imbue science with its power through a conscious act of attribution: a belief in its indisputable access to truth. To my mind, as beliefs go, this is better than most.

Interestingly, other arts do not suffer in cold isolation like science. Then again, other arts do not claim any absolutism within their basis. What gives science its power is the same force that isolates it from us: the notion of a purely objective and utterly rational universe, despite the limitations inherent within our humanity to fully experience it.

Caught within our consciousness, we seek that which is outside ourselves. Perhaps we desire to understand ourselves within the boundaries of our own perception. Perhaps we simply wish to feel less isolated. In this way, science and the mechanics of rationalism have led us to marvel at the outside world, drawing our attention to the menagerie of pseudo-objective materials that presumably comprise our existence, while simultaneously discounting the importance and highlighting the fallibility of our own subjective experience, and hence, the subjective experiences of others, even though we sense some inherent access to truth within our own subjectivity. Science can only approach this from the outside, and we doom ourselves to conform to its edicts. However, other arts are somewhat gentler. It is a characteristic of all art that we may discover bridges between what might exist within the world, that can span, at least in part, to our experience of individuality; and across those bridges find, perhaps, something truly meaningful. This is, in part, the philosophical meaning of phenomenology.

When we look at the processes of science, we find two primary symbols: theoretical terms and observational terms. “Good” science is generally defined by observational terms linked to correspondence rules into theoretical terms. That is, theoretical entities do not exist unless they can be shown, through correspondence rules, to be connected to observation. What makes science more of an art is the recent lack of distinction between theory and observation, which correspondence rules rely upon as a given. The result is, any disconcerting observations can always, eventually, be accommodated by any theory. Science chooses theories pragmatically: those which fit best with other theories blessed into general acceptance. Observation is no longer required. This is most certainly closer to art than any truth of truths. And as such, it is as close to the truth of truths as art.

The phenomenological philosopher at the outset finds themselves trapped in the isolation of Existentialists, much like science is trapped within its own objectively solipsistic universe. However, the phenomenological philosopher finds themselves in a somewhat different landscape. We suspend any disbelief in ourselves. We assume that we, as an individual, must exist, in one way or another. And in what others might consider a leap of faith, though there are some compelling arguments otherwise, we assume that other things also exist. Even sentient things. Like, and unlike ourselves. Each of us perceives the universe through our own subjective senses. I have no access to the truth of what you see, except through the objects of language and metaphor that we build and share, both within and outside of ourselves.

A phenomenological philosopher is very skeptical of anything claimed to be an absolute object of truth existing within the shared, intersubjective experience we inhabit. However, they are not ruled out. Nor is any object in the intersubjective world blessed into the objective, as a Truth, lightly. It is here that scientists fail as philosophers. They are hasty and reckless in their determinations, with flawed claims of an objective process that is, largely, metaphysical. However, as artists, and even tortured artists, scientists are magnificent. Most scientists will perceive this as a wild accusation.

But, like all artists, an engrossment within your work can lead to a dangerous myopia. It is also the signature of genius. Any passionate pursuit leads inevitably to the darkened beauty of egoism. It is an irony that, in the endless pursuit of the objective truth, the subjective ego should flourish and grow. “The holy egoism of genius,” the The Art of Noise sang.

It leaves me wondering, when you look into the eyes of another — a stranger — and something profound between you is shared and known, without any words, without any hints, that hits at the gut… Who among us is quick to attribute the experience to an equation? Who is quick to say, this is a spiritual exchange? What we do know, is that it is a phenomenon, experienced by us all. And the meaning is to be found within each of us.

It may seem I have focused on “dissing” scientists lately. The focus of my irritation is mainly limited to theoreticians who fancy themselves somewhat more than scientists, who overlap, stepping into other disciplines with flagrant disregard, without bothering to educate themselves first. In this, they commit the same transgressions they complain about. Actually, I admire their chutzpah, too.

Experimental scientists, on the other hand, rock. They are the blue collar grease monkeys that stick their fingers into the light sockets to find out what will happen. They get the job done. They are the detectives and the judges, having the final say about the theoretician’s abstract arguments, as well as their own. In general, they are a more humble lot, without necessarily being any less imaginative or knowledgeable than their theoretical counterparts. Of course, theorists, being who they are, would generally disagree. But that doesn’t matter.

There are some people who would argue that science has not improved our lives. It has. And it has done so because there are people curious about how everything around us works. We help them go about exploring their curiosity while simultaneously reaping the benefits. It is a good relationship. Unfortunately, that relationship is sometimes strained.

For example, Europe’s Large Hadron Collider has recently wandered into the mainstream’s attention. This is not altogether accidental — scientists realize their funding is largely dependent upon the goodwill of the masses. They have learned to improve their marketing skills, usually by exploiting the ever-hungry egos of theoreticians eager to be elevated to celebrity status. But in doing so, they have provided an excellent service, bringing many modern scientific questions to the attention of we lay people. It is unprecedented.

Unfortunately, being new to the multiplicity we throngs of monkeys represent, scientists appear to make a naïve assumption. That is, monkeys are reasonable. We are not. We are interested in those things which make us happy. We do not like things that make us unhappy. Reason makes scientists happy. But it does not, necessarily, make all the other monkeys happy. So, what to do? Well, let’s find some common ground. What makes everyone happy? It would be a very large orgy indeed, making everyone happy through sex and love. It would also be both impractical and messy. Perhaps the next best thing for we cute little hedonists? How about money?

The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is huge, and quite expensive. It is, in most ways, the most powerful and complex machine ever constructed, drawing upon a dizzying array of disciplines. The LHC employs thousands of people, bringing Europe once again into the forefront of high energy particle physics, and likely, physics in general. People desire to go where they will be free, and feel they have a chance at a good future. And for scientists, Europe has all the candy.

The question is, in terms of candy, how much did Europe have to pay for this massive influx of brain talent? The answer is, just about the same amount as the United States would have paid to build the Superconducting Supercollider (SSC), which would have been even more powerful and already in operation years ago. Unfortunately, it was too expensive for our tastes. Spread out over the construction time, the LHC has cost Europe approximately $1 billion per year to build. To put this in perspective, the United States is perfectly happy literally burning money on war at a rate that would build one SSC, or LHC, each and every month.

Instead, we paid just over one third the price tag for the SSC, creating the superconducting magnets, excavating over 20 miles of earth, and building the facilities in Texas. It cost us several billion dollars. However, instead of completing the project, we closed it down. The facility in Texas is now used instead as a training ground for military exercises in the “war on terror”. I can remember the day, so many years ago, when I learned the SSC was canceled. I was standing in the office of a government technology mogul at Battelle Memorial Institute, discussing a study I did on the effects the Internet would have on society; specifically government and industry. I was dumbfounded. I found it impossible understanding how Congress could cancel such an important project, particularly after spending so much money. The reasons were fascinating, and dispiriting.

England is experiencing similar debates right now concerning their financial contributions to the LHC. What I learned from the failure of the SSC is that the people making and influencing decisions are not altogether unreasoning. They make sense. However, they lack utterly any perspective that might allow them to see the oftentimes subtle, yet enormously revolutionary occurrences that inevitably spring from the pursuit of “pure science”.

Pure science is not, by definition, tied to any industry or money concern. It is the pursuit of knowledge, for the sake of knowledge. This is where all the good stuff happens. Discoveries are oftentimes unpredictable, and the consequences of those discoveries, surprising — and sometimes they are even revolutionary. As proof, most science laboratories have information systems in place that track unexpected results that can, later, be more fully explored. These systems are considered invaluable. Commercial laboratories often call these systems “Intellectual Property Management Systems”.

This represents the second reason scientists are marketing their research disciplines to the masses: it will hopefully educate the bureaucrats who determine the flow of funds. We see the debate this generates in action during a recent interview with Brain Cox, one of the newest science celebrities, on English television.

But, to our credit, the United States did go on to fund a large majority of the International Space Station. Anyone who watches the numerous astronaut interviews over the years cringes as the question inevitably arrives: “What benefit do we get out of the ISS?” At least, with each re-hash of the question, the public learns more. And in all honesty, it boils down to something very simple. The truly important stuff, we just don’t know. Yet. But maybe it’s worth finding out.

It’s natural to say, also, that money spent on colliers or space stations would be better spent feeding our poor, offering them medical services, or repairing our nation’s infrastructure. There is no ethical way to argue against that, reasonably. However, the issue is blurred when you consider that at least one-third, or possibly even one-half, of our country’s money is spent for war. Might it not be a worthy endeavor, drawing our attention toward the stars, or perhaps the inner workings of reality itself — in place of war? If we do, I suspect we might rediscover the better portions of our humanity that we seem to have misplaced.

I do speak of the hubris engendered by many theoreticians. It is hubris, imagining we can both understand and manipulate the components of reality. We may be mistaken. There may not even be components of reality to understand an manipulate, in the most fundamental sense. But I admire the theoreticians for trying, even when they do, so often, get caught within the trappings of more petty pursuits that may instead hinder scientific advancement. They are, after all, human, too.

I want to support science, for the pure sake of discovery and understanding. I want to learn from scientists, philosophers, poets, musicians, and even the consistently vexed clerk at the local 24-hour market. I don’t want to kill people. And I don’t want to be killed. I want to share what I’ve learned, too. I think, mostly, because it’s ours.

So this is what I hope, from our latest efforts, happening not within the shores of the United States. May we find things even more helpful than the observation of anti-matter annihilation within the substance of our bodies. May we find cures more useful than the directed streams of subatomic particle beams. May we find ourselves communicating even closer than quantum entanglement, through spooky actions at a distance. May we discover what gives us weight. May we learn to see new dimensions all around us. May we learn what binds us to the world. And, may we realize soon with certainty, that fundamentally we are, all of us, the same.

I know. There are issues in that. But in the interest of uniting around something besides death, how about we save taking on that problem for later. I’m inspired, Europa! Thank you.

And back at home, on our winding trails, one last thing. Good journeys to you, Mr. David Foster Wallace. Thank you, too.

But I don’t believe it. Silence is self-interested: doubt in oneself, and not wanting to be exposed. Or, maybe just walk around, not caring, unaffected, until something unavoidable or inescapable happens. Actually, the second is the most self-interested of all.

But I did hear from three people about the last piece I wrote called Price Check on Isle “P”. Actually four people. One person asked why I hadn’t considered the Green Party’s Cynthia McKinney’s candidacy for President. I have no good reason — and I’ll get into that later. The other three people told me that “Isle” was spelled “Aisle”.

Now, that’s an interesting thing to tell someone who writes poetry. My response to each was that an “aisle” wasn’t nearly as self-contained and isolated as it needed to be. My previous post, which wasn’t mailed out, was actually a poem called Pretend which happened to have “aisles”, and no “isles”. Those were narrow things, in supermarkets.  But Price Check on Isle “P” wasn’t a poem. And since it wasn’t a poem, I must have made a mistake, placing a big body of land surrounded by an ocean into the middle of a store. Well, I won’t concede. Because it was a big store - a huge store. So big, in fact, that it didn’t even need entrances or exits, because the curvature of the earth would just bring you back to your starting point before you managed to walk far enough.

Now, I know you scientists. You’re thinking, that’s just silly. Why not just say it’s a store that’s as big as the world? And that’s just nonsense, because we don’t have enough resources to build something like that. Imagine the lighting bill! Unfortunately, I can’t kidnap people, blindfold them, take them across bridges, and then set them loose. Hell, I can’t even build bridges. They’re already there. I can only jump up and down, yelling and pointing, wearing pinwheels and elephant ears. It’s a good job.

Not too unlike, except for being a little bit opposite, Plato and his republic. Plato believed poets should be banished because they promoted sloppy and dangerous unreason. Now, “unreason” is actually a word. That is, it is a proper word, blessed and sanctified by whatever committee blesses and sanctifies such things. It was the proper word to use there, to portray what I meant. But it would have been the proper word, even if it wasn’t a proper word. And I would have used it. And that’s some tension.

Philosophy and poetry make uneasy bedfellows, unless they’re rolling around in that bed in your head together. Philosophy wants to be clear, rigorous and inescapable. This requires words with little ambiguity. Poetry, on the other hand, has different ideas about what clarity is, and you can come and go as you please. And as for being rigorous, well, it depends on the mood.

But, uneasy or not, Poetry and Philosophy are bedfellows. Both are concerned with the most basic essence of the subjects they deal with, not just appearances or the presently accepted “how the way things are”. In the terms of Philosophy, Philosophy is concerned with more than just the epistemological and ontological. And from Poetry, I have yet to embrace all that might be seen.

It is very narrow and short sighted to believe that Philosophy is all about logic and reasoning, while poetry is all about feeling. Poetry can, and often does, delve into the heart of matters that lies beyond both emotion and reason. And the philosopher might ask, what can possibly exist that is beyond both emotion and reason? And that philosopher might find themselves smack in the headspace of a poet, while still being a philosopher. Which, of course, through logic, epistemology, ontology and a good splattering of aesthetics, might be just a chemical sea within our gray matter — devoid of the skepticism required by the limitations of our human sense, that seeks to know itself, through limited means. And then, well, we’re mostly just back to poetry.

And no, you scientists don’t know any better. Science is the epitome of hubris. Science believes that epistemological continuity is enough to reveal an ontology when they can make empiricism fit nice and snug. Unfortunately, they just can’t see, even if by some crazy chance they happen to be right, that it just loops right back into Philosophy, landing with a thud into metaphysics. It amazes me how many scientists fancy themselves philosophers just because they run around with calculators and rulers, and can go, “see! see!”. Their domain within philosophy is narrow indeed, but it is formidable. And of course, it can be spectacularly helpful.

It’s like this: philosophers can talk about love in great depth, just like poets (if they can get past the embarrassment of being associated with a cliché). Scientists can poke at pleasure centers in the brain, and fiddle with areas of memory that might contain people we know. Or other scientists, who some scientists consider only pseudo-scientists, whatever that is, might say that you feel love for a particular person because your father was always away from home working, and that person scratches their ass just like your father did.

Or, some people might spell tomato “tomatoe”. Either way, it’s a big yummy juicy red thing. Does it matter? Well, were you supposed to imagine walking around with squishy red phalanges in your sneakers? If you’re not, then it’s up you whether the tomatoe guy is an idiot. You’ve got the tomato in your head either way. And it’s hard to tell, if you correct their spelling, will they accept it, happily corrected, and be smarter? Or will they turn into an even null-er headed zombie, even less likely speak?

Most people wouldn’t bother considering that question. They’re too happy being more clever, even in silence. At least clever in spelling. But it’s a good question to consider: how do you help someone expand into something more, without making them feel like an idiot, or get all defensive and shut everything down? Well, philosophers usually just let the scientists have their delusions of grandeur, knowing that the grandeur to which they aspire will engulf them soon enough. However, scientists have an edge. They are motivated to learn more. That’s not a widely shared human characteristic.

Yet strangely, even despite ourselves, we all do learn more, and in wildly different ways. Maybe this has something to do with those zingy pleasure centers of the brain. It feels good, even learning, when it’s something we like. The hopeful bit for me is that all of us have been surprised, at one time or another, just how pleasurable something was, that we never imagined might be. And in that spirit, maybe hope yet exists for people, who might find a way to arise from the self-interested zombie null head that presently plagues us.

We are dominated by the literal and the empirical right now. And I just told you a lie.

We believe in the literal and empirical right now. The trouble is, the literal and the empirical are not standing on solid footing. If you start asking the questions, you find the answers quickly - and those answers are, there are always more questions. And after a while, you might stop asking why this or that things is blah blah blah, and you start asking, why am I believing this? Why am I doing this? Is this really who I am? Is this who I want to be? Skepticism is a step. But I’m talking deep, personal and all-encompassing skepticism. A friggin baptism in the reexamination of everything.

And suddenly, you find out that you’re not an economist after all. Or that politics is a spider web. And it’s okay for politics to be a spider web, even when it’s literally not — but that it’s NOT okay that politics is a spider web. And Santa doesn’t like to shop. And energy is abundant. And when everything just dissolves like that, and you manage to avoid medication, maybe you might find, if you need it, that being a philosopher or a poet is something that is still okay. And in all honesty, they’re not really uneasy bedfellows. They just seem that way, when you haven’t crawled into the covers yourself. But it’s true they are very marginalized in our society. And considering our society, that is not surprising.

OK. So now I have a dirty little secret to tell, after all this. It turns out that I did not, in fact, purposefully use “Isle” instead of “Aisle”. It happened on its own. It’s also the better choice, that wasn’t a choice. Which is also the greatest thing about love, squishy, sweet and cleansing as tomatoes. And really, all kinds of other nifty little doo-dads, buried right under our noses.

Now go work your calculators on that.

Zen masters, gurus and CEO’s all would say that’s bad: the past is weighty baggage from which you must find freedom. In their view, the past is not who you are, now. Others, of a more academic persuasion, claim that a past unexamined is a past that forever shapes your destiny, while you remain an unwitting participant. Once again, you’ll find me straddling the fence. Possibly because it feels good, but mostly because I can’t help it.

The town I grew up in has grown a lot, itself. Tim, a close friend from high school, left for the West Point Military Academy. I had a dream last night. It began where I first went to college, in Bellingham. Nils and Matt stood with me, looking up a deep green mountain. There were two paths up it. One was a street, the other a trail. We never decided.

I was then at a busy intersection, 5 lanes wide, in my home town, during rush hour, packed with cars. Tim and I were walking. He was pushing a bike. I saw my wallet, made of black leather, bulging thick with stuff, laying in the middle of the packed 5-lane road, cars zooming by, knocking it around. It had money, credit cards, identification, and was bloated with important receipts. I wanted to leave it and go on. Tim wouldn’t hear of it.

I thought I could walk out, and the cars might stop. Or, I could wait a very long time until some break might just happen, and I could safely retrieve it. Tim was always impatient, so I walked out. The cars never stopped or even slowed — they just swerved, treacherously. Tim stood out there with me. I forgot what I was doing, being amazed by the powerful flow sucking at my limbs from every side. He handed me my wallet. He told me I did good. And I thanked him.

When Tim left for West Point, I couldn’t follow. I gave him my saxophone to take with him. I got it back a few years later from his parents. He was off doing military things. I gave away my saxophone one other time, a few years later again, to Tabetha, an artist, who also had to move away.

But that wasn’t part of the dream. A path, still, has not been chosen. There are so many people, in so many cars. They swerve, get flats, gas up, and carry on. And in the rear view mirror, maybe a reflection when changing lanes. A signal to others, out of courtesy, during positioning.

This is rather more like smoke signals. Or heads on a totem. A chanting medicine man, uninvited yet undeniable. A message through the past, informing the present. In a dream.

Where today, lillies have bloomed, after thunder and rain. And the dog sits, panting, muddy-pawed, lapping at milk.