Three decades ago, Douglas Hofstadter wrote his immensely popular and Pulitzer Prize earning book: Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. I never read it, because neither the graphic designs of Escher nor the recursive fugues of Bach resonate with me. Now, after reading Hofstadter’s 2007 book, I Am a Strange Loop, I see that my narrow attitude deprived me of earlier exposure to the work of a remarkable mind (which makes me wonder how often negative and arbitrary judgments have so limited me). Hofstadter proves himself a creative philosopher, an incisive cognitive scientist, and a sensitive person who thinks deeply about our collective human experience.
His thesis in this recent book is that our conscious identity emerges as a consequence of the brain’s capacity to form representations of itself as an active entity in the world (an “I” or self). In this view other species have less developed selves because their capacity for encoding and categorizing experience is limited. But all creatures have selves to whatever extent their nervous systems can recognize and observe their own actions. In principle, a computer system could embody a self if it had sufficient symbolic power and motivational drive.
The concept fits well with my evolving understanding of how my thoughts, words, and actions emerge from a loosely connected group of emotional and cognitive influences. These mental currents arise within a complex nervous system that interacts closely with other beings and the world at large. In meditation it has become increasingly clear to me that these different parts of my mind compete for control, and no single one of them is definitively ‘me’. Yet I do have a sense of self.
Sometimes parts that I admire run things and feelings of satisfaction follow; other times lower influences take over and I feel ashamed. But somewhere behind all of my activities there is an observer who watches my life unfold. This watcher has only limited influence on my actions (though its efficacy as a director improves as I meditate more), and it views my behavior with a bit of detachment. It knows that it should neither get inflated by my better actions, nor be devastated by my flaws. It stands outside the fray, and does not get entangled in my emotions or evaluations.
If I understand correctly, that sense of a self watching a self is what Hofstadter considers the basis of consciousness. There is something deep, resonant, and reflective in this awareness, and it has been a great source of comfort for me to connect and identify with this fount of the soul.
Much could be written about the implications of this view. In particular, although describing the self as a kind of auto-referencing symbolic computer seems pretty materialistic and devoid of heart, in actual fact deep self observation is the surest path to the Sacred. It is the basis of mindfulness, and the key to awakening. Through each one of us the universe can open its eyes, look inward, and recognize its own miracle. All we need to do is quietly observe our experience, and divine awareness arises.
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Wonderingsoul at http://www.unattractivenavalgazing.blogspot.com
I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much lately Will.
Just wanted you to know that I am Reading and am interested in this post.
I am beginning to get to grips with the concept of “parts”… I can sort of see that we are not always ‘ruled’ by the same part… I’ve ought a book about mindfulness but it made me angry so I stopped reading. Having read your words here, I might give it another go. I like the way you explain it.
X
Posted at June 13, 2010 on 2:58pm.
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Will at http://willspirit.com
Wonderingsoul–
I’m curious as to what made you angry in the mindfulness book? Would it be too intrusive of me to ask? I like to hear different takes on things, and an angry reaction points to an interesting viewpoint on the matter.
I’ve found mindfulness to be very helpful in relieving me of a lot of guilt on the one hand, and a lot of frustration on the other. So many of the ‘mistakes’ for which I blame myself occurred seemingly in spite of my knowing better. Now I understand why it is that part of me can see the correct path even as I choose the wrong one.
An analogy I like for myself is that of a teacher in front of a classroom (maybe the one-room schoolhouse kind, where there are kids of all ages.) The teacher directs the class a little, but each student is an independent entity and sometimes the room devolves into chaos despite the teacher’s best intentions. My ‘watcher’ self is like the teacher contending with an unruly class. In this view, by the way, the ‘ego’ plays the role of a know-it-all adolescent who wants to run everything and even likes to pretend he’s both the teacher and the only kid in the class.
Extending the analogy, my watcher’s goal is not to gain total control (not possible) but to become a respected counselor that the other parts of my being will follow willingly. Then perhaps I can find freedom and effective action.
–Will
Posted at June 14, 2010 on 5:20pm.
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WonderingSoul at http://unattractivenavalgazing.blogspot.com/
Will,
I just wrote a really long reply (and then lost it) in which I rambled on saying that I didn’t find your question invasive at all but that I found it incredibly hard to answer; partly because of the sense of shame I feel and partly because I think I am afraid of writing something which will prove just how pathetic I really am.
Your analogy has really made me think, and again, I like the way in which YOU write about mindfulness… It doesn’t engender the same angry reaction that I have of I try to read about it.
I think the anger comes from hearing mindfulness as another voice (besides my own and possibly my parents’) screaming at me to ‘just get over it’. It feels like a big hand which sweeps away the pain in one dismissive flick of the wrist. It seems like just another way of saying, ‘Depression is a choice, something you can think yourself out of”.
I guess that’s what I hear. And, I (or, a part of me) KNOW(S) that is probably not the idea at all…
I liked.. no, LOVED… your schoolroom analogy and I’m glad that you are finding ways in which to perhaps ‘train’ your teacher/counsellor.
My teacher is, unfortunately, more of the ‘supply’ variety and i feels as though the others in the room are so profoundly disaffected and hopeless that they have only hatred and anger for wisdom. It’s almost as though those others were never showed a picture of how life could look, or if they were, they stopped believing in it a long time ago.
I’ve rambled again but you have given me a lot to think about.
WS
Posted at June 16, 2010 on 12:37pm.
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Will at http://willspirit.com
WonderingSoul–
I’ve many times been angered by someone saying, in effect, ‘just get over it.’ Such supposedly helpful comments brought up all sorts of guilt for me: was I choosing to be miserable? Eventually I started having days of actual freedom, and it became clear to me that no, I don’t like misery and I don’t put myself into it deliberately. Even now, comfortable as I am with many paths that lead me out of suffering, I still find myself trapped sometimes. But at least I now am sure that it is not a stubborn choice of mine to suffer. Sometimes I can find my way free (which doesn’t always mean I’m unburdened by sorrow, but at least I quit feeling despair), and sometimes not. Still, mindfulness and other meditation practices have definitely helped me find more peace than I ever previously enjoyed.
Thank you so much for commenting and conversing with me.
–Will
Posted at June 16, 2010 on 2:14pm.
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WonderingSoul at http://www.unattractivenavalgazing.blogspot.com
Dear Will,
It is a pleasure to converse with you and something I don’t often have the energy to do… Thank YOU for making me think… and you really have.
I think, when you talk about the idea that suffering is somehow a choice, that that is my worst fear. That in actual fact, when all’s said and done, I have chosen this depression and it is my choice to stay in it.
I’m terrified by that idea.
I’m so confused that I don’t trust myself or feel as though I know what is real and what isn’t. ‘Perhaps the depression isn’t even real’, I sometimes think. Then, times like now, I know it’s real and it’s painful and desperate and life sapping… but is it my fault? Is it a choice? I’m not sure.
Thank you again for making me think and for your response.
It’s good to hear your thoughts.
WS
Posted at June 18, 2010 on 3:29am.