The Self as Guest Star

The idea of the narrative of the self has been making a big comeback in psychology, apparently. Well, I don't know if I can call it a comeback; I honestly don't know if it ever left. But I've come across two article-essays in the past few days that have coincided with some thoughts I've had about the self-story, which is enough consilience for me to write about them.

When I was out for a run a few days ago [okay, that's one part of this story that I need to write more about], I had a sort of mini-epiphany, the sort that everyone has throughout the day but quickly looses as 'real' life gets in the way. We're all telling each other stories. All the time. And sometimes we tell other people stories about ourselves, to the point that we start to think those stories about ourselves ARE ourselves. I realize this isn't anything new or shocking. Just read any Buddhist text, or Stoic treatise, and you'll find this very same idea. But when you have the thought on your own, independent of a reading of those texts [haven't been on my recent reading list], it makes you take notice.

There's even one theory that the self it-self originated because of the stories we tell others about ourselves, and more importantly, about others. As social animals, it's vital to know what's going on in someone elses head. So we create a model of what that person must be like, based on certain assumptions about how they have acted in the past and how are acting now. Eventually, we start doing the same thing to our thoughts. We make our own narrative string about ourselves with Mr. Fles as the main character. And in the process, we make something out of nothing. In a way, the self is a spandrel [something that occurs not because it was intended, but because it's consequence of some other intention], a vestige of a skill we needed to live with other social organisms. I wish I could remember exactly where I read that [because God knows I didn't know up with that on my own!]. I think it had something to do with all the research about mirror that has come out in the past decade. But I digress.

Daniel Dennett, the freaking amazing philosopher who wrote Breaking the Spell, wrote a nice little piece about the self as an illusion in The Self as a Center of Narrative Gravity. He begins by explaining how the center of gravity in an object is an IDEA, not a THING. You can't point to a certain atom in an object and say 'That's where the center of gravity is.' Yes, the center of gravity is inherent in all materia, but it still has not physical locality. As Dennett explains:

This is a well-behaved concept in Newtonian physics. But a center of gravity is not an atom or a subatomic particle or any other physical item in the world. It has no mass; it has no color; it has no physical properties at all, except for spatio-temporal location. It is a fine example of what Hans Reichenbach would call an abstractum. It is a purely abstract object. It is, if you like , a theorist's fiction. It is not one of the real things in the universe in addition to the atoms. But it is a fiction that has nicely defined, well delineated and well behaved role within physics.

I hope you can see where I'm going with this. The self can be placed under the same category as an 'abstractum.' The self has no physical correlate. You can understand the complete workings of the brain and the entire nervous system, you can know all the neurochemicals, all the electrical activity, but still you cannot point out to me the location of the self. That is because the self isn't some grand unified homunculus in the body. There isn't some soul sitting behind the eyes, guiding everyone's actions. This is pretty old news. It goes back at least 2000 years to Siddhartha Gautama. And in neuroscience it's almost a cliche. The 'divided brain,' etc. And it's not just the brain that's divided: it's the self that eminates from that brain. Just read anything about Gazzaniga's split brain experiments and you'll quickly realize how little continuity there really is within the human mind. We're all just a hop, skip, and a jump away from schizophrenia.

So if it's all just a bunch of disparate parts, how the heck do we put it all together? With a story. A story that the brain tells itself in order to form some sort of coherent picture of the mind emerging from the brain so that the brain can understand the mind sufficiently to make predictions. And the best way the brain knows how to do that is to confabulate, to tell stories.

We all know we don't experience reality objectively [or at least one would hope]. No matter how much we pay attention, every experience we have will be colored by our past memories, present states, and future expectations. That's just a part of the human condition. And try as we may, we can't escape it. So basically, even if we know that the story that is our self is complete crap, there's really nothing we can do about it. I don't know if it's really possible to live without a narrative thread [I know I live with one right now, in fact, I've just started a new 'chapter' known as the summer after my freshman year of college {boring title, I know. But I'm working on it!}]. In which case, the only real option is to choose an empowering narrative and live it to the fullest. Realizing that it's just as real as Santa Claus, God, and the Easter Bunny. So be a warrior, a bum, or a victim. Though the last two may not be optimal for living a fulfilling life.

Funny how it ends up that way. Comforting though to realize that there's no point in trying too hard to follow a certain plot.

And on a random note, want to be absolutely certain that you'll never die? Just keep asking yourself, 'Am I dead now?' The answer will never be no!

If you want some more coherent / interesting readings on the self as narrative, check out this NY Times article on narrative psychology. This stuff is picking up some major steam in the mind community.

The Webs We Weave - An Old Story Realized Anew

Hm. Well. I don't know where to begin exactly. I haven't written anything in a while [make that blog cliché count number 1 billion]. But I feel the urge to write right now, so I guess I will.

I have a lot of things to talk about. And I could talk about them all at once [that is, after all, how they appear in my consciousness. I mean, I sometimes wish that my mind would just nicely segregate all my thoughts into different compartments, so that maybe I could focus on the task at hand. But it seems more like the mind works through montage and mixture. Which, to be honest, makes for a much more interesting time than any other solution].

So I'm sitting here cross-legged on a towel, typing on a labtop on a futon [not to be confused with a zabuton, nor to be confused with a zafu, which I would really like to get but don't currently have the money for because of a lack of a job [the lack of which I can thank to minimal effort on my part and maximal ignoring on the part of those that I would like to employ me]]. Typing words that will eventually be read [though it won't seem as if it's an eventuality to you, it'll just seem like something that's happening] by you.

So, here are some of the thoughts on my mind right now. I've been listening to a lot of Tool, APC [A Perfect Circle], and NIN [Nine Inch Nails]. In fact, I've discovered the wonder of mix tapes [where mix tapes, in our time, means coming up with different playlists]. I've even come up with one titled "Fight the Man." I'll give you a partial song list just in case you're interested [or interesting, in which case I wonder if you've already left]. Counting Bodies Like Sheep, Judith, and Pet by APC, The Hand that Feeds, Only, and Right Where It Belongs by NIN, and Opiate by Tool. A fun list of songs, if I ever saw one. I highly advise listening to them all together. They'll give you a giant dose of identity crisis and social consciensce shock, all in one listen. A good time had by all.

And listening to them, I have had a slight case of identity shock. Though I can't thank the songs for all of that [I do love music, but I don't put THAT much faith into it!]. A lot of it has to do with being in Chi again. As you may recall from my post about the greatness of being back in Chi here. Not suprisingly, this doesn't come without some drawbacks. Well, I wouldn't call them drawbacks, per se. Just sort of, I don't know, intrigues. Yes, that's a better word. One you don't hear nearly enough these days.

Let me explain. Now, if we weren't social animals [which I only wish about 10 tens every day, the other times I marvel at our sociability], then the social webs that we weave wouldn't really matter too much. One could go about ones day without thinking about anyone else, and more importantly, without thinking about what the other person is thinking. And even more importantly, without wondering about what the other person is thinking while you're not even in the vicinity of the other person. Makes your head hurt, doesn't it? Some scientists claim it's this sort of thing that caused our heads to swell to giant proportions. Don't diss gossip. It lead to the atomic bomb.

Anyway, being back in Chi leads to all those webs recrystallizing right in front of my eyes. And it's kind of scary. Because half of them I thought were severed. The other half I didn't even know existed. And the OTHER half [wait, does 3/2 = 1?] I seem to find missing. And yet they're all here or not here, without me making any effort.

And then I listen to my music about how the self is an illusion, and I realize it's true. And I feel free from the web that I have spun MYSELF, if only for a moment. I feel as if I could start anew. Just firebomb the heck out of all those webs and start over again, more consciously. Because let's be honest, half of those webs weren't woven by me. And the other half...

But the trick is that I don't have all that much control over the webs that other people have. Because even if I firebomb MY webs, the webs of other people are still quite sticky. And there's nothing wrong with that. Everyone has this really beautiful, colorful, multiphonic world going on inside their heads. Every person has their own webs, their own timelines. I can only see mine, I can only control mine, but that doesn't mean the other ones aren't there.

And it's moments like that where I wish I could build a time machine. Or just step out of time. Or maybe grow a pair of cajones and do something about all of this. Where I feel like shedding this skin and remaking a new identity. One that doesn't worry too much about this, and worries a little more about that. One who, well, is me. But better.

Yeah, this may sound all sorts of convaluted and sad. But it actually gives me some sort of game plan for this summer. Because, to quote John Mayer, 'I just found out there's no such thing as the real world. Just a lie you've got to rise above' [more on him in a later post]. I realized that really, life doesn't start later. It starts right now. The curtain isn't going to magically rise. It already has, on the day the mind first started drafting this particular drama.

Amazing stuff. Yet nothing new. Nothing is ever really new. New things only happen once every billion years. Everything else is just a reworking.

Here's to the reworking of this montage!

Namaste.

Home of Consciousness

I have to tell you, home is an amazing place. Amazing at bringing you back to where you were. To the point that you feel like you never left. But yet you don't seem to remember ever being here.

The cliches never end: You never return home. Home is where the heart is. You can take the home out of the boy but not the boy out of the home. So sure, I got most of those horribly wrong. But what can you do, right? I mean, horribly wrong is okay now. I'm home.

Add to that the summer, and this feeling couldn't get any ODDER. I mean, this is me, back at Chi. At my old crib. At my old desk. Thinking old thoughts. Going through old memories. This is almost priceless.

I don't know if I could bottle this feeling. I wonder if I could bottle this feeling. And sell it to those that are homesick. Because the homesickness is half worth the pain just to have this feeling. This feeling of being home. Among familiar faces. Among familiar friends. Among familiar places.

I read recently that primates are some of the only animals that willingly leave their home clan to move out and explore the world. Wolves don't do it. Parrots don't do it. I don't even think that dolphins do it. But we do. And maybe we're wrong on this one.

Sure, we can't grow without leaving home base. We stand no hope of moving beyond our limited thought of ourself. But there's just something so comforting about this place. Home

The nostalgia will probably lift.

Until then, thank you.

Namaste.

Hu-f'in-Zah!!!

Well, it's a little less than an hour until 4, and I'm already done all my [important] finals. How does it feel, you ask? Amazing! Like, I can't even begin to describe it. Sure, the adrenaline rush will pass in a few hours and I'll pass back into my everyday stuppor [now with MUCH less studying]. But for now I think I'll just bathe in this state of consciousness for a little bit. Aaaah.

I had my Discrete Math and O Chem finals today, and both were a lot easier than I thought they would / should be. I'm not going to complain though. I got out of both with an hour to spare, which isn't something that I normally manage. Assuming I didn't suck [which really isn't too big an assumption using the method of induction], I should be getting low to mid A's on both tests.

Ironically, though not too surprisingly, I think that my grade is going to be hurt most by my two lab classes this semester. I'll probably get some sort of a B in both of them. I'm hoping for an A in all my other classes. Who ever said that a scientist had to be practical... Oh, wait. Yeah... Never mind.

All I have left is funtastic fun time Cell Bio. And you know what they say about bio. Um, well, hm. It's not Chem?

I hope everyone has a beautifultastic day today. I'm going to be on celebrate mode for the next 48 hours!

Huzzah!

Namaste.

Brain Dump [Almost done freshman year]

Time for a mind dump. Literally, a giant dump of my mind onto this page. And this page eventually shifting to this blog. And this blog shifting to your eyes, your neurons, and eventually your brain.

Okay, nevermind. I don't want to go that stream of consciousness. I'm just not feeling that right now. But I do feel like freezing this moment in time. For no really good reason. This moment won't ultimately matter too much in the future. It won't matter that much in 24 hours when I'm [insert illegal state {of being} that I won't actually be in]. But maybe that's a good enough reason to write this. To remind myself not to take myself so seriously. Because God knows I could use a hearing of that every once in a while!

Anyway. I'm stressing because I have a Chem final and a Math final. Like usual, I'm more worried about the math final. It's not a 'math' math final. Nah, Discrete isn't like that. It's all about thinking and creativity. Something I'm not 100% good at in mathematics. Chemistry, sure. Writing, probably. Life in general, some of the time. In mathematics, well, er, nah. But luckily I have most of the material verbatim in my mind, so I don't have to be too creative. Unfortunately, I can't just spit out a formula. It doesn't work like that. But we'll see how it goes. Plus, it's ultimately only 20% of my final grade, so I can bomb it and still end up doing quite well. But let's just hope I don't bomb!

Then Chem. Right after Math. 3 hours each. Wham, bam, thank you, Registrar! Not really too worried about that one. For two main reasons (1) I've done well in the class the entire year, so for me to freak out on the final wouldn't really make any sort of sense (2) the final will most likely be curved [apparently it's one of the hardest subjects a lot of people take. I wouldn't say it's hard, just different. Once you get the difference, it's just a matter of a lot of memorization], so I don't have to do well, I just have to do better than everyone else. A horrible mentality to have, sure, but it's the truth. And the truth shall set you free.

So, that's it. I should be getting to bed soon. But I feel like there's so much more I should be studying. But maybe I already have all the info in my head. There's no scientific evidence proving that we can actually forget something: just that we can't always recall it on demand. So, here's to recalling on demand.

Oh, and in response to Brian's comment [hi Brian! I hope you're doing well! You're a lucky man for getting of that 'hell hole' early!], I wanted to clarify something about my Facebook habits. When I said that I spend 'the rest of the time' on Facebook, I didn't mean that literally. I'm not a Facebook addict that spends my every waking hour looking at people's profiles [nothing wrong with that either... different strokes for different folks!]. I go on there maybe 4 times a day to check status updates. But Brian's inspired me to cut back on that too. I shouldn't be so busy seeing how other people are living to miss out on living my own life. That just doesn't make too much sense!

Well, I should get back to studying now. Time to make sure that the Chem is still fresh in my overly swollen head [of hot air?].

Namaste!