• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1685 0

oddly enough, I have been arguing, as does etymology, that the more magnanimous one is, the greater one’s self or soul is, not the smaller! So I would say that those who strike us as self-less are in fact very soul-full — that is, they house many other souls inside their own skulls/brains/minds/souls — and I don’t think this sharing of mind-space diminishes their central core but enlarges and enriches it. As Walt Whitman put it in his poem “Song of Myself ”, “I am large, I contain multitudes.” All this richness is a consequence of the fact that at some point in the dim past, the generic human brain surpassed a critical threshold of flexibility and became quasi-universal, able to internalize the abstract essences of other human brains. It is something to marvel at.

One day, as I was trying to figure out where I personally draw the line for applying the word “conscious” (even though of course there’s no sharp cutoff), it occurred to me that the most crucial factor was whether or not the entity in question could be said to have some notion, perhaps only very primitive, of “friend”, a friend being someone you care about and who cares about you. It seems clear that human babies acquire the rudiments of this notion pretty early on, and it also seems clear that some kinds of animals — mostly but not only mammals — have a pretty well-developed sense of the “friend” concept.

It’s clear that dogs feel that certain humans and dogs are their friends, and possibly also a few other animals. I won’t try to enumerate which types of animals seem capable of acquiring the “friend” notion because it’s blurry and because you can run down a mental list just as easily I can. But the more I think about this, the righter it feels to me. And so I find myself led to the unexpected conclusion that what seems to be the epitome of selfhood — a sense of “I” — is in reality brought into being if and only if along with that self there is a sense of other selves with whom one has bonds of affection. In short, only when generosity is born is an ego born.

How different this is from the view held by the majorityof philosophers of mind about the nature of consciousness! That view is that consciousness is the consequence of having so-called qualia, the supposedly primordial experiences (such as the retinal buzz made by the color purple, the sound of middle C, or the taste of Cabernet Sauvignon) out of which all “higher” experiences are built in bottom-up fashion. My view, in contrast, posits a high abstraction as the threshold at which consciousness starts to emerge from the gloom. Mosquitoes may “experience” the quale of the taste of blood, but they are unconscious of that quale, in just the way that toilets respond to but are totally unconscious of the various qualia of different water levels. Now if mosquitoes only had big enough brains to allow them to have friends, then they could be conscious of that great taste! Alas, the poor small-brained mosquitoes are constitutionally deprived of that chance.

But our glory as human beings is that, thanks to being beings with brains complicated enough to allow us to have friends and to feel love, we get the bonus of experiencing the vast world around us, which is to say, we get consciousness. Not a bad deal at all.

EPILOGUE

The Quandary

Not a Tall!

IN THE foregoing four-and-twenty chapters, I have given my best shot at saying what an “I” is, which means, perforce, that I have also done my best at saying what a self, a soul, an inner light, a first-person viewpoint, interiority, intentionality, and consciousness are. A tall order, to be sure, but I hope not a tall tale. To some readers, however, my story may still seem to be a tall — a terribly tall — a too-tall — tale. With such readers I sincerely sympathize, for I concede that there still are troubling issues.

The key problem is, it seems to me, that when we try to understand what we are, we humans are doomed, as spiritual creatures in a universe of mere stuff, to eternal puzzlement about our nature. I vividly remember how, as a teen-ager reading