The conscious "you" isn't your self any more than unconscious parts are

The good news keeps on coming from my reading of Robert Kurzban's book Why Everyone (Else) is a Hypocrite: Evolution and the Modular Mind. 

In my previous post I talked about how Kurzban persuasively argues that the modular view of mind shows that there isn't a singular "I" inside our cranium, just a multitude of "We's." This makes our human nature hugely more interesting than if each of us were a single entity. 

As the poet Walt Whitman said:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Most of us try so hard to be consistent, dependable, trustworthy. But rarely (except for crazy people like those who visit this blog) do humans dive deeply into the question, Who, exactly, is the "I" that can be consistent, contradictory, or possess any other quality?

Usually it simply is assumed that the conscious being who seems to reside somewhere behind the eyes and in front of the back of our head, and who can speak so confidently about how "I did this," "I believe that," "I feel good," and other self-related declarative utterances is the CEO in charge of the brain's goings-on.

That assumption is called into question not only by ancient Buddhism, but by modern neuroscience. There are many ways to view the nonexistence of the self, some spiritual and some scientific. Kurzban, a psychologist, approaches the self, or lack thereof, from the standpoint of science.

He starts off his Who is "I"? chapter with a reference to a Disney attraction that I'd never heard of before, probably because I've never visited Florida's Disney World, just California's Disney Land.

Kurzban said that he used to work at Disney World's Cranium Command. The attraction premiered in 1989 and closed in 2007. The basic notion is described by Kurzban:

Cranium Command is based on the whimsical idea that inside each person's head is a little person called a Cranium Commando, a specially trained brain pilot who sits at a control center and directs the action of the person whose brain it is.

In the preshow, the (literally) animated General Knowledge tells us that someone at HQ has assigned our hero, Buzzy, a small -- even by Cranium Command standards -- pilot, the job of operating "the most unstable craft in the fleet": a twelve-year-old boy. This particular craft is called Bobby.

In the rest of the chapter Kurzban describes how Cranium Command gets some things right, and some things wrong. Bobby is shown going to the principal's office and admitting that he started a food fight.

But the audience is given the very strong sense that it was Buzzy -- after consulting with both the left and right hemispheres [of the brain] -- who made the decision to tell the truth. In this way Cranium Command gets at the idea that there must be lots of modular systems -- functional parts of the mind -- that are not accessible to consciousness. 

So, if we understand Buzzy to be a modular system -- rather than a whole brain -- he's not unlike the systems that we visited earlier, making decisions that are not available to consciousness. "Bobby" -- whatever you take that to mean -- can't talk about how Buzzy made his decision because of the way Bobby works.

This illustrates an important point about the relationship between modularity and consciousness. Let me put it like this: The way that "Bobby"-- whatever that might mean -- doesn't seem to know exactly how he decided to confess to the principal is basically the same way that split-brain patients can't say why they pointed to a shovel -- the part of the brain that's doing the talking just doesn't have access to the relevant information. 

The final section of the chapter addresses head-on the question, So who are "I"?

If everything I've said to this point is right, your brain, which consists of a large number of modules, has some modules that are conscious, and many, many more that are not. Many of the ones that are nonconscious are potentially very important, processing information about the sensory world, making decisions about action, and so on.

If that's right, it seems funny to refer to any particular module or set of modules as more "you" than any other set. Modules have functions, and they do their jobs, and they interact with other modules in your head. There's no Buzzy in there, no little brain running the show, just different bits with different roles to play.

What I take from this -- and I know that not everyone will agree -- is that talking about the "self" is problematic. Which bits, which modules, get to be called "me?" Why some but not others? Should we take the conscious ones to be special in some way? If so, why?

If you do think there's a sense in which there's a "self" in your head somewhere, that's OK, but it seems to me that at minimum it's clear it can't be Buzzy or anything like him. It can't be a little person in your head seeing what "you" see, hearing what "you" hear, and making the decisions "for" you. 

If there's a "self," it has to be some part or parts of your brain, because that's all we have to work with... In the end, if it's true that your brain consists of many, many little modules with various functions, and if only a small number of them are conscious, then there might not be any particular reason to consider some of them to be "you" or "really you" or your "self" or maybe anything else particularly special.

Comments

[umami]

swami umami: "When is a door not a door? When it's ajar."

[William J]

Hey swami
Seeing the zen master on the other side of a raging torrent, a student waved his arms and shouted out, "Master, master, how do I get to the other side?"

The master smiled and said, "You are on the other side."

Regards,

[Ron E.]

“Most of us try so hard to be consistent, dependable, trustworthy. But rarely (except for crazy people like those who visit this blog) do humans dive deeply into the question, Who, exactly, is the "I" that can be consistent, contradictory, or possess any other quality?”

***

I’m not sure if we need modules to explain mind or self. The mind, as mental data, does seem to have free reign to zap around the brain’s networking, presenting from its store of information the various reactions needed to keep us well and safe. And yes, we are not aware of them until after the particular response where they may manifest as thoughts.

The self is apparently is always changing and modifying itself according to the situation. It responds differently depending on the social or cultural circumstances, but always able to draw upon previously held experiences whether for example we are responding to a child, a friend or our boss. Are these different modules (selves) or just tried and tested behaviours and responses that are always available through the brain’s network of neurons and synapses and not located as ‘modules’ (albeit mental ones)?

I tend to view the self as a product of mind (modular or not I don’t know) seeing as the self is comprised of all the information that tells me that what I call myself is definitely – ‘me’. After all, with-out relating this organism to all that it has ever experienced there is no basis to infer a mental construct called ‘me’.

With regard to inquiring into the ‘self’, to our identity – why are some folks interested in this? With me, it has always been a part of my inquiry into who (or what) am I. Perhaps it’s a continuation of childhood inquisitiveness. But I would say that if such an inquiry stems from querying one’s life, purpose or meaning, the realisation of not self can be a slow accumulative process.

To be to be told that the self does not exist or even to wonder about it, can be a bit of a shock, hard to adjust to. All sorts of objections can emerge from religious to plain old common sense. But, on serious, honest investigation (whatever form that takes), accepting or seeing this may need some time to be assimilated.