(Or—a peek from the peak)
One of the passages in Daniel Dennett's From Bacteria to Bach and Back
in which he comes really really close to cracking the code of
reality—or perhaps closer to blowing your mind away into
smithermemes... The passage in question is found in the chapter
"Consciousness as an Evolved User-Illusion".
Its title is unpromising,
"How do human brains achieve 'global' comprehension using 'local' competences?"
...
but the going gets really good with the epigraphs—especially when the
epigraphs get glossed and riffed in the text itself. The trip goes from a
bon mot to a reflexive hall of mirrors in the funhouse of your
brain, so... brace your self for a dive ride into your own mind, and
other minds as well:
Language was given to men so that they could conceal their thoughts.
—Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand
Language, like consciousness, only arises from the need, the necessity, of intercourse with others.
—Karl Marx
Consciousness generally has only been developed under the pressure of the necessity for communication.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
There
is no General Leslie Groves to organize and command the termites in a
termite colony, and there is no General Leslie Groves to organize and
command the even more clueless neurons in a human brain. How can human
comprehension be composed of the activities of unncomprehending neurons?
In addition to all the free-floating rationales that explain our many
structures, habits, and other features, there are the anchored reasons
we represent to ourselves and others. These reasons are themselves things for
us, denizens of our manifest image alongside the trees and clouds and
doors and cups and voices and words and promises that make up our
ontology. We can do things with these reasons—challenge, reframe,
abandon, endorse, disavow them—and these often covert behaviors would
not be in our repertoires if we hadn't downloaded all the apps of
language into our necktops. In short, we can think about these reasons,
good and bad, and this permits them to influence our overt behaviors in
ways unknown in other organisms.
The
piping plover's distraction display or broken-wing dance gives the fox a
reason to alter its course and approach her, but not by getting it to
trust her. She may modulate her thrashing to hold the fox's attention,
but the control of this modulation does not require her to have more
than a rudimentary "appreciation" of the fox's mental state. The fox,
meanwhile, need have no more comprehension of just why it embarks on its
quest instead of continuing to reconnoiter the are. We, likewise, can
perform many quite adroit and retrospectively justifiable actions
with only a vague conception of what we are up to, a conception often
swiftly sharpened in hindsight by the self- attribution of reasons. It's
this last step that is ours alone.
Our
habits of self-justification (self-appreciation, self-exoneration,
self-consolation, self-glorification, etc.) are ways of behaving (ways
of thinking) that we acquire in the course of filling our heads
with culture-borne memes, including, importantly, the habits of
self-reproach and self-criticism. Thus we learn to plan ahead, to use
the practice of reason-venturing and reason-criticizing to presolve some
of life's problems, by talking them over with others and with
ourselves. And not just talking them over—imagining them, trying out
variations in our minds, and looking for flaws. We are not just
Popperian but Gregorian creatures (see chapter 5), using thinking tools
to design our own future acts. No other animal does that.
Our
ability to do this kind of thinking is not accomplished by any
dedicated brain structure not found in other animals. There is no
"explainer-nucleus" for instance. Our thinking is enabled by the
installation of a virtual machine made of virtual machines made of
virtual machines. The goal of delineating and explaning this stack of
competences via bottom-up neuroscience alone (without the help of cognitive neuroscience)
is as remote as the goal of delineating and explaining the collection
of apps on your smartphone by a bottom-up deciphering of its hardware
circuit design and the bit-strings in memory without taking a peek at
the user interface. The user interface of an app exists in order to make
the competence accessible to users—people—who can't know, and don't
need to know, the intricate details of how it works. The user-illusions
of all the apps stored in our brains exist for the same reason: they make our competences (somewhat) accessible to users—other people—
who can't know, and don't need to know, the intricate details. And then
we get to use them ourselves, under roughly the same conditions, as
guests in our own brains.
There
might be some other evolutionary path—genetic, not cultural—to a
somewhat similar user-illusion in other animals, but I have not been
able to conceive of one in convincing detail, and according to the
arguments advanced by the ethologist and roboticist David McFarland
(1989), "Communication is the only behavior that requires an organism to
self-monitor its own control system." Organisms can very effectively
control themselves by a collection of competing but "myopic" task
controllers, each activated by a condition (hunger or some other need,
sensed opportunity, built-in priority ranking, and so on). When a
controller's condition outweighs the conditions of the currently active
task controller, it interrupts it and takes charge temporarily. (The
"pandemonium model" by Oliver Selfridge [1959] is the ancestor of many
later models). Goals are represented only tacitly, in the feedback loops
that guide each task controller, but without any global or higher level
representation. Evolution will tend to optimize the interrupt dynamics
of these modules, and nobody's the wiser. That is, there doesn't have to
be anybody home to be wiser!
Communication,
McFarland claims, is the behavioral innovation which changes all that.
Communication requires a central clearing house of sorts in order to
buffer the organism from revealing too much about its current state to
competitive organisms. As Dawkins and Krebs (1978) showed, in order to
understand the evolution of communication we need to see it as grounded
in manipulation rather than as purely cooperative behavior. An organisms
that has no poker face, that "communicates state" directly to all
hearers, is a sitting duck, and will soon be extinct (von Neumann and
Morgenstern 1944). What must evolve to prevent this exposure is a
private, proprietary communication-control buffer that creates
opportunities for guided deception—and, coincidentally,
opportunities for self-deception (Trivers 1985)—by creating, for the
first time in the evolution of nervous systems, explicit and more
globally accessible representations of its current state,
representations that are detachable from the tasks they represent, so
that deceptive behaviours can be formulated and controlled without
interfering with the control of other behaviors.
It is important to realize that by communication, McFarland does not mean specifically linguistic communication (which is ours alone) but strategic communication,
which opens the crucial space between one's actual goals and intentions
and the goals and intentions one attempts to communicate to an
audience. There is no doubt that many species are genetically equipped
with relatively simple communication behaviors (Hauser 1996), such as
stotting, alarm calls, and territorial markings and defense.
Stereotypical deception, such as bluffing in an aggressive encounter, is
common, but a more productive and versatile talent for deception
requires MaFarland's private workspace. For a century and more
philosophers have stressed the "privacy" of our inner thoughts, but
seldom have they bothered to ask which this is such a good design
feature. (An occupational blindness of many philosophers: taking the
manifest image as simply given and never asking what it might have been given to us for).
*
I
have silently corrected a typo, or spello, substituting "peek" for
"peak". Perhaps I shoudn't have—topsight makes a new height here.