Sunday 27 January 2013
Most people still think that there is a little man in our heads, the conscious 'me', steering the meat autonoma of the body. They also still believe, as is our tradition to think, that this little man looks out of windows called the eyes. This is certainly what it feels like. But though the eyes detect input, it is the brain that paints us a picture of what it guesses is there. None of what we see is real.
Saturday 26 January 2013
Thursday 24 January 2013
Consciousness, abortion
"Opponents of abortion may see the decline in every form of violence but the killing of foetuses as a stunning case of moral hypocrisy. But there is another explanation for the discrepancy. Modern sensibilities have increasingly conceived moral worth in terms of consciousness, particularly the ability to suffer and flourish, and have identified consciousness with the activity of the brain. The change is a part of the turning away from religion and custom and toward science and secular philosophy as a source of moral illumination. Just as the legally recognised end of life is now defined by the cessation of brain activity rather than the cessation of a heartbeat, the beginning of life is sensed to depend on the first stirrings of consciousness in the foetus. The current understanding of the neural basis of consciousness ties it to reverberating neural activity between the thalamus and the cerebral cortex, which begins at around twenty six weeks of gestational age. More to the point, people conceive of foetuses as less than fully conscious; the psychologists Heather Gray, Kurt Gray and Daniel Wegner have shown that people think of foetuses as more capable of experience than robots or corpses, but less capable than animals, babies, children and adults. The vast majority of abortions are carried out well before the milestone of having a functioning brain, and thus are safely conceptualised, according to this understanding of the worth of human life, as fundamentally different from infanticide and other forms of violence."
Stephen Pinker
Stephen Pinker
More Struggles...
It is sometimes said that the upper class and working class have certain commonalities. Since the demise of heavy industry, the closure of the shipyards and the mines, some say there is no longer a working class. This is kind of true but it leaves the people still there, even if they deserve a different name. Poor communities continue, just lost of class identity. These commonalities were stronger when there was real working class identity, and it was the self assurance, the awareness of ones lot that was the common feature. That and the resultant modesty. The upper class see themselves as custodians, temporarily at the helm, hoping to leave things as good as if not better than when they arrived. The working class too were custodians, of craft skills, often passed on from father to son. These days, the lower classes have lost identity. It really isn't money that matters. Purpose and security in ones identity are more steady posts to cling to. Traditionally the middle class were the ones who were unsure of where they stood. Essentially a transitional class. People on the move. Climbing some imaginary ladder of social mobility. They still look sideways to see who drives what, who wears what and seek social reassurance through the vanity of small differences. The workplace arena is where these little signals are sent and recieved. Offices, colleges, schools, all theatres of social standing.
The upper class respect qualities like self depracation, understatement. These are strong in working class culture too. Bragging is frowned upon. It is easy to come across as being above ones station. Showing off, being indulgent in ones abilities. It is up to others to say you are good. Sadly, this working class modesty plays out poorly in the bigger world. At job interviews, university place interviews, seeking awards, advertising ones worth, ones business, all require self promotion. A quality both the lower and upper class regard as bragging, boastful, a little crass. Perhaps it has always been so but from my experiences of interviewing young people hoping to become students, it is class, not ability that gets them through the door. The lecturing staff are mostly middle class and stand as gate keepers to this promised land. It is through judging which concepts the prospective students understand, these are mostly heald in language, that entry is gained, not through ability. In recent years the trapdoor has all but closed for the poor. With the increased tuition fees hardly any without parental wealth gets in. It should also be understood that the lower class have no social connections that can enable them to financially develope outside of the family unit. I recall socially minded lecturers telling me that one could begin a business making things for family and friends. Nearly all successful designer makers are from above average socio economic group. Some build businesses through their social connections through family and friends in middle class communities. Others speak the language essential to operate in the middle class gallery and funded commission arena. It is impossible to express how impregnable this fortress is to lower class people. There are, of course, exceptions to this but on the whole ones chance of success in the field is predetermined. Through the painstaking application for public commissions, awards, bursaries etc it is possible to get through but those who manage this route exist in single digit numbers. I also feel that this is not real success. It is not built on any societal or community relevance. The furniture designer maker ought to be as useful and valued a member of society as a mechanic, fixing the neighbourhood cars, known and 'good morninged' by the community. A healthy member of the private sector. The artist craftsman, surviving on government commissions may exist in times of abundance and left leaning governance but, increasingly, market forces will shape business patterns.
The Weeks Sruggles continued
....so carrying those thoughts I go to work. Making four single beds at present in ash and yew as part of the ongoing set. The hobbyist knows the pleasure of losing oneself, the flow, abandoning self consciousness, the zen state, whatever you want to call it. What they may no less of is the sheer space to think one has in a physical craft occupation. It is really only when an activity is right at the peak of ones ability that you get that loss of self that sees no awareness of ones worries. An off road cyclist may get it speeding down hill, avoiding sudden obstacles, no time to contemplate, but back on the empty road the thoughts return. You get a lot of time to think as a maker.
Fred invited me over so, in a bid to shake off Bigley and Armstrongs ghosts, and to free my head of the spiritualists nasty prayers, I drove over to Pewsey. I know the route deeply. I drove over every day to work there but a dozen years have passed since then. Icicles clung to bridges, snow covered fields. That first rush you get from a snow fall relieves after a few days and the bright, dulled lack of colour pervades.
In the workshop there he was glueing up with a new apprentice. Fred always has some youth around. He must have helped many in to that creative world, as he did me. I noticed off cuts, saved from the woodbin, atop his tool cabinet, from some chairs we made together. New jigs and parts. Models of fresh ideas in the pipeline. Josh took me upstairs to see his experiments. A student on Gareth's course last year, he is helping Fred, and himself there for a while. Fred's pattern makers chest of drawers was there. I've seen it in photographs many times but never in the flesh. He's got it back for a while after it appeared in his retrospective at the crafts study centre. Fantastic grey machine, Fred Baier 1975 in metal lettering on its top surface. Loads of memories of working there. He retains a belief in something that has faded in me. But I admire him for that. When I get started on some mad cap piece I usually have a day where common sense prevails and I have to admit the idea may be misguided. It is retaining the faith in the mad idea and continuing the idea till fruition that separates him. Gareth has this too. Now teaching three days a week in brighton he is finding commissions in London that the small band of fashionable London designers are asked to submit ideas for. Great to see Lucy, great to see matt. Nothing much is different, still a beautiful world they operate in.
Driving back the snow began to fall. Traffic experimented with differing techniques to overcome it. Lucky to get home safe.
I saw some programme about young poor lads trying to get on in the world. One went to Bournemouth college. His accent was all wrong. I know well meaning, kind people who are oblivious to the class language barrier. This one lad was like a chinaman in London, mean but without the language nor the keys. In introductory lecture told prospective tudents how much it would cost. How they could borrow from their parents. It is a pretty impregnable world if you don't know the rules. I can't help but see this. It is no level playing field. I try not to go on about class, and it isn't everyone, but there is something that disgusts me in those who seek separation. By the vanity of small differences they find vindication of their superiority. Move away. Above. Don't let your kids play there. Here, in frome,everyone is pretty posh so the issue rarely comes up. There is one woman mind, who I just can't figure. Some days she smiles, some days looks down at me. What are your rules, middle class lady, tell me then I will know. Those lower middle class, who's self definition comes through separation from those they see as their past, or as below them, are beyond my disgust.
But it isn't to say that there is working class harmony. I go home and am seen as above my station. "what's up with you?" they say, "swallowed a dictionary?" the assumption that any success is arrogance. The deliberate stupidity. The determination not to learn. Some people watch too many of those romanticised films about northern loyalty, the full monty etc. truth is, it's pretty crap having no money. Your friends hate you if you become successful, they take it as an affront to there way of life. It's better scavenging from the middle class table than scrabbling about in the bins. They call me a yuppie back home, just because I work..The working class can be bad too.
Things are ok at the moment. Plenty of work. Currently no need to go back to teaching. One day a week is the most you can do if you want to make seriously.
Fred invited me over so, in a bid to shake off Bigley and Armstrongs ghosts, and to free my head of the spiritualists nasty prayers, I drove over to Pewsey. I know the route deeply. I drove over every day to work there but a dozen years have passed since then. Icicles clung to bridges, snow covered fields. That first rush you get from a snow fall relieves after a few days and the bright, dulled lack of colour pervades.
In the workshop there he was glueing up with a new apprentice. Fred always has some youth around. He must have helped many in to that creative world, as he did me. I noticed off cuts, saved from the woodbin, atop his tool cabinet, from some chairs we made together. New jigs and parts. Models of fresh ideas in the pipeline. Josh took me upstairs to see his experiments. A student on Gareth's course last year, he is helping Fred, and himself there for a while. Fred's pattern makers chest of drawers was there. I've seen it in photographs many times but never in the flesh. He's got it back for a while after it appeared in his retrospective at the crafts study centre. Fantastic grey machine, Fred Baier 1975 in metal lettering on its top surface. Loads of memories of working there. He retains a belief in something that has faded in me. But I admire him for that. When I get started on some mad cap piece I usually have a day where common sense prevails and I have to admit the idea may be misguided. It is retaining the faith in the mad idea and continuing the idea till fruition that separates him. Gareth has this too. Now teaching three days a week in brighton he is finding commissions in London that the small band of fashionable London designers are asked to submit ideas for. Great to see Lucy, great to see matt. Nothing much is different, still a beautiful world they operate in.
Driving back the snow began to fall. Traffic experimented with differing techniques to overcome it. Lucky to get home safe.
I saw some programme about young poor lads trying to get on in the world. One went to Bournemouth college. His accent was all wrong. I know well meaning, kind people who are oblivious to the class language barrier. This one lad was like a chinaman in London, mean but without the language nor the keys. In introductory lecture told prospective tudents how much it would cost. How they could borrow from their parents. It is a pretty impregnable world if you don't know the rules. I can't help but see this. It is no level playing field. I try not to go on about class, and it isn't everyone, but there is something that disgusts me in those who seek separation. By the vanity of small differences they find vindication of their superiority. Move away. Above. Don't let your kids play there. Here, in frome,everyone is pretty posh so the issue rarely comes up. There is one woman mind, who I just can't figure. Some days she smiles, some days looks down at me. What are your rules, middle class lady, tell me then I will know. Those lower middle class, who's self definition comes through separation from those they see as their past, or as below them, are beyond my disgust.
But it isn't to say that there is working class harmony. I go home and am seen as above my station. "what's up with you?" they say, "swallowed a dictionary?" the assumption that any success is arrogance. The deliberate stupidity. The determination not to learn. Some people watch too many of those romanticised films about northern loyalty, the full monty etc. truth is, it's pretty crap having no money. Your friends hate you if you become successful, they take it as an affront to there way of life. It's better scavenging from the middle class table than scrabbling about in the bins. They call me a yuppie back home, just because I work..The working class can be bad too.
Things are ok at the moment. Plenty of work. Currently no need to go back to teaching. One day a week is the most you can do if you want to make seriously.
This Weeks Stuggles
With enough hang ups and shoulder chips, one can find a fight anywhere. I remember hearing 80s football thugs saying this, " we don't go looking for trouble, but if it comes our way, what are we supposed to do? You have to defend yourself, don't you?" This last week has been full of strife. To fill in the background, I came in off a weekend of abuse from online religious nutters, insensed by something promoting the scientific method I had posted on some forum. We were discussing the Algerian hostage crisis. Some Islamic extremists had killed 40 odd people and died themselves attempting to force new religious governance. This reminded me of the hostages ken bigley and Eugene Armstrong, taken hostage by Islamic extremists in Iraq. They wanted the american and british invaders to trelease their women who were being tortured and heald against their will in Abu graib, a notorious prison. Christian leaders George bush and tony Blair wouldn't budge. The infamous videos are still online. First the ones of the hostages on their knees, begging Blair to help while the hostages stand behind in front of a backdrop. I recall those days. The first thing I thought of on those mornings was the hostages. The videos of their behaedings are still on line though I would never watch them. Descriptions in words are bad enough. Consciousness remains until the spinal cord is severed. The insurgents chant "God is Great" as they commit the hideous act. Secure in their actions, with Christian faith, bush and Blair were unmoved. Armstrong and Bigleys ghosts have been in the background of my mind all week.
There was a time in my childhood, where I was looking to see which way to go regarding god and spirits and stuff. My mother had faith. She would take me and my sister to church. By age 9 I was able to say I found it boring and had permission to go play instead. The stories all seemed archaic, far fetched. I tried to believe but could see no evidence. Some days I would pretend I was secretly spiderman, other days I would pretend god was there and that pray could deliver. My dad was a atheist. He is an amateur naturalist. He explained evolution to me at a young age. The beauty and elegance of the theory still moves me today. The natural world continues to deliver wonder.
My mother got cancer and died over the years between me being 9 and 12. I think she kept faith. She was good. Tried to bring us up as Christians. Prayed. None of this worked and cancer took her. This upsets me still. Her faith and gods lack of intervention. If he exists he surely cares no more than nature, or the wind, or the sea. If you round off gods corners, the bits that make no sense in the modern world, the parts reason forbids, and leave an abstract like the life force with no interventionism, well, that is not god. To me it is as evident as the father Christmas myth.
Of course, being without god is not easy, but once you know these things you can't really pretend otherwise. Like I know Paris is in France. I can't really prove it unless I drag you there, even then we could still be on the same landmass for all our eyes have told us. I hear that some of faith drift in and out of it, believing one day, doubting the next. I always know Paris is in France. It doesn't waver.
Last year I began studying consciousness. I had a period of madness, I have had a few before but none as severe as this one. It was down to my brain chemistry being wrong. Certain receptor sites were atrophied, certain chemicals the body normally produces were not present. This caused hallucinations, the loss of a sense of self, derealisation, depersonalisation. For some it could have been a religious experience, if a bad one. For me it confirmed my materialist views. The experience pushed me to study just what the mind is. Details of what I have learned are in earlier postings.
When you hear people struggling with something you try lend a hand. If some things you know exceed others it is right to help. A mechanic might see a neighbour unable to start their car and bring a simple solution. I saw people struggling in debates on consciousness. Because no one has yet answered the hard problem, how a mind can appear to move a body, laymen believe that their knowledge is as valid as anyone's. Perhaps they are right. These issues to none materialists, spiritualists I call them, can be answered by supernatural beliefs. They say god did it. I doubt this and think we may one day find out how consciousness works. In essence, herein lies where we differ. To me once you say god did it, the debate ends. It is deadened thinking. Whereas science, for all it's faults, accepts where it is wrong. Ideas, our knowledge grows, like coral, or trees, in ever expanding beauty. What better way to spend our brief time here, on this beautiful world, but trying to understand the beauty. Not to give in and say we will never know, but to explore the wonder.
There was a time in my childhood, where I was looking to see which way to go regarding god and spirits and stuff. My mother had faith. She would take me and my sister to church. By age 9 I was able to say I found it boring and had permission to go play instead. The stories all seemed archaic, far fetched. I tried to believe but could see no evidence. Some days I would pretend I was secretly spiderman, other days I would pretend god was there and that pray could deliver. My dad was a atheist. He is an amateur naturalist. He explained evolution to me at a young age. The beauty and elegance of the theory still moves me today. The natural world continues to deliver wonder.
My mother got cancer and died over the years between me being 9 and 12. I think she kept faith. She was good. Tried to bring us up as Christians. Prayed. None of this worked and cancer took her. This upsets me still. Her faith and gods lack of intervention. If he exists he surely cares no more than nature, or the wind, or the sea. If you round off gods corners, the bits that make no sense in the modern world, the parts reason forbids, and leave an abstract like the life force with no interventionism, well, that is not god. To me it is as evident as the father Christmas myth.
Of course, being without god is not easy, but once you know these things you can't really pretend otherwise. Like I know Paris is in France. I can't really prove it unless I drag you there, even then we could still be on the same landmass for all our eyes have told us. I hear that some of faith drift in and out of it, believing one day, doubting the next. I always know Paris is in France. It doesn't waver.
Last year I began studying consciousness. I had a period of madness, I have had a few before but none as severe as this one. It was down to my brain chemistry being wrong. Certain receptor sites were atrophied, certain chemicals the body normally produces were not present. This caused hallucinations, the loss of a sense of self, derealisation, depersonalisation. For some it could have been a religious experience, if a bad one. For me it confirmed my materialist views. The experience pushed me to study just what the mind is. Details of what I have learned are in earlier postings.
When you hear people struggling with something you try lend a hand. If some things you know exceed others it is right to help. A mechanic might see a neighbour unable to start their car and bring a simple solution. I saw people struggling in debates on consciousness. Because no one has yet answered the hard problem, how a mind can appear to move a body, laymen believe that their knowledge is as valid as anyone's. Perhaps they are right. These issues to none materialists, spiritualists I call them, can be answered by supernatural beliefs. They say god did it. I doubt this and think we may one day find out how consciousness works. In essence, herein lies where we differ. To me once you say god did it, the debate ends. It is deadened thinking. Whereas science, for all it's faults, accepts where it is wrong. Ideas, our knowledge grows, like coral, or trees, in ever expanding beauty. What better way to spend our brief time here, on this beautiful world, but trying to understand the beauty. Not to give in and say we will never know, but to explore the wonder.
Sunday 20 January 2013
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