Something from a more playful era when fiction or pseudo-fiction seemed more useful.
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Before
getting started, I would like to talk about creativity. . . . There
are those among us who have a much greater ability to create and
combine ideas, experiences, and phenomena than others; and there are
those among us with less ability for doing so. But all individuals
have the experience of doing so, and those who stand at the higher
end of the creative and combinatory scale are only those who are best
at an ability that we all have, that we all know, that we all feel.
Like any good story there
are events and a plot and an overcoming that will carry you along,
upon which your emotions will rise and fall; but, to see this story
for what is worth, it will be a complex and psychological
unraveling—and this from an individual who denies much of what you
claim to be psychological. Perhaps this is where it succeeds, by
explaining the inexplicable, by showing how we move from the world of
spirit and transcendence to a world of matter and groundedness—in
the present age this is the only acceptable movement, even though
some violate it perpetually (Bergson, Teilhard de Chardin, John
Searle, and many more).
I do not know where I
stand as far as creativity is concerned but it is probably close to
the middle. Creativity is important and its first use comes in
dreaming. I do not necessarily mean the standard night dream, though
that is certainly one special case. Night dreaming is special because
it happens—usually—without the conscious control that we prize so
highly (Lucidity in dream is rare, but important). It is in those
first hours and days of dreaming, of imagining so to speak, that
experiences, phenomena, feelings, etc., are combined. These things
are combined by very young potentialhumans, and in this combining,
causes and resemblances become dreamed, become associated. If we
touch the ball, it moves. And if we touch it again and again and
again, it moves multiple and different ways. Then, the key moment
comes, and in a flicker at first, the idea of an individual, the
possibility of a central “I” emerges. “‘I’ am moving my(?)
hand, the ball, my(?) ball.” As this potentialhuman continues to
dream, the recurrence of this possibility of an “I,” of a being
at the center of these thoughts, recurs again and again. And quickly,
this central idea (the “I”) becomes a combinatory subject with
great power and constant justification in simple empirical
analysis—if the “I” decides to move the arm, then the body the
“I” is attached to moves its arm—yes, we are all empiricist
from birth.
In
time, the power of the “I” becomes so useful and corresponds so
well with everything that this previous conglomeration of ideas,
experiences, and phenomena continues to experience and to dream, that
this “I” becomes instantiated into essentiality,
and an I (a given
essence not needing quotation marks) emerges, never to be quenched
again. The dreaming, the power of creativity, the power of
combination, these powers which first created the I, become fully
entwined with the I. The I, the individual, is not separate from the
dreaming or from the combining of ideas, it is simply these things.
The I wields this great power and yet wields it with ferocity. It now
holds the key to the power of combination. When this I/dreamer
thinks, dreams, combines—at least partly conscious activities—it
only senses the decision being made but does not grasp how the
decision is arrived at in its totality. The I not only takes full
responsibility for the direction of the dream, it forgets, and
actually is forced to forget, the necessities that caused the dream
that created the “I” in the first place. By forgetting the
necessities of its first activity, the I easily forms the notion of a
power greater than exists for it, the power to stand outside the
contingent historical and natural conditions upon which it was built
and which it will always occur. In the end of course, the ironic
thing, is that despite the power of the I, its wielding of
creativity, its long memory—most of that memory is not exact
reproduction but is always re-structured through the creative and
dreaming processes—the ironic thing is that that I does not have
the power to dream of its own creation. To do so, is to discredit a
characteristic of that I that it long held to be indubitable, and
that characteristic is the eternality and essence of that I.
Having
forgotten its own creation, the I is placed in a precarious position.
Day in and day out, minute in and minute out, from one thought to the
next, the immediate phenomenal data from our perceptual apparatuses,
along with the higher-order processing and walling off of lower order
structures, encourages us, or perhaps mandates us, to believe that a
conscious self is somehow autonomous from this data, and, especially,
to believe that the thought processes and conscious awareness of that
mainstream of thought, of that I, is certainly separated from the
mere functionalizing processes of brain activity. This separation
necessitates our conscious self to believe that the subsequent
behavior that such an I carries out is free. That is, free from
determination by the past genetic and historical situations, free
from the brain processes that are equal to those mental thoughts
(that is those brain processes that are equal to those brain
“thoughts”). With the inability to understand or feel the vast
array of underlying structures, (both genetic and historical, or as
such genetic and historical structures are ensconced in the actual
brain structures themselves) the conscious self believes that it
itself, its I, its thoughts and decisions, are what are responsible
for the next thoughts, decisions, and, by theoretical
conceptualization, the behavior of that being—it’s supposed
freedom. And just as it was once “natural” to believe that the
sun was moving, that the sun was literally setting itself, we, too,
by mapping the brain, will come to accept that our prior conceptions
of the freedom of our behaviors and the freedom of our thoughts—as
is postulated by the commonsensical, immediate phenomenal image of
our self—was misconceived—but also “natural.”
When
the I comes before an open situation, which actually is all the
time—since, like Hegel, we can posit open possibilities in even the
most closed off sort of space—the conscious self has no choice,
given our limited understanding, to posit that it is only the I (or
the “I,” the former is only an illusion) that will carry it in
the direction that it does. That great entity that is our conscious
self, arising out of the capacities of the brain, posits constantly
the open counterfactuals of the situation before us. I mean by this
only that it sees that it is capable of taking its body in this way
or that way or that way—usually an endless array. It posits that
nothing externally is preventing the self from opening door number 1
or door number 2, and that it has the power to choose one or the
other. Even if we understand our inner thought processes or the
determined chain of reasoning why we would always open one door over
the other (think gun-wielding psychopath behind door 1 and answer to
all of life’s riddles behind door 2), there is in the end a gap
between understanding our main incentives and the actual carrying out
of the action which we believe, given the endless reinforcement of
such an idea by our immediate phenomenology, is always open to the
self to haven chosen otherwise. But, again, if we were able to
understand all our historical structures—the Behaviorist’s dream
(see B.F. Skinner), and all of our genetic structures—the
Evolutionary Psychologist’s dream (see Steven Pinker), or if we
understood all the mechanisms and structures of the brain and we had
the full layout of the current individual’s brain—the
materialist’s dream (see Patricia and Paul Churchland): then we
would not be so foolish to think our actions so free.
These ideas and
structures are what scientists, neuroscientists, psychologists, and
philosophers of mind face today—their theories and discoveries
point to the idea that this I, our agency, is a fully determined
entity. But the natural condition of human kind, the transparency of
innate and environmental conditions and the transparency of brain
structure and processes, says that this I exists and exists with the
“soul” like quality that humans have almost always granted it.
Some of the reinforcement of this I comes from western traditions of
radical individualism and of monotheistic creations of the autonomous
soul that make it even harder to overcome, but
even without these reinforcers the I is still incapable of accepting
its historical creation by the random dreaming of an animal of
increasing experiential content. This is the
natural condition of human kind and it is destined to haunt us. Once
“Man” only disease can make animal again—that is, make us see
through the blinding and contingent categorizations that obscure our
best understanding of the world around. To sum this up, two working
concepts:
The Natural Condition of Humans
The Natural Condition of Humans is not
that we are forced to be free, as Sartre would so elegantly put it.
It is that we are forced to believe that we are acting freely. In
other words, we are forced to think that we are “forced to be
free.” The Natural Condition of Humans is that the transparency of
most brain processes and of “our” history, including, especially,
the forgetting of the original creation of each of our own
consciousnesses, is why we are forced to think ourselves as free. But
we are not free. Despite all we thought, we had yet to leave the
garden, the apple had not yet been eaten. The first sin had yet to be
cast. And I will take the apple now.
On Original Sin
Or the accepting of the death of the
soul and the mere functionalism of consciousness, along with its
historical creation in time; and, by seeing through the (false)
“openness” of our consciousness, the acceptance of the Natural
Condition of Humans. Only now do we take the fruit—only now does
our knowledge of good and evil come to full swing, and we can thank
Nietzsche for first reaching for that apple, among others, and
encouraging us to do likewise. And, of course, so many others saw
what that apple meant and ran the other way, back into Eden, back
into the loving arms of God, back into the loving arms of freedom,
radical individualism, and naivety of Capitalist and Culturalist
closure. They said to themselves that if this is what science and
philosophy is telling us, I would rather not read; I would rather
banish academia to a self-imposed circulation of hermeneutic
procedures. They took up the chant: “I will not think about free
will, I will not think of the importance of education and
socialization on determining who I am. I deserve praise for my good
deeds; they deserve admonition and punishment for their evil deeds,
including even death. Morality is real—and thoroughly objective.”
If your nerves are firing
and fear is encroaching, if you see an existentialist malaise on the
future, that is okay. It is wrong. This story is not about the
despair of the natural human condition, though I may not have the
power to eliminate that if you have already traveled down that road.
This is a story of hope. It is not tragic, not in the least, though
for some there may be tragic elements. If you buy into the character
then you should not feel tragedy for any moment in the story, he
would not wish it. In fact, he would find such emotions utterly
wrong. He does care for your emotions, but only in a cold,
utilitarian way. He sees in those emotions created necessities from
your natural structure and your environmental history. If society is
to succeed, from his viewpoint, it will succeed by reading the
discourse of those emotions and the thoughts that lie behind them and
in front of them; and by giving you the appropriate knowledge so you
can see through your natural human condition, even if emotions try to
persuade you from doing so. Of course, it would be easier on him if
you would simply set emotion aside for the time being as best that
humans can accomplish. He will not blame you for your inabilities to
do so, whether because of natural or social causes—he knows it is
not that simple. He accepts that to get rid of all emotions is
impossible and he does not suggest that, but only of removing the
impact of those emotions that prevent us from asking the most
daunting and basic questions of human beings. He
recognizes this, but believes to face these questions and bear such
emotional unease is best, and if we are capable of doing this then
great hopes for the betterment of society and us as individuals will
be the reward. . . .