And, yes, this is emergence. It happens in the physical world as well as in the non-physical world of consciousness/experience. For example, there really is no mystery that combinations of molecules (let’s say hydrogen and oxygen as H2O) manifest properties (liquidity or wetness) not present in the individual molecules . New properties do emerge. Similarly, new qualities of consciousness emerge as the complexity of organic systems increases (e.g., individual neurons do not ‘think,” yet when organized into brains with a neocortex, thinking happens). Thinking is an emergent property of consciousness at sufficient levels of complexity. None of this is essentially mysterious. Rather, as I say, it is what we should expect.

However, while we can understand — even expect — emergence within physical systems and withinnon-physical sentient systems, it is inconceivable that one kind of system (non-physical consciousness) could possibly “emerge” or “evolve” from wholly physical precursors. This latter case would involve an ontological jump — from one state of reality to an utterly different state (from one without any trace of sentience/consciousness to one with sentience/consciousness). Emergence within a system of a single ontological type (either physical or non-physical) is unproblematic. But emergence between systems, of a new and wholly different ontological type (e.g., non-physical mind from mindless matter), is profoundly problematic (the infamous “hard problem”). In fact, as I argue in Radical Nature, it is inconceivable.

Once consciousness is present, even in a primitive form, the emergence of different “tokens” or modes of consciousness (e.g., differential perceptions or conceptions) in different arrangements of the underlying units is conceivable — because it does not require some mysterious or miraculous ontological jump.

Bottom line: The important distinction to keep in mind is between emergence of “tokens” of the same ontological “type” (conceivable) and emergence of one “type” (e.g., non-physical consciousness) from a radically different “type” (e.g., purely physical matter/energy). This latter kind of ontological emergence is inconceivable and inexplicable.

Why then do very simple experiential entities — particles — which are more or less identical, then, at sufficient complexity, feel in extremely different ways? How can one group of particles experience color while another experiences taste and another experiences sound? This seems to be the problem of emergence all over again, where a range of very distinct qualitative feelings, apparently irreducible one to another, emerge from the same type of thing. Can color be reduced to sound or can they both be reduced to some protoexperience? The emergence of two diverse qualities like these seems to be a restatement of the emergence problem…

Thank you,

Jegason Phosphorus Diviant

Like your works CdeQ and share an interest in spirit and planetary challenge.

(Note on your discussion forum several of the links don’t work, e.g., the Wilber response.)

co-heartedly,
Andrew

The Binding Problem
In panpsychism, the key slogan or bumper sticker is “consciousness all the way down.” It means that some degree of sentience or consciousness is present at all levels of the physical world—from animals, such as humans and whales, all the way down to worms, single cells, and below to their molecules and atoms, etc. This means that a complex organism like a human being possess countless trillions of “little consciousnesses.” Yet we normally experience ourselves as just a single, unified consciousness. How does that happen? And if it happens in humans and other animals, why wouldn’t the atoms and molecules of a computer, a car, a beer can, or a rock have its own consciousness?

The difference between a rock and a rat (or a hat and a human) has to do with the fact that animals are organisms and their constituent elements (atoms, molecules, and cells) are organized in a hierarchy. Each level of the hierarchy (from quanta to atoms to molecules to cells to whole organism) transcends and includes the levels below it. Thus many atoms make up a single molecule, and many molecules combine to form a single cell, and multiple cells form a living organism. The many “consciousnesses” of the preceding levels transcend, include, and unify, so that at each level there is a “dominant monad” of consciousness. The consciousness of each human, for example, is the dominant monad of all the lower-level consciousnesses that exist in all the parts of the human organism. But how? How do the little consciousnesses combine into one mind?

As I noted earlier, the full answer to this question requires a technical explanation based on the process philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, and I don’t have space to present the full answer here. However, you can get a sense of how it happens by realizing that the elements or constituents of organisms are related to each other in two basic ways—through external (physical) relations and internal (nonphysical) relations. The external relations are studied in physics, and involve the four forces of electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear, and gravity. These forces are what bind physical components together. But the parts of our bodies (cells, molecules, atoms, etc.) are not just connected through physical mechanisms. Every sentient being (whether atom, molecule, or cell) also connects through sharing experiences and meaning—through consciousness.

All the experiences and meaning in a collection of molecules that make up a cell are available to that cell to also experience; and in the same way, the experiences of a cell are available to its host organism (e.g., when you stub you toe the cells in your toe experience pain, and that experience is available to you as the dominant organism—unless some anesthetic is involved). The dominant monad of consciousness in the higher-level organism literally feels the experiences of all its constituents. It feels their consciousness as part and parcel of its own dominant consciousness. This explains why, for instance, when the cells of your stomach or nervous system experience hunger, you (the dominant monad) experience their hunger as your hunger. Or when the cells of your eyes experience specific colors and shapes, those experiences are unified into a single moment of your vision.

The same process applies as cells grow, divide, and die in our bodies. The experiences of the dying cells are passed on to the newly forming cells as memory (memory is, literally, the experience of a past experience), and so the organism as a whole continues to have access to the experiences of cells that no longer exist—because the experiences of those cells live on in the new cells.

Survival of Consciousness and Near-Death Experiences
This question comes up often when I’m teaching about panpsychism: What happens to my consciousness when I die? If, as panpsychism claims, my dominant monad of consciousness is formed by the “little consciousnesses” of my cells, then when my body dies and my cells disintegrate, there could be no survival of “my” consciousness.

Well there’s good news and bad news here. First the good news: Yes, in panpsychism, consciousness does indeed survive the death of the body. When the body dies the consciousness of the constituent molecules and atoms remains intact. At some point these molecules get “recycled” into other organisms, and the consciousness (including memories) of the molecules gets passed on, too (same process as described above, where the new host body literally experiences the experiences recorded as memories in the molecules.

In certain states of consciousness, for example, during a near-death experience, the new dominant monad can access the memories and experiences of the “old” molecule, and have what is often identified as a “past-life” experience. Yes, it is a past life, but not a previous life of the new host individual. No particular individual lives more than once. So, yes, the good news is that consciousness survives the death of the body.

So, what’s the bad news? Well its bad news for our egos. They like to think they are immortal, and that what lives on after death is “me.” But that is not likely because our egos are expressions of our particular embodied consciousness in this life. When the body dies, the ego goes with. If you are identified and attached to your ego (almost a certainty), then the panpsychist version of immortality is not likely to be particularly satisfying. But, as we learn from spiritual traditions the wold over, and throughout time, the essence of who we are is not our egos or individual personalities. Who we are is the consciousness that transcends individual manifestations of our egos. That consciousness, that larger Self, does not die.

First, how come I experience being the same “me” all through my life, and yet all the small conscious quarks, atoms and molecules have been exchanged with others several times? Cells die and are replaced, but somehow my inner perspective remains…

Second, what are your views on the possibility of survival of individual consciousness after death? The near death experience, while not proving the case for life after death, certainly is strongly suggestive thereof? How can this happen when the conscious atoms that make up an individual decompose?

Thanks for a fantastic book. I am looking forward to reading Deep Spirit and Radical Nature.

Thanks again for adding to the wealth of knowledge!