Dear Professor Dennett
Dear Professor Dennett,I will try to be very concise. Why do we have that very particular feeling of being a conscious singularity? The sensation of it is the damnedest thing. I think I may know some of the answer…
Amongst other things I design electronic products. I use computer simulation most of the time to tell me how well my plans are going to work. I do many simulations, refining (changing) the circuits until they are good enough. The simulations take time and I like them to run fast so I can finish the job and get paid.
The computer models are composed of many smaller models strung together. These sub-models might be the actual components or they might be whole integrated circuits. The truth is, as I add another component to my overall model, the simulation takes disproportionately longer to run as the number of inter-dependencies rocket.
I have created my own models for components that are fantastically detailed and therefore, very accurate in their predictive power when used in new design proposals. These are useless in practise. The simulations take too long (days instead of minutes). I’d starve waiting for the iterative simulations to deliver up a refined product.
Now I concentrate on simple sub-models that contain only a few of the most important elements of the associate component. (I also try to keep my overall model as simple as possible, but that’s another issue.) These sub-models are continually refined in the light of the accuracy of simulations produced, and the continual change (improvement etc.) of the manufactured components. So…simple models, continually refined, equals usefully fast and adequately accurate predictions.
I propose that we continually rehearse the future. We do it first to understand the possible outcomes of a situation, and second, to reinforce an intention to act. So, we model the overall situation. “He’s got food I can steal”. We model the other person. “He was fit once, but he’s old now. But…he’s the chief. He can’t afford to lose to me…” We model the terrain. “There’s a cliff to one side and a lake to the other. I can only snatch the food and run one way…” We model the opportunity. “He’s going to eat that meat soon. I have to act now or starve.”
There’s something missing. Before we can “run the simulation” we have to have a good model for ourselves. We don’t always do what we intend to do. Our skill may fail us, or our stamina or our courage. To be a useful self-model it must be simple and up to the minute, no, up to the second! So… “I cannot run fast but I can swim. I hate him. I like his new mate. I’m starving.” The simulation can now be run. It’s a close call. He might catch me before I reach the water. Perhaps if I creep up very quietly from behind I can get a head start. But will I do it? I plan what to do and run over it again and again as a reinforcing rehearsal. Emotion builds with each (now, near identical) iteration. “Grab the meat and run to the lake. I like his mate. Grab the meat. I hate him. Run to the lake and swim and jeer at him and eat. Grab it and run.” Rehearsal prepares us emotionally and physically and increases the chance that we will actually carry through this act of will.
Stealing the meat may not be a wilful act, but this internal narration, this simulation / rehearsal certainly is. The act itself may happen unconsciously, but we have now trained the unconscious beast of our body to increase the chance of it acting as intended. We might subsequently imagine, if successful, that it was an act of will.
So what about this sensation of consciousness? The single most important model is our self-model. It tells us what resources we have and how dependable they are. But we have to be quick to exploit circumstance, so our self-model must be compact. But compact models are only good if they are continually checked for accuracy. The mental mechanism for this maintenance of the self-model is so useful, I contend, that it is wildly more “present” as an activity than other non-automatic brain processes. (Automatic processes like signals to heart and lungs involve little novelty and therefore not very “present”.) The initiation of an act of theft may be unconscious because it doesn’t per se inform the self-model. Only afterwards may it do so. “Why did I hesitate? Why does my arm hurt so much? Is it broken? I’m really starving..”
So the experience of consciousness is wrapped up in answering the continually posed question… “Who am I now?” All acts of using the self-model sharpen and refine the parameters that need to be present. Simulations involve measuring yourself against others. All experience informs your skill set. Your emotions dictate your ability to carry through. We are continually preparing to act (even if we don’t) by polishing and refining our self-model. So finally, I suggest, the sheer intensity of the mental mechanism for self-model maintenance causes a different subjective sensation to other mental mechanisms.
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