Saturday, December 31, 2022

A Note on Three Forgettings and the Task of Modernity, Or, Why Arendt is Right about Heidegger, Strauss, and Gendlin

Heidegger, Strauss, and Gendlin all claim that modernity involves some sort of forgetting.


Each of them use this claim about a forgetting to pose a task.


We have forgotten X, therefore we must learn/recover/think/understand Y. 


This therefore is very peculiar.


Heidegger says we have forgotten Being.


Strauss says we have forgotten the tradition of Esotericism.


Gendlin says we have forgotten the reality of implicit intricacy (or never known it).


For Heidegger this means we must recover a genuine understanding of  Being (as opposed to the beings, which are so well categorized and manipulated by modern science). When we recover Being we will recover authenticity and the experience of Being-in-the-world.


For Strauss this means we must recover the conflict between philosophy and politics, go back before Enlightenment harmonism and remember the real nature of philosophy as an expression of the ambivalence of human nature. This, too, seems to come along with its own form of authenticity.


For Gendlin this means recovering a sense of the more than formal nature of thinking: we must learn to "think beyond patterns," as one of his short books puts it. For Gendlin, too, this means rediscovering authenticity: we will recognize that being authentic or real never means being formal, but always means placing form in service of intricacy.


Arendt is right that all philosophies of history are an attempt to restore human contact with the world. We feel disconnected, estranged, disenchanted, alienated. She is right about all of them in this regard.


All these people posited a forgetting and the need for a recovery.


I am persuaded of some version of this project. I currently favor some synthesis of Strauss and Gendlin, but of course I think this would be a return to Being, as well.


I suppose I want to claim that approaching Being means approaching our particular way of being. 


Approaching our particular way of being means approaching the intertwining of our political-role identities and our deeper-intricate selves. Being is the being of both the esoteric-exoteric divide and the intricate-formal divide.


Eso-exo and intricate-formal are the same problem.


Both are the problem of this being that finds itself strangely open to Being.

Friday, December 9, 2022

The Unsaid and The Body - In Praise of Tomberlin

 Sarah Beth Tomberlin—who records songs simply as Tomberlin—is one of the most profound singer songwriters I have encountered in recent memory. Her debut album "At Weddings" is astonishing. The opening track "Any Other Way" has brought me to tears on more than one occasion. "I didn't know any other way..." she repeats over and over as the song closes. "You Are Here" and "Seventeen" are two other standout tracks on the standout album.


Her 2020 EP "Projections" filled out  her sound a bit more, moving beyond the spare guitars of her debut. Her most recent release, 2022's "I don't know who needs to hear this [idkwntht]" is fuller still with electric guitars, drums, and supporting musicians. My favorite song is "born again runner."


I have recently come to appreciate the depth of her song "unsaid." I reproduce the lyrics here in full:


"[Verse 1]
Left my home and a best friend
The places I could hide
For a city of six-lane highways
And lots of traffic lights
But I'm trying to grow roots here
Keep my feet on the ground
But sirens swim and circle
The shore that I have found


[Verse 2]
Well, it's only been a few months
And I can't tell the difference
Was I happy in the quiet?
All the open-handed distance
From the people and their parties
Where no one really talks
Distracting from the thought of you
And all those late night walks

[Chorus]
'Cause if I don't call you up
Thеn I don't have to feel down
And if I don't say I miss you
Then you nevеr have to be around
If I don't say I love you
Then you don't have to love me
See how simple
The unsaid keeps things?

[Verse 3]
And Lucy gave me a reading
King of Cups and Queen of Wands
And in the middle, a perfect picture
Of everything I want

And I laugh 'cause it makes sense
But something leaves me feeling wrong
I know you're not a perfect picture
But my heart, it won't shut up



[Chorus]
'Cause if I don't call you up
Then I don't have to feel down
And if I don't say I miss you
Then you never have to be around
If I don't say I love you
Then you don't have to love me
See how simple
The unsaid
(Ooh)"

 

I often say to myself, friends, or clients that the unsaid doesn't go away.

 

The unsaid goes into the body.

 

Tomberlin knows something like this, it seems. The song playfully invokes a problem that I and most people are familiar with: "If I don't say anything about it then what is the problem? The talking about it makes the problem, right? I don't want to make any trouble... I just won't say anything..."

 

"See how simple the unsaid keeps things?"


Life is complex prior to our speaking of it. Problems exist priour to our speaking of them.

 

Speaking of them, no doubt, clarifies them, raises them to a level of clarity, explicates them

 

But the problems are not linguistic inventions, and refusing to speak of them will not solve them. 


The many beings seem to have many problems without any words at all. 


Tomberlin knows that the unsaid doesn't solve anything. 


But it can keep things appearing simple...


It isn't until I came to write this essay that I realized she leaves the last line of the song... unsaid...


I'm listening to it now. 


"See how simple the unsaiiiiiidddddoooooohhhhhhh...."


She leaves the last line implied... Or the not finishing of the line implies.... something.....


Tomberlin leaves unsaid what I think is the implied conclusion of the song: not speaking of something does not make it go away.


I am working, slowly, on a paper I will present at a conference in the spring. It will be titled "Person, Body, Unconscious."


I will be working to redefine the unconscious in terms of incomplete body process.


The unconscious could be many things, but it is at least partly our lived awareness of the unsaid.


Our body implies symbols, instructs us in its hunger for the symbols that will develop and further our living in situtations.


Tomberlin understands much of this, it seems to me.

Thursday, December 1, 2022

A Note on What it Means to be 'Natural'

 I have been concertedly reflecting on the word nature in one way or another since 2015 or so. I read so much Collingwood, read so much about the distinction between nature and history (now nature and nurture for us), that the problem of nature should inevitably arise.


I was recently wasting time on the internet and came across this guy who calls himself a Tarzan Coach. We have been ignoring our animal side, he says. We should knuckle walk and climb trees, he claims.


I think this is not without value, but it seems misleading to me.


The other day I made this claim to a friend: "If we want to understand what it means to be natural, as a human being, then we need to rediscover the real power of speech."


This claim is predicated on the following presuppositions (in an unclear order):

1. The concept of nature can be applied to both living and non-living things


2. Naturalness with regards to living things is fundamentally about the capacities of a particular body. What is natural for a fish is not natural for a horse. 

 

3. All living bodies are chiefly defined by their ongoing processes. The caterpillar-becoming-butterfly must be understood as one process, despite the fact that it takes on radically different forms. The nature of that process, however, looks quite different: the caterpillar body has different natural capacities than the butterfly body. But this is, of course, also true of human bodies: the child body can do things that the mature body cannot, and same for the body of an elder (not an elderly person, but an elder, a wise older person, their body, too, is such that it is capable of things that the young body is not. Things, hopefully, like wisdom). 


4. All living bodies proceed via interaction with their environment. I am currently interacting with my chair by sitting on it, my keyboard by pushing buttons, and my tea by consuming it. 

 

5. For an animal to be natural is for it to find a way of interacting with its environment that further develops or carries forward its capacity. If you dropped an orangutan into the middle of the ocean, for example, it would certainly find ways to interact with that environment (probably mostly thrashing). But it would be absurd to say that the middle of the ocean is the proper way to carry forward or develop a body of that sort. 

 

6. The human body is like other animal bodies in that its naturalness is equivalent to its flourishing in interaction with an environment that is conducive with its development.

 

7. Living bodies range in their complexity so that being natural may look quite complex or quite simple. A protozoa or a plant doesn't have especially complicated potentialities. Therefore its naturalness is a simpler matter than ours.

 

8. Life proceeds via layering or pyramiding, so that what was needed at previous stages of bodily development is essentially still needed.

 

9. We are one of the most complexly layered creatures that we have observed, and our nature seems particularly difficult to understand. What is the right environment for the human being to interact with so that it will flourish? This is a deeply complicated question because we are the making animal who is capable of changing their environments more radically than the other animals (because the other animals of course build dams, nests, and all sorts of things). 

 

10. It is a mistake to identify naturalness with any component of a living process (such as neurology or physiology) or to claim that only the 'primitive' or early layers of development are natural. This is hard for us, our ability to modify the environment is so intense that we can posit ourselves as standing outside this order. But we do not need to claim that there is anything unnatural about culture, language, or symbols. Culture as a concept, of course, often stands in relation to the notion of nature, but this is a problem with our language, not reality.

 

11. The human capacity for speech, making, and political organization must be seen as just as natural as a fishes capacity for swimming or a gazelle's ability to leap. There is no need to deny naturalness to these capacities of our bodies.


So, then, I raise the question, why would I have to go back to 'monkey' in order to be natural? If naturalness is about an animal body actualizing its potentials in a conducive environment, then why would we think we need to actualize just those primitive layers we can share with others?


To make the point, would we say that a fish is less natural than the single celled organisms that it evolved out of? If a human being needs to 'return to monkey' to be natural, then why doesn't the monkey need to return to its evolutionary precursor?


The natural cannot be identified with the developmentally or temporally primitive


The human capacity for speech is in dire straits. We have been relegated to the lower layers of our nature by modern society: our nutritive/plant body, our behavioral body, and our symbolically augmented behavioral body. The deep, real capacity for speech, in which it changes things, moves situitions in real, concrete ways, this power has been hidden from us by the bureaucratic and industrial nature of modern society. Indeed, Hannah Arendt's The Human Condition recently made this painfully clear to me: Modern society is fundamentally behavioral, and we have lost the capacity for speech. (I recently wrote a blog post for my employer that covers this exact topic. My views, of course, are my own). 


To rediscover the naturalness of being human is to discover the power of speech. For only in the experience of speech, the deep and mysterious possibilities of speech, can we understand what it means to be fully human. In the power of speech we experience ourselves as both the animal with language and the political animal.

 

This does not mean I regard modernity or industrial society as natural or  good or okay. But it does mean that, somehow, this situation has been created by a body exercising its natural capacities in interaction with its environment. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2022

The End in the Beginning of A Process Model

A Process Model (APM) by Eugene Gendlin is a book I will be making sense of for a long time. It is, at this point, the most sophisticated and ambitious attempt I've seen to move past some of the most fundamental problems in both philosophy and psychology. In particular, it manages to explain or bypass many difficulties inherent in the analytic-continental divide (scientism and postmodernism), or their analogs within the world of psychology (behaviorism/cognitive psychology, as opposed to humanistic or existential psychology). The fundamental issue in all of these divisions is the relationship between experience and nature or reality. Analytic/scientistic/behavioral orientations are more willing to sacrifice the phenomenon (i.e. experience) in the name of a reductive or deterministic account of nature. The "scientific" (i.e. unitized/reductive) explanation is more important than the integrity of the experience. Pomo/existential orientations generally laud the irreducibility of experience and, in various ways, posit some sort of discontinuity between nature and human beings (i.e. history/culture as a screen or cage). As Gendlin observes, however, both agree that human experience cannot be both studied scientifically and retain its phenomenological integrity.


The core of APM is thus to develop an account of humans, language, culture, and science that is consistent with our experience of the world. We experience ourselves, for example, as choosing, deliberating, being active in the world. Gendlin pursues this account in a two-pronged fashion that could be discussed as content and form.


In terms of content, Gendlin's philosophy begins with the concepts of body and environment. The basic, irreducible existence and interaction of living bodies and their environments is his starting point. As he says in an essay on imagery, "Every living event is a body-environment unit." From this dyad he builds a series of interrelated concepts intended to describe and explain different kinds of living processes: from plant growth to living animals and finally to human language and culture. Thus in terms of the content Gendlin is telling an evolutionary or emergentist story in which plant life becomes animal life which becomes human life. 


The form of Gendlin's account, however, is what is more significant. Gendlin is no doubt offering a theory, but it is a different kind of theory, he claims. Most theories, he claims, try to break things down into units and then reconstruct reality from those units. Even theories that try to describe processes (like life), he claims, often fall back on unitizing things. In this way most 'logical' theories leave out significant aspects of reality (are Procrustean). His sort of theory, then, is one that exhibits process. The concepts change as the text develops (this happens in all good writing). I suppose Gendlin would claim his thing is different because it explicitly describes dialectic while also enabling dialectic. But I feel myself getting annoyed, sympathizing with Keir, over this neomania and how Gendlin buys into it.

 

He puts all this explicitly and briefly at the end of  an essay on the body:

"Elsewhere (A Process Model, available from The Focusing Institute) I have built a new theoretical model of the body, its vegetative life-process, behavior, and the role it plays in language and culture.

The model has dual powers: It has the power of logic, of precise interrelated concepts, but it also has a new power. The concepts are not only ordinary logical ones. They are also a new kind. They are concepts that bring the experience I have been describing along with them. The concepts stem from and retain in them that kind of experience. One can move from these concepts in two ways: One can move from them in a logical way, but one can also and differently move from the bodily-sensed ..... which they bring."


This sort of theory, then, includes the logical dimensions of concepts, but also includes a deeper aspect that could be called process or experience. They are process concepts and experiential concepts. They have both of these relations.


Similarly, Gendlin says on page 114 of APM that he is indeed telling a story of natural history of how body process in plants 'becomes' animal life' which 'becomes' human symboling power. The purpose of this story is not only to develop a systematic theory, but to develop the kind of concept that can systematically incorporate lived experience or process. "In developing the symbol power, as it seems, from animal behavior and body-process, I am not trying to do a natural history. I think, quite in the opposite order, that those who study actual developments of this sort will be aided by the concepts developed here. Why? Because these concepts stem from out of what symboling is." What Gendlin means in this last statement, that his theory 'stems from out of what symboling is' is deeply important.


When most theories rely on units, Gendlin claims, they are relying on a very thin portion of what experience and language really are and do. Our unitized concepts are only one, and a very thin and impoverished form, of what language is in a deeper sense. In a deeper sense, language is something that emerges from and carries forward ongoing living processes. Language is part of the total activity of living bodies, comparable to an animal's growl or a bee's dance. Indeed, Gendlin begins his discussion of symbols by talking about 'body looks' and dances of animals.


We therefore need concepts about life and embodiment that allow us to appreciate the deep intertwining of language and living process. Gendlin thus explains on 114 "To think clearly, one needs concepts that share an internal structure, that develop together, so to speak. What each is, and what the others are, constitute a single structure so that one can grasp what each does in relation to the others." Concepts, in their embodied life, don't appear to us as singular units, cleanly separated, but more often as clusters and networks. When describing an experience or situation we may find an variety of words that reveal different facets. The real significance of concepts is in this network or mesh that they constitute in relation to one another. 


Engaging concepts in this way, as an embodied mesh, is truer to the nature of language. The real life of language is in our embodied felt sense of things. It is in a felt sense, a unique form of body process, that words cluster and present themselves to us. It is through a felt sense that we know we have the right word that expresses precisely just that thing that we wanted to say


It takes Gendlin about 25-30 pages before he begins speaking about his account or model in itself. Up until then he is just building concepts. It isn't until 114 pages in that we get a more explicit statement about how the book is proceeding. And it isn't until the final pages of the final chapter that we realize that felt sensing was involved the whole time. The end of the book, an account of the felt sense as where clusters or webs of concepts come from, was implicit at the beginning.


The opening line Gendlin says: "Body and environment are one, but of course only in certain respects." With this initial qualification, 'of course only in certain respects,' introduces us to the basic dialectical structure of the whole book. Concepts are built in precise ways by being dialectical, by saying 'well we could put it like that, but that is misleading because of XYZ... but if we put it like that then we see this aspect of it...' The whole text is an exercise in such dialectic. 


It is a felt sense that allows dialectic to proceed. Dialectic proceeds by detecting or sensing the fault in statements. This means that statements are being evaluated in some way outside of the statement. The felt sense is the place outside of language from which language both emerges and can be evaluated. 


Gendlin makes this explicit in the final chapter of APM (VIII). Gendlin notes that his concept of 'eveving' (everything interaffecting everything, in  chapter VI-A-e) was possible only from a felt sensing space, which isn't described until chapter VIII. The book, therefore, is using its own conclusions as presuppositions; the end is implicit in the beginning. "In IV-A-e, our concept there of 'eveving' already employed this kind of 'direction' [discussed immediately above] when we formulated how an evev becomes stable. Only now can this be said clearly. The concept of 'eveving' is from direct referent formation [felt sensing], from VIII." The text employs throughout the type of concept that can only be described in the final chapter.


Because it is only in the final chapter that Gendlin tells the developmental story of science and philosophy. Up until then he has to tell the story of plants, behavior, traditional human culture. Only then can he describe how traditional "VII" style concepts can be creatively redeployed for the purposes  of felt sensing and complex concept development. 


The permanent choice, of course, remains whether we use those concepts in a unitized "VII" way, or we return to felt sensing, try to move deeper into the process.


Put differently, do we allow our concepts to become frozen units, or do we return them to the more fluid space of experiencing.


This feels like an unruly post, I am grappling with a difficult text that is claiming to present radical or revolutionary concepts. I'm generally skeptical of such claims. But I am deeply impressed by this book.


It seems to me that the process of therapy contains a similar question about the end being present in the beginning. As therapy deepens someone has access to more, can do more felt sensing, can check in with themselves more. People become, in short, more skilled at process, less attached to structures or rigid forms. This corresponds fairly coherently onto the difference between logical or experiential concepts. 


As I've said to friends, and as someone who knew Gendlin confirmed for me, everything Gendlin ever wrote can be understood as an attempt to answer the question "How is psychotherapy possible?"

Friday, November 4, 2022

Community mental health, presence, and technical theories of life

Before I became a therapist I had brief stints at some different community mental health agencies. These were experiences that I sought out in order to get into grad school. I worked for about 6 weeks at a housing facility that also served as a women's shelter at night. Sometime like 30 units and 25 beds in the shelter. 


I was making minimum wage and left partly for financial reasons, but also partly because I was under-prepared for the intensity of what I encountered. I had never worked in mental health. I had never encountered individuals that had experienced intense trauma and long periods without housing. It was jarring. It was an experience of long stretches of quiet and boredom punctuated by intense moments of conflict and often threats of violence. My therapist at the time likened it to being like a firefighter, sitting around with nothing to do, until suddenly there is something urgent to do. From boredom to adrenaline and back, just like that.

 

One of the things that was so surprising to me was that my role had both very low and very high expectations. As a 'residential counselor' my main task was to be a presence. I had clients with particular needs that I interacted with regularly (dispensing medication, chatting, computer time), and there were clients who lived there that I barely ever encountered. I was mostly just hanging out. Me and one client would play scrabble together every day. I always felt like I was doing something wrong when I was playing scrabble. But I remember my boss telling me that I was there to have a positive affect on people, to be present and have relationships, and that if me and this person felt good about playing scrabble that totally fit within my job. These are the low expectations. There were also very high expectations in terms of deescalating very intense situations and interacting with individuals that were both experiencing psychosis and presenting hostilely. (I think of a client who was delusional about being a lawyer and would 'use the phone' for some time each day to work on her cases. There weren't any actual cases. At one point another (more lucid) client needed to use the phone and she was 'using' it. I think he took it from her, she was upset, and came to find me. I tried to negotiate for her to have some time to 'use' the phone. He said 'Man, you and I both know she's not actually talking to anyone!' I empathized, "I know... I know..." and negotiated some deal where both parties could be appeased. Wild stuff, real human situations).

 

 I didn't stay at this job long enough to really internalize all this about presence. I am still making sense of it.


I had a similar experience in my graduate school internship when I was working with intellectually and developmentally disabled folks. I mostly ran groups, but also did a fair amount of 1 on 1 work (especially with non-verbal people). Groups were chaotic at times. I would often have 12-20 people in a room with vastly different presentations. In the same room I'd have people living with: traumatic brain injuries; schizoaffective disorder along with learning disability; downs syndrome; autism; and a variety of vaguely defined intellectual disabilities (mild, moderate, severe, a la the DSM). 


I was doing my best to be therapeutic with these folks, but that meant hanging out, eating together, doing puzzles, playing games, making jokes, gesturing, playing. I requested to work with non-verbal individuals because I was working on getting deeper into my own body. I worked with one guy in particular that was often disruptive during groups. He was a big dude. His language was super limited. He was really eager to interact with others, but he didn't understand how big or strong he was. I noticed how disruptive he was in groups and I offered to take him out for walks during those times. We would walk together in a 3-5 block radius, encountering lots of things: mail carriers, overturned trash bins (which he insisted we clean up), dogs, people. I had a lot of fun with him and was surprised by the depth of our communication. No words, or very very few words. Lots of gesturing, lots of moving together, lots of pointing and groaning: "Ah! Aha! Mmmmm..." We were just walking. 


With other clients I would paint, listen to music, or just talk. In groups I would talk about emotional regulation and social skills, but I was really trying to get people to interact with one another and tell stories. This was also my approach during my groups during my forensic job. I ran a 'socialization and social skills' group. I really leaned into the socialization part, I just wanted to talk to people and get other people talking to one another. 


These experiences introduced me to the irreducible importance of presence. Presence is not flashy or fancy. It is hard to even see it. But sitting and playing scrabble with someone, walking, painting, listening to music, really being involved and connected while doing these things. The depth of it is strange. I'm trying to write about the deep experience of being close to people that I didn't really speak with. It is hard to write about, and now I'm merely gesturing at it. 


I want nothing more than to be close to actual people that I can touch and talk to. I see nothing so important in life as other people and my relationships with them. Tonight I was hanging out with a friend and I told her that the things I've published don't feel real compared to my living relationships. I had dinner with her and our other friend, celebrating a recent success of his. That feels real. These two people that I've come to know and love, having a nice meal together to celebrate a victory. We talked about how it was a relief and how it was hard. We've all been going through it this year. 


The meal is nice and costs money but relationships can't be bought. Even therapy, which is paid for, is contingent upon something other than the money to actually happen. 


I'm comparing this sense of presence to other ways of being that are more technical or control oriented. Presence, as I'm using it, is about allowing or welcoming aspects of an ongoing process. Other ways of approaching life are more managerial or defensive: we want to predict, plan, and control. Technical ways of thinking of course have their place in life. I still predict my routes when I travel and use a calendar to plan my days and weeks. 


Sometimes presence can be lost in this technical orientation. 


It was relatively easy for me to present during my internship because I was settling into the fact that I'd glimpsed in my first mental health stint: it is okay, no, essential to be present with people when working in any therapeutic capacity. I suppose I don't mean merely present, as in just a physical body plopped into some physical space. I mean real presence, one soul genuinely interested in and actively attuning to another. 


After my internship, after graduation, I got a job in forensic mental health. I was working with clients who were either exiting incarceration or avoiding incarceration. Part of their conditions of exit/diversion was court-mandated mental health treatment. As you might be able to guess, a lot of these people weren't very happy to be speaking with me. This made sense. As far as they know I'm just another manipulative person working the mysterious levers of the manipulative institutions they'd been navigating for god knows how long. They have no good reason to trust me. And, to be fair, as a matter of course I was plugged into a variety of monitoring and reporting systems. I was required, for example, to complete 'compliance reports' for probation officers of mental health court clinicians on a monthly basis. I was required to be a narc (unless I found ways to be creatively compliant rather than merely conformist).


I therefore had to spend a good deal of time and energy gaining people's trust, essentially undoing or working through the expectations put upon me by the role and situation. It was very hard to achieve presence with client's in that environment. The entire situation is so inherently unsafe, taking place in such manipulative institutions, how could you possibly be presence? It is worth saying explicitly: in my understanding, presence requires a sense of safety (in the deepest and broadest sense. Not just physical but emotional and personal safety).

 

The whole forensic environment was far more technical than my current therapeutic situation (a lovely group practice). I remember when I got to this practice I was shocked that people just wanted to talk to me. I had gotten so used to doing so much case management, so much reporting, so much bureaucratic and institutional work. Suddenly I have a single person in front of me that just wants to talk and for me to listen and interact


It is in private practice that I've been able to understand presence more fully. I've been writing a lot about, maybe I'll post some of it.


But I'll just note that there is some tension between presence and having a technical orientation towards life or its problems. My experience in forensic mental health leaves me comfortable claiming that institutions become most technical when it is punitive, manipulative, and aimed at control. I think I'm passing my experiences through the new perspective I have from reading Illich and going further.

Saturday, October 29, 2022

The beginning of part 3 of my current project

I am currently in the exploratory phase of a book length project. I have just over 125 pages of writing that is planned to be in three sections: language, politics, and reality (ontology, metaphysics, whatever). I have completed the sections on language and politics, in both cases drawing a contrast between the orderliness of concepts and the orderliness of experience. In the language section this takes the form of an exploration of therapy using the dyad of trellis talk and capture talk. In the politics section I explore the history modernity in  relation to the present state of psychological and psychiatric institutions, using the dyad of convivial and manipulative institutions. In this third section, which I've just begun and am posting here, I am applying a similar approach ("the two orders") to the problem of reality, science, and philosophy in general. I am trying to understand how reality can be such that we can experience language and institutions these ways. How is it possible that there is an animal that is so intimately interwoven with speech that its natural development is contingent upon how it speaks? How is it that this animal has learned to speak (and build and symbolize) in such a way that it 'captures' itself? How must we think about reality to make these things both intelligible and integral (as in maintaining their integrity, not reducing them to crude concepts). This writing is my beginning of my current attempt to work through these ontological questions.

 

3. Reality, The Two Orders, and the Shape of Science

 

I have used the word ‘real’ in different ways throughout my life. It seems like an indispensable word. I’ll have to start tracking how often clients use the word real, or how they use the word. My sense is that the question of “how I really feel” or “what’s really going on” is always at play. Most people have a sense that they could be misperceiving, making things up, or projecting. Sanity is somehow about being in touch with reality. An animal that is living a good life or is healthy is interacting with its environment in ways that evince their grasp of reality. Animals understand and have functional knowledge of their environments: that this can be eaten or that can be climbed, that this branch will support my weight, or this height will keep me safe. Humans and animals are inherently interactive with their environments and therefore must somehow encounter the reality of that environment, even if through different bodies. The fish’s experience of water, for example, must radically differ from the human experience of water. But I have a hard time believing that there is no overlap in our phenomenology (the feel of gliding through water, feeling a current push against you, some sense of temperature). There is something in the nature of the ocean that a fish and human both encounter but in different ways. We get different angles on the reality that is the sea. 


Yesterday, 10/27/22, I was reading Keir’s dissertation and it strikes me as relevant to this problem of reality. While discussing the problem of false opinion Keir gives the example of a fly being eaten by a venus fly trap. “When a fly lands on a venus fly trap and is snapped up by it, the venus fly trap has said false things to the fly—and the fly has believed them. The issue is perhaps this: we are at a distance from being. Being is neither fully present to us nor totally absent” (141). Keir goes on to name this as the problem of appearance (of course reality is generally contradistinct from appearance, illusion, fantasy, artifice, construction, or the like). “Appearance, for us, however, is never mere appearance. Mere appearance is a philosophical construct. Real appearance is always the appearance of something, even if we can’t say exactly of what. This ‘of’ is somehow the source of the problem. Because we are at a distance from being, we can never rest purely passive in our reception of it, but must always move out to meet it halfway” (141). As human beings we interact with reality (‘move out to meet it halfway’) in particularly complex ways (discussed above). Like plants we have a body that reconstitutes itself in relation to the environment. Like the other animals we have an experience of behavior space (and I agree with Gendlin when he says we interact with reality mainly with our hands and mouths). We are unique, however, in that we engage symbols as such, moving beyond animal gesturing towards the FLIP space where the intergestural context becomes a complex symbolic system, entrenched in buildings, institutions, and structures of all kinds. For us, therefore, the attempt to meetreality must navigate at least two layers of appearance. We must first confront the apparent reality of our political community, always distorted by doxa, and then somehow redeploy those same concepts in relation to the appearances of nature as we encounter it. Our movement from appearance to reality is double. First political, then natural.


Interaction is only possible in time. The pattern of action, response, action (implying-occurring, interaction) requires there to be something like time or process. It is clear that in the universe, at least for us, time only goes one way. There is only further change and development. There is no going back. I love The Midnight’s song WeMoveForward (their first song), “because we can’t go back.” And I love the lyrical refrain they offer on their new song “Heartbeat”: “We keep going 'cause we can't go back, no / We keep going 'cause we can't go back.” Things are not simply temporal but developmental, or Carl Rogers would say formative. Things seem to come together on their own, getting organized, adopting shapes and cycles. Indeed, I will be concerned with the literature on self-organizing systems or developmental systems theories or similar things I don’t know enough about. Living things are a particularly strange and unique form of self-organizing systems. We have this thing called experience, which is a unique form of developmental process that involves an ‘internal’ quality with aspects like learning, exploring, encountering, and so on. I suppose I’ll preliminarily rely on Nagel’s “What is it like?” definition of life or consciousness. It is a good enough starting place. It is in time that we use language and interact with reality. We interact with reality as living beings that have a ‘what it is like’ to be us. Thus any talk about reality is necessarily going to be talk about time or developmentality, and more specifically it will be talk both about and from the space of lived development (or growth).
 

I want to organize this section into two basic chunks. The second will be a general ontological or metaphysical statement about how I think about reality. Perhaps more importantly, I will be concerned with how to talk about how to talk about reality. Because the plain fact is that we can’t talk about reality in some simple sense (like drawing a map), as Keir notes. There is something about the way our languages work that talking about reality generates a gap of some kind. We can’t just ‘say how things are’. Talking is too obviously a part or aspect of reality that it could never stand sufficiently outside of reality to talk “about” “it” in some precise or specific way. Talking about reality is really more like talking with or from or out of reality. We have to speak as a part of the thing being discussed and not pretend to have some distance or objective space. I want to develop a way of speaking about reality that accounts for our being within reality, inseparable and emergent from its processes. Acknowledging our embeddedness, however, does not mean that we are incapable of developing meaningful images or accounts of reality in general. It just means that those images or accounts will be more self-consciously understood, we will not have naive ambitions of just saying how things are. Rather, we will follow Gendlin in developing/pursuing a concept that is capable of exhibiting and describing at the same time.
 

More specifically, I am interested in concepts that describe the processual nature of things while also participating in that process. The key to this is allowing concepts to be developmental in both how we read and write. As a reader, this means understanding that the meaning of words is not simply on the page, words don’t just “mean what they mean,” there is no perfect dictionary. To read a text (just like listening to a person) we have to track the way the words are used and what sorts of experiential responses the text generates in us. (What are you wanting these words to do?) Well written books are developmental and they must be read so that words and concepts can acquire complexity as the text develops. Similarly, as a writer, I want to use concepts developmentally, track and expand their meaning. Indeed, this is what I’ve tried to do throughout this text, asking readers to ‘roll up’ or ‘carry forward’ the meaning of one term into another. I have tried to exhibit complex mutations of concepts where esotericism can come to overlap with irony and both can be shown to overlap with love. And then to show how these concepts surrounding language can be folded into an analysis of institutions. Finally I am putting those same concepts to work in the domain of ontology or reality.
 

In writing, reading, or listening this way I am self-consciously engaging with the two orders: the order of language and the order of experience. Words only ever have meaning in relation to ongoing experiencing, which is implicitly intricate in ways that words can never convey. In the first section I showed that trellis talk concerns the relationship between the two orders; trellis talk leaves space for a person to be in process, and therefore invites their intricate becoming. The symbols are intended to stimulate this more intricate experiential process. In trellis talk the concern is not with the symbols in their logical relations or implying, but rather the symbols as they enable experiential development. It isn’t about the symbols, in a certain sense. In my writing on politics I showed that modern institutions are particularly adept at capturing people, squashing their capacity for intricate relating or selfhood. Now I want to show how this capacity for intricate experience has implications for science, philosophy, and intellectual or personal inquiry of any kind. This is not just a problem of language or politics, it is a problem of reality. How is it that there are multiple forms of order that are distinct but also emergent and interactive? More specifically, emphasizing the subservience of language to the intricate order will highlight the significance of response in any form of inquiry (like eliciting in therapy or conviviality in institutions). Approached with the idea of language as capable of generating responses (from the intricate order) philosophy would need to become more dialectical, science would need to change its attitude towards experimentation (like Kimmerer says), and persons in general would be capable of deep listening and know how to further conversations in growthful ways.
 

Becoming aware of the two orders, self-consciously thinking, writing, and living in relation to them could be described as becoming more first-personal. To be first-personal is to recognize the primacy of experience not just in theory but in practice; it is to feel oneself living out of one’s body, with all its capacity for sensing into the complexities of our situations. I told a client recently that I think of therapy as a process of becoming first-personal. As we move deeper into our bodies there is more familiarity with native desire, easier for us to make decisions about difficult things, a greater trust in ourselves. This being-first-personal is significant also in philosophizing and science. Gendlin argues in “What First and Third Person Processes Really Are” that scientists need to begin to talk explicitly about how they are working with their ‘implicit understanding’ or felt sense of things. Gendlin is right to point out that we generally only hear about how a concept is better, not where it comes from. Inviting scientists or philosophers to be more-first personal (to engage in and discuss direct reference to experiencing in their process of concept formation) may be difficult because these are professions that operate in institutional spaces. Institutional spaces, as observed, are generally highly third-personal spaces: they maximize efficiency and reduce people to roles by zooming out and generalizing. They take a third-person point of view and in doing so train people in the self-conditioning of their first-person experience, subjecting it to an external gaze.
 

Thus these are questions I am asking and themes I want to track. Given what has been said about language and our political institutions, what does it mean to speak meaningfully about reality? Speaking about reality means speaking about time, development, or process. How does language, which is so often structure bound, lend itself to the task of discussing or describing processes? How does our analysis of trellis talk apply not only to therapeutic contexts, but also to philosophical and scientific processes? How does the goal of discussing reality interact with the distinction between first- and third-person science?  My hunch, or basic hypothesis, is that the biggest difficulty to surmount is that we are attempting to describe a whole of which we are a part with partial access to this whole (to paraphrase Strauss and invoke Nagel). The world changes and we change with it, and therefore it can never be described finally (I think of the Judge in McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, burning natural things after documenting them so he has perfect knowledge of them. They can not change, for then he would no longer know them. Thus he must destroy them to preserve the perfection of his knowledge). Third-person science is a sort of theory that destroys us or leaves us out altogether. Deacon’s Incomplete Nature will be my example of this. It pretends to speak from a perspective in which seemingly no observer exists and then tries to reconstruct the observer from this nowhere perspective. The gap between the descriptions and reality is palpable. I was deeply disappointed when I reached the end of Deacon’s book and it took me some time to understand exactly why: he never makes the turn to first-person perspective as such,  only  ever talking about it from a third-person perspective. First-person science, by contrast, can significantly close this gap between the description of the world and experience. Gendlin’s A Process Model will be my example. I believe Gendlin’s theory meets Nagel’s requirement of being able to ‘turn on itself’ and explain the existence of the theory and the theorizer. Gendlin gives a description of natural, emergent processes that ultimately explain the capacity for symbol making and ultimately theorizing. When you arrive at the end of the text you realize that the text itself is an example of what it is describing, the theory is capable of exhibiting and accounting for its own existence. The text itself is responsive and developmental, displaying the dialectic of symbol and experiencing. Gendlin invites you into his own stream of experiencing that allowed him to construct his model. Ultimately the process model will be the larger model, capable of nesting and moderating the unit model. The ultimate form of science that Gendlin advocates for is a multi-directional dialectic between the unit model, the explication model, and ongoing direct reference to the process of experiencing from which both models emerged. But we must learn this way of using concepts and this way of thinking of ourselves in a deeply first-personal way. The experience has genuinely changed me.
 

In doing this I am trying to suss out the nature of scientific and philosophical inquiry in general. This also necessarily means understanding the nature of language. Such big, general questions, however, always need particular subject matters as fodder and evidence. Therefore in the first section I will be pursuing an account of scientific psychology as a way of clarifying science, philosophy, and language in general.
 

3.1 The Meaning of General Psychology: Psyche, Development, Emergence


Pursuing the question, “What is psychology?” is important to me for both practical and theoretical purposes. Practically my concerns are varied but pertain to both my personal and professional life. I’m a psychotherapist and I’m deeply engaged with what psychology in America is right now. I also am someone who has benefitted very deeply from good psychotherapy and am invested in continuing to heal and grow as a person. Reading, writing, and understanding psychology is important for all of this. And then theoretically I am also interested for both practical and then more strictly theoretical reasons. I think theory is practical. I am very persuaded by a strong version of the word ‘phenomenology’ in which it points to the fact that, as humans, we can’t “see” things with depth and clarity unless we are able to conceptualize them or articulate them in some way. Theory is essential in outlining complex features of reality that can then be seen without the concept. Theoretical concepts, when repeatedly applied to actual observation, will begin to function implicitly in our quiet looking and listening. I also just think theorizing is fun and have a strictly theoretical interest in these theoretical questions! So there is the practical side of theory and the theoretical side of theory.
 

Psychology is poorly theorized. The field is a hodge podge of methodologies, definitions, orientations, purposes, and priorities (and funding sources). I am not aware of many American authors pursuing accounts of “general psychology” that try to give some unity to the field as a whole. The situation feels more like what Cabanas & Illouz describe in Manufacturing Happy Citizens, to paraphrase, ‘the field has to reinvent itself every 10-20 years to continually try and reestablish its relevance and therefore funding.’ The prestige of psychology, in my opinion, is not very well deserved, as much of the field consists of empty verbal platitudes paraded as knowledge. This tone and sort of wanton claim won’t make the book version, ha. I know there are a lot of psychologists I’m unaware of who have probably tried things like this.
 

A recent account of general psychology that I admire is Niels Engelsted’s Catching up With Aristotle: A Journey in the Quest for General Psychology. Engelsted views the field somewhat as I described above, as a disparate and largely incompatible smattering of methodologies and theories. Engelsted claims that psychology fundamentally ask about the meaning of the word psyche, indeed the central term of the discipline. Engelsted claims we should follow Aristotle and Alexi Leontiev in claiming that the problem of psyche (or soul, psuche, for Aristotle) essentially concerns the difference between the living and non-living. For Aristotle this would be things that have their principle of motion inside of them, as opposed to outside of them. If we have a stone in our hand and we throw it at a tree it will simply hit the tree. If we have a healthy bird in our hand, however, and we toss it toward a tree it will likely not hit the tree, instead it will fly in whatever direction it feels. The bird, unlike the stone, has some source of motion within itself. Soul or psyche is a placeholder for whatever this thing is that allows the bird to move (or the plant to grow or us to live as we do). For Leontiev the problem of psyche would be answered similarly in terms of the origins of sensation. Leontiev was heavily interested in the meaning  of the sensate body. I think of plants as having senate bodies, that they have some sort of simple interactive life with reality (I recall Gendlin saying “plants are interacting with reality all the time”). Engelsted thus claims that psychology must essentially be a science of the developing complexity of sensate bodies. He proposes a four part scheme beginning with sentience (largely in the present) and moving through intentionality (a sense of the future), mind (a view of the past), and human consciousness (capable of ‘the outside view’).

Wednesday, September 14, 2022

Thoughts on Thinking Clearly and Reality

 I am currently working on what feels like my first book length project. It is an inquiry into trauma and the body that revolves around the categories of language, politics, and metaphysics/ontology/reality. I have identified a set of patterns that hold across all three of these domains, and all three domains have implications for how we understand trauma and the body. 


I am designing the project so that the major concepts are mutually implying or entailed in one another. This design follows from certain convictions I have about what it means to think clearly.


Gendlin says in A Process Model that  “To think clearly, one needs concepts that share an internal structure, that develop together, so to speak. What each is, and what the others are, constitute a single structure so that one can grasp what each does in relation to the others” (p. 114). This means that in order to think clearly about trauma, the body, language, politics, and reality, we need a set of concepts that is applicable (in different ways) across these various domains. This set of concepts, moreover, cannot be laid out in a linear fashion, but must be used to an eye with the overall structure, texture, or mesh that they constitute. The ultimate life of concepts is in the body. The body does not deal in units but rather an experiential mesh that has many pre-separated strands. Thus the real life of thinking is in this embodied, felt mesh. I am building an embodied mesh of concepts that can help me think clearly about this set of problems. 

 

Thomas Nagel makes a similar point about thinking clearly in Mind & Cosmos. Nagel's argument foregrounds the peculiar status of the observer and the necessity of including the observer in our explanations of the world. Many 'theories of everything' developed in physics, for example, stop short of the human observer, the one who is articulating the theory. In this way these theories are incomplete: they can perhaps account for the world, but they cannot account for the existence of a being that is theorizing about the world. 

 

The crucial issue is with third-person perspective taking, or with attempts to study ourselves "from the outside." Physicalism/materialism and theism, Nagel claims, are both forms of external explanation: both assume a view from outside human experience that is then supposed to explain our experience. This means that both of them seek transcendence: not just understanding of our experience, but how our experience belongs to the larger world. This ambition, Nagel claims, "appears to be irresistible—as if we cannot legitimately proceed in life just from the point of view that we naturally occupy in the world, but must encompass ourselves in a larger world view. And to succeed, that larger world view must encompass itself" (23). I agree that this tempatation seems unavoidable. 

 

I cannot avoid the temptation or desire to think clearly. It feels commanding to me. I regard the desire for the truth, however problematic a concept, to be the only possible intellectual guide. It seems to me as though we are able to think about the world, and that our thinking can be more or less orderly, more or less true. Thus we must account for the nature of the world in such a way that makes our existence as thinking beings possible. 

 

This explanation of the world that grounds our own experience will never be absolute. I'm sympathetic to Nagel's claims that radical skepticism is likely irrefutable. This doesn't strike me as a huge problem. But it does seem necessary to try and explain something about our presence as thinking beings. Thus Nagel is moderate and wise when he says that "The hope is not to discover a foundation that makes our knowledge unassailably secure but to find a way of understanding ourselves that is not raadically self-undermining [as certain skeptical Darwinian or materialist arguments are], and that does not require us to deny the obvious [again, as something like eliminative materialism does]. The aim would be to offer a plausible picture of how we fit into the world" (25).

 

I regard the living body as a crucial grounding place for thoughts about reality, and thus as indispensible in our attempts to think about reality. Whatever else we can say, you are all up in that body, living it every day. If you are reading this, you are/have a body. Unless we want to go full blown insane skepticism, we need to admit that the body seems to be continuous with the rest of reality. It is made of the stuff that everything else seems to be made of, and it is in constant intimate interaction with the world, taking in air and water, excreting liquids and solids that return to the world. 

 

In my own approach to this problem I am trying to aggressively draw out the ontological threads of Gendlin's work on the body. I sense that he downplayed some of the ontological radicality because he doesn't want to use a term like ontology or metaphysics. But the more I read him he is clearly talking about reality or what the world is. At the end of "What First & Third Person Processes Really Are," for example, he says "Everything in nature is an implicit intricacy." Or in A Process Model he says "Experience, nature, or reality is much richer than that old view wanted" (245). 

 

The old view that Gendlin is talking about is the unit model, or the assumption that reality is made of little units or atoms that get rearranged. Trying to talk about experience, nature, or reality as if it is made of little units gets very confusing. We get all kinds of distorted ideas about how things could be, it becomes hard to explain things like language or science. If it is all just the little dead atoms, how could all this magical living stuff happen? 

 

The problem of thinking clearly about experience or reality is the problem of thinking clearly about life.

 

I haven't even been able to name the problem of language and how it fits into all this. But the problem of life of course becomes the problem of language, as there seems to be something symbolic or semiotic about life itself, in all forms.

 

But the relationship between language and nature is essential, decisive. There is temptation to say that language is the only order, as its capacity for creating is so profound, its ability to distort our view of things so certain. Indeed, a central pillar of Gendlin's philosophy is that the order of language is emergent from the order of nature. Language is both a development and a product of a larger order.  "In Western science," he writes in 'Words Can Say How They Work,' "everything is passive, organized by externally imposed relations [i.e. by our conceptual structures]. But if we want to study the actual observers, we cannot attribute the interrelating to still another observer. Somewhere there is a self-organizing process. Let us say that a living body is a self-organizing process" (105 in Saying What We Mean).

 

The self-organizing processes of nature generate a being capable of using language. That language generates its own order, one that Gendlin says can capture us and that Plato depicts as a cave. How do we engage the order of our language in such a way that we can reasonably speak about the self-organizing processes that seemed to generate our language? 

 

That's enough for now. I can't quite think clearly about all this right now.  

Friday, September 2, 2022

Talons', Illich/Sanders, Story, Self

I like some of the lyrics to this song by Talons' 'Moments'. 

 

"I made up all these moments that seem so profound
Little things I try to explain but it's impossible for anyone else to understand that this is why I am the way I am
But memory is fictional and I'm constantly rewriting it
to make sense of who I am and why
And the more I lose touch with everyone from my past, the more alone I am and the less chance there is that any of it was real
But what does it matter?
This is who I am now.
Nothing else."

 

I have been reminded of the complexity of the question of the self in recently reading Ivan Illich and Barry Sanders book ABC: The Alphabetization of the Popular Mind. The book is a series of essays exploring the transition from oral to written culture. The first two essays deal with ancient literature: Homer, Plato, and the transition from poetic speech to poetic writing, with special emphasis on the meaning of history and memory.


The later chapters concern the role of writing and the alphabet in the transition from the middle ages to modernity. Many ways that we understand ourselves, they claim, depend on the existence of the alphabet and the written text. We, for example, think of memory and language through the image of the written text. 


Their chapter on 'The Self' concerns itself with the advent of the autobiography. They point to Henry Adams' autobiography, published after the author's death in 1918. They claim that it represents "a truly extraordinary development: The literary creation of the self has assumed enough life of its own to instruct and educate its creator." In writing an autobiography one regards oneself from the outside and seeks a type of continuity that is missing, for example, from Beowulf (they claim, I have not read it). Beowulf, they observe, possesses a variety of factual errors and narrative incoherence. That Beowulf is said to do contradictory things by different people is of no concern to the author, it appears. 


What is this coherence we seek in ourselves through story telling? Talons' seems to have some awareness of this. "Memory is fictional and I'm constantly rewriting it."


Loose threads. Messy events that cannot be told in story. 


The problem, in a sense, is the purpose of speech and its relationship to writing.


My work as a therapist makes it clear to me that some of the most powerful ways of speaking are not about coherent, linear, or comprehensive narratives. Therapeutic movement comes about, rather, through resonant images, through quasi-poetic phrases that move us in a physically palpable sense.


Speech is for moving the body forward in its process of understanding. Sometimes coherent or linear narratives can do this for us, but more often the body is moved by other kinds of speech, images, or sounds. 


I would rather a phrase or word or image make me cry than tell a coherent story.


Somehow autobiography can do this, I imagine. But not because it offers a coherent narrative.


There are domains of life in which resonant speech is more important than factual speech


It seems to be a real treat when speech can be both.


My sense is that the 'self' in a deep sense is what resonates or responds to certain ways of speaking. The self cannot simply be the external, factual narration. 

 

The self responds, but cannot show itself.

Thursday, August 25, 2022

Active and Passive Senses

 I have noticed at different times that we speak differently of our senses if we are using them actively or passively (sorta).


If we are trying actively to hear we say, I am listening


Sight: I'm looking.


Touch: I am feeling. (Although this feels different from looking and listening somehow).


The case with smell and taste is more difficult. I haven't been able to find any words that connote an active sense of 'trying to smell or taste with greater clarity'.


Interestingly, we use touch, sight, and hearing as metaphors for understanding. Even more interestingly, when we feel that we have understood someone we use the passive version of that sense. When we understand we don't say "I am listening/looking." We say "I hear you. I see you. I feel you." 


Hear, not listening. See, not look. Feel, not feeling. (Again, feel seems different here).


In every case, we are talking about certain senses, but seemingly primarily metaphorically. When I understand a client I may say "Oh, I see," or "I really hear you when you say..." 


These are mostly scattered reflections, as I have been enjoying blogging and want to do more of it. But I also in some ways take all this as evidence of the depth of Gendlin's account of the body, and imagine that my friend Keir would render all this in terms of the soul (in the Platonic or Aristotelian sense). There would be something to say about 'kination', or that imagination originates in our bodily sense of understanding. Seeing, hearing, feeling; all of these are ways of expressing understanding.


Understanding is what the body does, not the senses.

Wednesday, August 24, 2022

Darkness 2

 I have been repeatedly listening to a song by Talons', Darkness 2. (I love Talons' and have been listening to his stuff for the last 10+ years).


Musically, I love the development and flow of the whole song.


Lyrically, I find it devastating. 


The lyrics:

"I'm somewhere out in the darkness now
I don't know how long I've been holding the power button down
And when the world starts up again,
I don't know how I even wanna live
But I can't go back
I see it all turn back
At Target it's like a dream, everyone unmasked
Desperately acting like nothing ever happened
Almost overacting, or am I overreacting?

Still can't sleep
Don't wanna double down on my old dreams
Nothing's changed, not even me, really.

And past the darkness there's just emptiness
Despite all my rage, I am still
More than anything I see the absurdity in everything

And all we try to own
Ups and downs, ups and downs
There's not enough time between storms now to try to calm down.
And where is hope now? (x8)"

I remember the first time I heard and understood the lyrics, I was devastated. The final repeating of the line, 'Where is hope now?' made me cry so hard. I actually thought he said "where is home now?" which has particular resonances for me.,


The song is off of his 2022 release, Pandemic Divide. 


It is interesting that I, in this exact moment, discovered that he says hope rather than home. I was just talking to someone about Epimetheus and hope. I was telling them about the final chapter of Illich's Deschooling Society


I absolutely love this song.


Friday, August 19, 2022

When Things are Out of Hand What Good is it to See?

Writing in the late 1930s R.G. Collingwood thought it appropriate to describe World War I and the Treaty of Versailles as a situation that "got out of hand": 

 

"Whether it was deliberately plotted by a ring of German war-lords, as some believed, or by a ring of English trade-lords, as others believed, nobody has ever supposed that any except the most tiniest fraction of the combatants wanted it. It happened because a situation got out of hand. As it went on, the situation got more and more out of hand. When the peace treaty was signed, it was more out of hand than ever. Fighting ended because one side was fought to a standstill, not because the situation was under control again" (An Autobiography, 90).


When I look at my life and I look at the world I see a lot of things that feel out of hand.  I am currently living through several personal situations that I feel I must simply live through. There is nothing for me to do, at least not in any simple or straightforward sense. There are no switches to flip, bridges to build, messages to send, or phone calls to make.


I am in the midst of things that will take time. 


Curiously, they are decidedly human situations; relationships of various kinds that I am navigating.


Indeed, it was the difference between "physical" and human situations that Collingwood ultimately thought the War highlighted: "The contrast between the success of modern European minds in controlling almost any situation in which the elements are physical bodies and the forces physical forces, and their inability to control situations in which the elements are human beings and the forces mental forces, left an indelible mark on the memory of every one who was concerned in it" (90).


Collingwood's answer to this problem was to encourage the study of history as a type of training in human affairs. He spoke of a "science of human affairs" whereby we could learn to handle human situations as skillfully as we had learned to manipulate the physical world.


To be capable of handling human situations could be called being 'tactful'. To be tactful, as I was just discussing with a friend this morning, means to be in touch, to be sensitive, close, intimate. To be 'tactful', however, implies some type of contact, as in 'tactile'. To be tactful is to 'handle' something in a certain way.


I am struck by the relationship between things being 'out of hand' and being 'tactful'. For something to be out of hand is for it to be out of control, for it to take a course in which we cannot or do not know how to intervene, guide, or control. 


This emphasis on 'hands' and 'tact' is interesting because Collingwood's major way of describing the science of human affairs emphasizes vision or seeing. He claims that historical study offers a type of optic training, not unlike the way a trained tracker or hunter can perceive a wealth of detail in a patch of woods that would appear indistinct to me. Indeed, walking with my friend John in the woods yesterday I was struck by his ability to point things out to me that I never would have noticed: little types of bushes, notches in trees left over from logging, rock formations created by particular processes. 


This is the deep meaning of the word phenomenology that Gendlin explicates so well in his essay on Heidegger: when we speak about or name things in a certain way we 'lift out' features of reality that can then be seen or perceived on their own. I will forever be sensitive to the many meaningful noises of a cafe, and I began to look at art differently after I started painting. 


Psychotherapy, my profession and a practice I've participated in for many years, is largely an exercise in this sort of phenomenology. Therapy is not about helping people decide what to do, but helping them learn to see. Chiefly, we are learning to see things that are invisible: patterns and dynamics that have a different existence from physical objects.


I believe Collingwood was fundamentally talking about this 'phenomenological' quality of historical study.


When we see things differently we handle things differently. But seeing and handling are different realities. Stanley Rosen helped me appreciate that the hand and the eye are fundamentally competing metaphors for knowledge or understanding. We say "I see what you mean" or "I don't grasp that sentence." 


Things in my own life feel deeply out of hand. I feel less in control than ever of my ultimate path, less clear than ever where it is all going, and less sure about where my many relationships will ultimately go. But I'm not terribly afraid. I'm certainly somewhat afraid. But not terribly. 


I feel that I see fairly clearly what is happening to me and around me, at least in my personal life and relationships. And I am confident that the clarity of my vision will ultimately serve me in my decision making. I don't need to know what is going to happen, I don't need to plan every detail. I can improvise based on what I perceive.


The key is to feel safe enough to continue to see clearly.


I am less confident and more afraid of what is happening in the larger world. I continue to work in Collingwood's wake, picking up his project, working on seeing clearly the situation we find ourselves in. I have currently been reading and writing some on Ivan Illich, and today picked up my copy of Limits to Medicine from Elliot Bay Books. Illich saw incredibly clearly things that I badly want to understand.


Before writing this blog post I got out of the shower and was reflecting on the many difficult situations I find myself in. I imagined myself speaking to someone and saying "it isn't important to me what happens." I was moved by the notion. Because what I feel when I say something like that is a great clarity about how I want things to happen.


I want to continue to show up for myself and for those that I am able to. I want to continue to work on seeing clearly. Part of me feels this is naive, as there is an urgency in me, we/I must do something. I, for example, recoil from the final line of John Grays Straw Dogs: "Can we not think of the aim of life as being simply to see?" As my brief reflections on phenomenology should make clear, to see is to think. There is no separating of these things for us. And to think is never to think in some simple sense, but always to think more or less clearly. The problem is thus with seeing clearly.


While I feel it necessary to poke at John Gray, I wholly endorse Tokyo Police Club's lyric:


"But I was a lover, and I could see it clear."


Things feel out of hand, and I feel confident that the most important thing I can do is to continue to work on my seeing.

Sunday, June 19, 2022

Structure and Process, Medicine and Trauma: A Note

 I am here to document a thought that I will develop further later. 


Intelligibility broadly, thinking in general, has something to do with the relationship between structure and process. A historian, for example, has access to certain 'structures': written documents, archeologically excavated buildings and objects, any sort of pattern or stable object. From these structures historians seek to derive and describe process. The Declaration of Independence is not significant in its own right, but is significant in that it belongs to a process whereby people tried to create certain forms of government. 


Medicine, similarly, tries to explain processes with reference to structures. We notice that a person's living is painful, that their body struggles or hurts in certain ways. These are fundamentally processes, ongoing activities whereby people live. We try to explain these in terms of structures: this pathogen has entered your body, this flaw exists in your neurology or genetic code. These structures (pathogens, flaws) are then employed to explain the quality of an ongoing process. 


Most epistemoligies are overly concerned with structures. As Gendlin says in a provocatively titled essay, however, 'Process generates structure, Structures alone don't generate process'. How do we think in a way that foregrounds process? 


This problem is especially difficult because our normal way of using language is structure-bound. I am employing strings of letters into words, sentences, and paragraphs. These are structures. But my use of these structures is in process. I was thinking about these ideas in conversation with someone this morning. I am doing this writing in the midst of the larger process of my day. I am deferring eating and showering because I wanted to document these thoughts.


It seems to me that trauma in the broadest sense is essentially about process: it concerns our ongoing activity. We can certainly say that there are 'structures' associated with trauma: neurological patterns indicative of chronic threat; epigentic change in genetic expression; patterns of speech and activity. But the fundamental reality of trauma is not in the structures, it is in the process of the living body. Those structures are ancillary to those processes.


Gendlin's work shows that structural thinking (language) can be employed within a larger frame of process (experiencing). I would like to propose that medicine and trauma stand in analogous relation to one another. Adopting a process/trauma frame does not mean that we don't value or look to medical intervention. It means that medicine must be situated within a larger trauma framework, just as language/structure must be situated within a larger framework of experiencing/trauma.


These are fancy, high level, abstract things to say. My sense is that it is a basically correct statement or formulation.


But I do not yet know what these structures mean. My process must go further, still.

Friday, April 8, 2022

Scientific Process as Derivative of Political Process: Or on Three Forms of Space-Time

Science is not merely an objective gathering of knowledge, but rather a series of practices at least partly social in nature. People who work and explore as scientists, in other words, are also parents, pedestrians, and every other conceivable social role. To be a scientist is a type of process that one undertakes, and one has many 'supporting' or ancillary processes that enable one to do scientific work. One must, for example, also eat breakfast, bathe, and travel to and from work. 


Such observations are not made in an attempt to denigrate science, but to understand more precisely what it is. Its embeddedness within a social context does not mean that it is incapable of objectivity. It does mean, however, that making sense of science will always mean understanding its context, its social-political origins. The insights of science or philosophy certainly transcend this origin, but they are never entirely liberated from it. 

 

The idea, put briefly, is that scientific process is derivative of political process. By derivative I mean that political life is prior to scientific life both temporally and logically. Temporally it is obvious from the historical record that there were animals living in communities with something like politics before there were ever communities that generated philosophical or scientific process. Logically, science or philosophy already presupposes the language of the community (which is creatively redeployed for scientific purposes i.e. a 'cell' as in a room can metaphorically become a 'cell' as in one of the fundamental concept of biology). Thus both logically and temporally science is derivative of political process.


I am interested in formulating this idea in terms culled from Gendlin's A Process Model, an astonishing book I have recently completed for the first time. Gendlin's book is meant to provide a model for developing and using concepts in a process oriented way. This stands in contradistinction to the typical type of concept that we develop and use, which is a unit or structure oriented concept. This video of George Lakoff talking about the mystery of consciousness is instructive on this point.  Notice that Lakoff's attempt to talk about consciousness are all about 'aspects' of consciousness, 'structures' of the brain that 'perform' or 'do' things. Lakoff is essentially bound to unitized thinking, or acting as if though structures are genuinely explanatory. He can't regard or discuss the process as fundamental.


The problem is that structures are derivative of processes, not the other way around. The process of an embryo and a sperm meeting, for example, generates the structure of the human body. But all throughout our lives our bodies are in flux, in process. The structures are ancillary to the processes.


How do we build concepts that do not assume that causation is about the combining and re-combining of units, but rather implies process all the way down? I don't know how to answer this question 'fully' yet. But Gendlin's Process Model is one of the deepest excursions into this problem I have seen.


In the first five chapters Gendlin develops his 'basic model' of process. In those first five chapters he establishes (1) the fundamentally interactive unity of organism(body) and environment (2); the existence of functional cycles within organism-environment interaction (i.e. hunger, food, defecation, hunger, so on; plant consumption of water can also be an easier example); (3) the existence of 'objects' that can further a stopped process (i.e. water is the 'object' that a plant 'implies' when it sags, and which will carry its life process forward); (4) a primordial sense of time in which it is constituted principally by the body's implying of its own processes (i.e. my body bears the scars and marks of my past and thereby implies the past; while my body also implies the future in its ongoing needs and processes); and (5) establishes the possibility of evolutionary change within the model.


After establishing the basic model in 1-5 Gendlin begins to develop concepts that are more precisely applicable to complex animal and human situations. More specifically, Gendlin wants to show how animal behavior (6) processes could develop into more complex human symbolic processes (7), and finally, how those symbolically augmented behavior processes could turn into something like science, philosophy, or focusing (8). 


At each of these levels (behavior, symbol, focusing) a new form of space and a new form of time is developed. Understanding these different forms of space and time will help us see the fundamental dependence of scientific process on political process. In deriving of scientific process from political process we can appreciate some of the most troubling aspects of our current situation, namely, anti-intellectualism, misology, racism, sexism, transphobia, and political violence broadly.


Behavior Space

We are animals and we have and live our bodies like the rest of the animals. I find this claim to be nearly axiomatic in my own thinking and I do not feel compelled to offer arguments for it. John Gray's Straw Dogs would be a jarring and maybe helpful read for someone that disagrees with this claim. Hans Jonas' The Phenomenon of Life or Even Thompson's Mind in Life would offer more subtle and 'scientifically' grounded accounts. 


To have be an animal is to have a body that can move, indeed must move, in space, generally in pursuit of sustenance of some kind. To be an animal is to be capable of behavior, and even more specifically, locomotion. Space, in its most fundamental sense, then, is behavior space. (I find myself asking if plants or fungi have a sense of space. This isn't clear to me. I can see how the plant mode of living could involving some sort of spatiality, as plants move in different directions, interact with gravity, but behavior space it seems to me is quite fundamental for us as human beings and all other animals).


Behavior space is the immediate and intuitive bodily knowledge of my surroundings and situation. I, for example, am aware that my hot tea is to my left and that it is still too hot to drink readily. I know that my water to my right and my tea are both within my immediate grasp, but that I'd have to lean over to turn on my small lamp (a gift from my friend Eric), and I know that I'll want to do that soon because the sun is going down. I know that my phone just vibrated (I could hear and feel it through the table), and I'm pretty sure it is my friend George responding about our Beach House conversation (we don't care for the recent albums). I'm aware that my interaction with my friend this afternoon went better than expected. I am aware that I'm feeling hungry, and that my trip to the gym this afternoon means I need to be sure to eat substantially. And I'm aware that nothing in my fridge is appealing. I'm aware that my kitchen is behind me, and that I won't be able to finish this writing in one sitting. I'm aware that I'll be getting up to eat pretty soon. 


I don't really need to think about any of this in order to know it. I just have to use my attention and language more explicitly and I find that I already implicitly understand these things. Behavior space is constituted by my implicit bodily understanding of my situation. This includes the physical space I am in, what activities would be possible from different places, as well as a temporal sense of what I did earlier, what I'm doing now, and what I'll do later. I am demonstrating an explicit awareness of this implicit behavior space.


All animals have an experience of behavior space, and it is the most fundamental sense of space available to us. The notion of 'empty space' is not first experientially, but rather derived from our experience of behavior space. Indeed, Gendlin has a very interesting essay called "The derivation of space," that develops this idea. He also makes this claim in A Process Model. In fact, there is some strange consonance or identity between the idea of empty space and the emergence of symbolic consciousness. Somehow the emergence  of human 'symbolic space' seems to imply or require some sense of empty space.

 

Behavior space also has its own unique, fundamental sense of time, the original rhythms of the living body. Clock time, measured time, is derivative of a more fundamental since of time that originates in the processes of living bodies. Gendlin would say that a living body 'implies' its relationship with time. The biggest difference between clock time and the body's implied time is that body time is not linear. Clock time pretends that we can cut time up into little units, and makes it seem like past, present, and future are somehow distinct or discreet. Our experience of time, however, is far less linear in that both the past and the future seem to 'function' within the present moment. That is, our sense of the present is really some complex feeling of then-becoming-now-as-I-look-forward. I agree with Gendlin that we need an understanding of time in which both the past and the future can function in the present. The distinction between clock time and body time makes it possible for us to understand our experience of time in which  the past and future are both implied by the present body.


I now transition to the emergence of human symbolic space, or the symbolically augmented behavior space that constitutes most of human experience and serves as the basis of our experience as political animals. 


Symbolically Augmented Behavior Space

Human situations are unique and strange in that our embodied living processes are carried forward primarily through the deployment and re-deployment of communal patterns and symbols. Everything we do has a name. We go to work or school or the gym. In those places we interact with certain kinds of people who occupy certain symbolically designated roles. Everything we 'do' in those places is accomplished or at least augmented through the use of symbols.


Lets take two highly physical activities: lifting weights and building construction. Going to a gym and lifting weights is a highly physical process. Getting there, whoever, involves many symbolic steps: using words to tell a person you want to join a gym or using a website to purchase a membership. This also involves spending money, a quintessentially symbolic activity. Then once at the gym one must have some articulate understanding of the equipment, and must use numbers while interacting with all of them. Treadmills and stair-mills all have numbers. Weights are numbered. The very act of working out, too, implies a degree of self-consciousness in which we can symbolically conceptualize our own identity. We look in mirrors while we lift to see that our posture is 'correct', i.e. aligned with an imagined (symbolic) posture that we are imitating. Thus even the most physical activity, lifting weights, is suffused with symbolic elements.

 

Now lets think of physical construction project. First of all, in order for something significant to be built, like a skyscraper, someone has to have some idea about it, some plan. Generally someone will have a blue print, there will be someone in charge of making sure that the actual building conforms to what the image implies or asks for. A blueprint in this case would be the supervenient symbolic element. The blueprint implies a whole slew of subservient symbolic processes: masons to lay the concrete, welders to secure iron, carpenters to handle wooden frames and walls. Each of these tasks would have their own complex symbolic processes of measurement, distinction, and procedure. Thus something like building construction is a thoroughly symbolic process: all of the behavior of construction workers and foremen is organized by hierarchically organized symbolic patterns: money, institutions, blueprints, crafts, all with their own unique symbol-worlds. 


Human activity is therefore primarily symbolically augmented behavior space. Our bodies function just like the bodies of the other animals, but we have somehow become intertwined with symbolic processes that have fundamentally augmented our experience of ourselves, each other, and the world. Other animals engage in what seems to be proto-symbolic behavior, and dogs are particularly adept at engaging in our symbolically structured situations. But it seems this symbolic augmentation of behavior space is most pronounced in human beings. 


There are two more important points to make about symbolically augmented behavior space (SABS). The first is that SABS is the foundation of our experience as political animals. The second pertains to the relationship between SABS and time. 


SABS is the foundation of our experience as political animals because it is what it possible for us to divide and collect the world into discrete kinds. Politics is fundamentally concerned with distinguishing various things and evaluating their arrangement. For example, politics is concerned with who belongs and who does not, who constitutes a citizen of this particular community or city. There are then distinctions within those who belong, various roles, both formal and informal. Class, hierarchy, caste. In some ways this point strikes me as so obvious that I won't do much here. Politics depends upon the division of people into symbolic kinds. This symbolic order then becomes reflected in the physical structures that organize society, think of neighborhoods and geographic segregation, rooms accessible only to the wealthy or connected, so on. All of this depends upon fundamental symbolic distinctions like 'here and there', 'us and them', 'mine and yours'. 


Our experience of SABS is also particularly bound up with our experience of artifacts, constructed objects. This point is especially significant and I really don't have a full handle on it. But Gendlin, for example, discusses in A Process Model how the development of SABS emerges around the same time that people started saving their tools for later use as opposed to constructing them on the spot. When chimps go 'termite fishing', for example, they grab a stick or plant from the area and begin using it to catch termites right then and there. They don't, as far as I know, save a stick for later because it was especially good. To save a tool for later use rather than to simply create one in the moment implies that something has been added to the immediate behavior space. Something has been added or developed in which 'this' can now be understood to be useful for 'that' at a later time. So somehow the experience of SABS has something to do with the emergence of what I'll call artifactual continuity. That is, the capacity to perceive the usefulness or purpose of an object beyond the immediate context of its use. I have, for example, a frisbee in my closet. The closet is not a context in which that object can achieve what it is generally used for. Therefore I have an understanding of its usefulness despite the absence of its proper context. I have a sense of other times and other places, other situations in which it will be useful. I'd like to know more about how animals relate to artifacts, because I can think of an instance of an orangutan saving a rag to clean themself or something like that. 


The existence of artifactual continuity is what allows human beings to undertake intergenerational projects. There is a famous proverb, that progress happens when people plant trees that they will not live to sit in the shade of. I recently had a moment of clarity around the Greek notion that 'happiness takes a whole life' or to 'count no person happy until they are dead.' Having the capacity to think and plan over long periods of time is essential to large scale human development. 


Indeed, it seems as though ancient people's produced artifacts to keep track of time: stonehenge, sun dials, the pyramids, all of these things show some kind of relationship with celestial process and cycle, the tracking of time. Calendars then become essential for how we navigate time. 


In the modern world the relationship between time and artifacts has become nearly overbearing. We orient primarily towards clock time as opposed to seasonal or bodily time. We have lights that make the rhythms of the sun potentially 'obsolete'. I have been looking at Jacques le Goff's book on time, work, and culture in the middle ages. The development of measured time, clock time, was a big deal with significant cultural impacts.


One thing I am unsure of is Gendlin's claim that the advent of symbolic behavior space comes along with a sense of empty space. He makes a big deal of when hunting implements were saved for the next hunt. Apparently he thinks this has something to do with being able to conceptualize empty space as opposed to just living in behavior space. I can see this in that saving a tool implies I am aware of another situation that is not here, which means I can imagine directionality in space and time. 


Our basic experience is that of SABS. This is the most essential and immediate reality for human beings. This is another way of saying that the human being is by nature a political animal.


It is against this backdrop of SABS that scientific process emerges. 


Indeed, I would claim that philosophy or science is precisely a transcending, a moving beyond, the limitations of SABS.


Philosophy as Inner Space, Beyond the Capture of SABS


Philosophy or science is a special development of our activity within SABS. SABS does not necessarily generate philosophical or scientific process. SABS is always in a certain sense rational, as in it is structured in terms of language and 'reasons' for doing things (however contradictory or shallow the reasons may be, culture or nomos or SABS has a 'rationality' to it. Philosophy or science begins when we begin to engage rationality as such as opposed to the rationality implicit in SABS. It is in this sense of being a political animal, an animal always in SABS, that we must understand scientific or philosophical process as emergent or derivative of political process.


The transcendental character of philosophical process can be understood my examining the alternative: simply being 'captured' by SABS. Most people I know are aware of the possibility of being 'trapped' in their cultural perspective. We may fear that we lack the resources necessary to confront our unconscious biases. It is no doubt true that our cultures inevitably imbue us with certain prejudices and distortions. The symbols of any society are inherently normative. Language is always implicitly evaluative, never simply neutral. So how do we get outside of the assumptions of our culture, our time and place? Is such a thing even possible, or is something like philosophy or science ultimately just another contingent cultural 'world view'?


The reality of philosophy or science depends on the possibility of not simply being captured by the normative character of language. Philosophy depends, instead, on being able to use symbols developed in practical life to be deployed in new theoretical ways. I have recently been interested in the way that scientific language is ordinary language that has been repurposed. I noted above that the word 'cell' in biology comes from 'cell' in the sense of a room or chamber. 


How is it possible that familiar words can be made to mean new things? This is a complex question that gets straight at the nature of language. What must be the nature of language that words can be made to mean new things? Some conceptions of language will obviously not work, such as formal understandings of language whereby symbols function as fixed units. This is reminiscent of the early Wittgenstein (from what I understand). This could be called the 'picture' theory of language in which a word is like an image of a corresponding thing in the world. Sometimes language works this way, like a little label we put on something. But the picture theory of language won't explain how old words can mean new things.


The later Wittgenstein's 'use' theory of  language will get us closer to answering our question. Wittgenstein noted how the same word ('slab!') could mean many different things depending on the context and way in which it was uttered. So language is something that acquires meaning in its use in situations. Gendlin has developed this use theory of language far beyond Wittgenstein, more than anyone else I'm aware of, in fact. So now I say something like: philosophy is possible because the nature of words is not to be fixed units, but to acquire meaning in their use in situations. If a situation is different then the words will do different things.


Philosophy is possible due to the fact that words acquire new meaning when used in new situations. The human situation is peculiar in that we are always already in a symbolically structured situation, SABS. Our lives begin within a situation that language has created for itself. To be in SABS means that 'words have us' just as much as we have words.


Because the situation is linguistically structured from the outset it follows that the use of language can change the situation. This follows from the whole analysis above of SABS. Walk into a cafe, make the situation change by using words, it'll be ordinary and fascinating. 


So how do philosophical situations arise? How could there be a linguistically structured situation in which someone begins to raise fundamental questions? 

 

There are two questions that I have, two concepts that concern me: the felt sense and the good. These two questions, I suspect, will prove to be one question.

 

The emergence of science would have something to do with the ability to sense more holistically into the implicit intricacies of SABS. This follows from the claim that science begins to make explicit the rational structure implicit in SABS (implicit, in fact, in all animal bodies). 

 

The order of SABS is the orderliness of the living body with the addition of symbols that structure and augment it The living body, in turn, is part of the larger order of nature. In the chapter "The Intertwining / The Chiasm" Merleau-Ponty shows that the body's presence within the visual field can be taken as evidence of its fundamental continuity with the rest of being. The body is continuous with the other things in the visual field and therefore can't be totally foreign to them, must be akin in some way.

 

Science or philosophy thus has something to do with the order that is present in the whole visible world and experienced most directly in our living bodies. 

 

Science or philosophy thus begins from a type of orderliness that seems to be identical with the world itself. Science or philosophy assumes the intelligibility of nature, the orderliness of nature, and our access to this orderliness.

 

Our access to this orderliness seems to be fundamentally mysterious. Einstein, at the end of his life, wrote that science and religion meet in the fundamentally orderly quality of the world, and the strange fact that our language seems to be capable of revealing or explicating that orderliness.

 

The experience of encountering the world's orderliness in our own bodies could be called having a 'felt sense'. A felt sense is the essential concept of Gendlin's whole philosophy and its emergence is identical with the emergence of science from SABS. SABS is inherently a limited domain, one that implies capture and obfuscation of the deeper order of nature. A felt sense, by contrast, is capable of grasping holistically the partial reality created by our enmeshment in SABS.  Wholeness, somehow, is what Gendlin points to as the defining character of a felt sense.


When engaging with a felt sense one accesses directly one's living relationship with the orderly-body-emergent-from-orderly-nature. A felt sense allows us to see that our body is engaged with the situation in a way that transcends and reconfigures the generic social categories of SABS. It is this capacity to engage with the symbols of SABS in a way that is not simply social, not simply intelligible within the SABS situation, but implying the larger situation of nature or cosmos from which SABS is emergent and contained. 


Thus a felt sense, or the ability to sense holistically beyond the domains of SABS, is a prerequisite of the emergence of science.


The emergence of a felt sense would also be the explicit emergence of awareness of 'the good' or 'goodness as such'. All living activity is implicitly directed at the good. Living things think it is good to be alive and all of their activity is aimed at preserving and elaborating this implicit goodness.


To become aware of a felt sense is to become explicitly aware of one's living relationship with goodness. SABS has an unreflective relationship with goodness, just like behavior space. Put differently, the beautiful and the good are taken to be identical within behavior space and SABS. The emergence of science, philosophy, or a felt sense, however, would be to become aware of a diremption between the beautiful and the good, what seems to be good and what is really good


The felt sense has a unique form of implying, and this implying is always towards some form of rightness or goodness. Gendlin talks about the felt sense as a 'zone of rightness' where steps will always emerge that have some 'life forward' energy to them. 


This concept of life forward energy is the most mysterious and difficult in this whole set of questions. Behavior space and SABS are clearly ways that more complex forms of life carved out to carry their life energy forward. Science or philosophy is also a way of carrying life forward energy further.


The problem is that some human beings are carried forward by philosophical activity and some are not. Some people live good lives strictly within SABS. I would think this is most common in sound SABS, or good governmental situations. But for some reason, perhaps when individuals are harmed rather than nurtured by the SABS, philosophy emerges as a way to carry forward energy that cannot be carried forward in the political situation as such.


It seems that the existence of the felt sense and the existence of goodness must simply be assumed. So much can then be made intelligible. But if one begins from units, from a pre-human developmental story, there will be a gap. Terrence Deacon's Incomplete Nature is evidence of this massive gap that exist between first and third person accounts. Deacon never makes a phenomenological turn, concludes the book instead by talking about the 'morphodynamic' processes of the brain and how we could see them correlated in the experience of consciousness. He downplays the rift between first and third person perspectives.


I conclude with an observation on the felt sense and the tension between nature and nomos. The tension between nature and nomos, a staple of Leo Strauss' thought, is well reflected in the relationship between SABS and a felt sense.


Felt sensing is an ascent that is also a return. It is a return in two senses. First, in a simpler sense in which we return to the concepts our community delivered to us, we return to them, we return to our lives within the 7 symbolic matrix. But is also a 'return' in a stranger sense in which we are getting access to something that 'was' there all along; a potential or possibility, never actualized. This is where the dimension of eternity shows itself: this was in principle always possible for a human being once they become a human being. This is in fact what we mean by human being. A being that can begin to make explicit for the first time the implicit intricacy that is nature, that was present in behavior space and SABS. Aha, openness to nature. Solitary historians of the cosmos.


Conclusion : First person science means the ascent from politics... we have to feel 'back' developmentally to understand behavior space, we have to reach out forward and beyond for inner space, holistic space. We are most naturally in symbolically augmented behavior space - rational, mimetic, political... not philosophical... To begin felt sensing is to make explicit what was implicit in behavior space and SABS. It is to invite a new experience of time. It is to invite a new experience of inner space.


I've accomplished something in this explication, but I can do no more.