Seven Views of Mind

Lise Wallach, Michael A Wallach

• Publisher: Psychology Press
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781136246777
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Psychology
• Subtopic: History & Theory in Psychology
• Index: Psychology

A CHOICE Outstanding Academic Title 2013!

This book examines seven different answers to the question, "What are we talking about when we talk about the mind?" It begins by considering the dualistic view, frequently taken for granted by students, that words like "belief, " "anger, " and "jealousy" refer to a realm quite distinct from the physical world, and notes the difficulties associated with this view as well as why many find it compelling. The book then describes six further major views of mind alternative to dualism that have been developed by psychologists, philosophers, and neuroscientists: Some claim that such words are just about behavior. Some claim that such words are theoretical constructs, like "quarks" in physics. Some identify the mind with the brain or with a kind of program in the brain like the software in a computer. Some think there is nothing to which such words refer. Some think mental talk reflects nothing but convention.

Students in psychology learn about different views of mind in various courses, but they tend to be left on their own to deal with the conflicts among them. How to conceive of mind is usually addressed in the context not of psychology but of philosophy, where it tends to be treated in ways that may seem esoteric to psychology students. Seldom discussed in one place, this book presents all seven views and the reasons for and against each in a relatively nontechnical, informal manner designed to appeal to psychology students and their instructors, permitting comparisons and possible resolutions.

1
Mind as Distinct from the Physical World

To many people it seems self-evident that each of us possesses a mind or soul distinct from the physical world. For some it is a tenet central to their religion; and not only they but also many secularists believe that a purely physical world would be an utterly bleak world indeed—meaningless, heartless, and cold. Siberia would be paradise by comparison. There might be no more reason for living, or at least for living in other than a completely cynical manner; no more reason for any concern with what is right or good. In fact, believers and secularists alike often blame the waning of dualistic outlooks and the rise of materialism for the moral decay in contemporary society. Materialism, that is to say, both in the original sense (nothing exists but the physical) and in the derivative sense, since nothing exists like mind, soul, or spirit, nothing is worth pursuing that fails to cash out in the currency of tangible rewards.

Denial of dualism is often taken as an attack on the central ideas of Western culture, on everything that our society holds dear. If we are just machines, what can freedom mean? How can we be responsible for what we do, if our actions are the consequences of nothing but physical law or chance? What meaning can there be to justice, self-government, autonomy?

But even if life would become meaningless were dualism to be rejected, even if our cherished practices and institutions would then disappear, such considerations would not suffice to render dualism a valid doctrine. They would not show that the mind really can be distinguished from the physical world. Much as it may trouble or gall us to conceive of ourselves as nothing but concatenations of molecules decreed by chance or the laws of physics to ricochet hither and yon, our discomfort at such a prospect makes materialism no less likely to be the case. Wishing it away is not a valid option, nor a compelling argument against it, nor is making its denial an article of faith. If we are to have any hope of arriving at the truth, the arguments for and against dualism will need to be considered, and we will need to evaluate them irrespective of the consequences. But it is also possible that these presumed consequences have been overdrawn. Less may hang on dualism than appears at first to be the case, or so we will propose.

CARTESIAN CONFOUNDS AND THE PARANORMAL

A celebrated argument for a sharp distinction between mind and body was developed by the philosopher Descartes (1637/1951) in the 17th century in the course of his efforts to find a secure foundation for knowledge. He tried to doubt everything he believed, but he found it impossible to doubt a principle with which his name will probably forever be associated: “I think, therefore I am.” At the same time he was still able to suppose that he had no body and no physical location. “I thence concluded,” he said, “that I was a substance whose whole essence or nature consists only in thinking, and which, that it may exist, has need of no place, nor is dependent on any material thing; so that ‘I,’ that is to say, the mind by which I am what I am, is wholly distinct from the body …” (1637/1951, p. 28).

Descartes’s being able to believe, however, even to believe with certainty, that his mind—that which is thinking—exists while doubting that his body exists, establishes only that he conceives of his mind as distinct from his body, not that it actually is distinct from his body. The way we conceive of things is not necessarily the way they are. For example, the ancient Greeks conceived of the morning star and the evening star as two entirely separate stars, Phosphorus and Hesperus, respectively. Phosphorus was visible only in the morning at certain times of the year in the eastern sky. Hesperus was visible only in the evening at other times of the year in the western sky. The astronomical consensus, however, now tells us that there are not two stars at all. What was conceived of as two stars is just one star, or rather the planet, Venus, not Phosphorus and Hesperus and not Lucifer and Vesper either, as in the Roman nomenclature.

Of course, Descartes’s argument did give rise to an irreverent wag’s story (a British empiricist philosopher, perhaps?) about Descartes in a pub, several drinks under his belt, being asked by the publican if he wants a final round before curfew. When he responds “I think not,” he forthwith disappears. Confounding conception with reality evidently can be hazardous to a Cartesian’s health.

The existence of a mental or spiritual world that is different from the physical one is sometimes taken to be demonstrated by such presumptive paranormal phenomena as the mind reading of extrasensory perception, the mind over matter of psychokinesis, or the efficacy of prayer. But evidence for phenomena of these kinds is weak at best. Apparent cases can usually be accounted for in terms of coincidence, distortions of memory, deception, or similar possibilities. It seems fair to say that dispassionate, even-handed assessments of research on paranormal phenomena have not been encouraging (e.g., Hyman, 1989). Sometimes supportive research is reported for such entities, which appears to be as carefully and rigorously conducted as more routinely accepted kinds of more conventional research (e.g., Bem, 2011; Bem & Honorton, 1994). But problems have frequently surfaced later on concerning such apparently supportive research regarding lack of replicability (e.g., Milton & Wiseman, 1999). Even more significantly, it seems appropriate to call for stronger evidence when conclusions hang in the balance which would require drastic revision if not upheaval in current scientific understanding than when the conclusions at issue are in no way anomalous.

The presumptive paranormal phenomena that would be difficult to understand in physical terms may well be chimerical. But, the dualist may ask, what about such eminently normal and seemingly self-evident phenomena as our thoughts, our purposes, all our quite mundane kinds of conscious experiences? Are these not real, and is it not part of the very definition of these phenomena that they differ from physical phenomena? This in itself will not support dualism, however. The trouble is again with the Cartesian confounding of the way we conceive of things with the way they really are. To say that nonphysicality is part of the very definition of mentality could be a first step, but it would have to be followed up by showing that mentality as thus defined applies to something that exists. It may have been part of some people’s definitions of the morning star and the evening star that the former star was visible only in the morning and the latter star only in the evening, but we now know that there is only one star, which in actual fact, is a planet. If one defines the mental as nonphysical there may be nothing that is mental.

FREE WILL?

May a more cogent argument for dualism be based on human choice and freedom? The movement of merely physical objects, when not due to chance, is determined by physical law. Humans, on the contrary, seem to have free will. We make choices, and when we do so, we are aware that we could always have chosen differently. Further, our conviction of free will, it may be argued, is fundamental to much that we value. If everything we did was predetermined, why should we ever make any efforts, why should we not just succumb to fatalism? If our choices are all determined by factors outside of ourselves, how can we be held responsible for them? And what sense would there be in our cherished ideals of social and political freedom?

Powerful as these points may appear, we do not believe that they provide compelling arguments for our actions being due to free will as against being determined by law or chance. Nor do we believe that so much need be lost if free will is denied. We certainly agree with the free will advocate that we make choices. But those choices themselves may be determined by our biological natures and whatever environments we, like fish, have been swimming in (literally too, in the womb). When we make a choice, we sense that we could always have chosen differently. But could we really have chosen differently even if everything else had remained the same? It is not at all clear that under these circumstances we could in fact have chosen differently. The devil is in the “everything else.” Your very nature, including what leads you to make the choices you make, may be an outcome of past happenings. If everything else, including all the factors that played a role in your development, had remained the same, it is not at all clear that you could have made a different choice. At least not unless your choice was merely due to chance, in which case it would hardly be yours at all in any meaningful way. Any sense that you could always have chosen differently, even if everything else had remained the same, may be an illusion, born of your inevitable lack of awareness of all the factors that have gone into making you the way you are.

There can be little doubt that our genes, our culture, and our individual histories, influence the choices that we make. It might not be the case that, as John B. Watson (1930) suggests, any normal infant could be brought up in such a manner as to choose to become a thief, but clearly each of us might have made some different choices in our lives had our environmental backgrounds, cultural and individual, been different. Similarly, we might have made some different choices if we had been born with different genes. Had some of the people who have become addicted to alcohol and other substances of abuse not possessed an anomalous gene for the dopamine D2 receptor, which gene apparently decreases the biological ability to derive pleasure from ordinary, everyday activities, they might never have made the choices that led to their addictions (e.g., Blum, Cull, Braverman, & Comings, 1996). Since the feeling of pleasure from other, more mundane pursuits is less available to them, it is harder for them than for those without this genetic anomaly to “just say no.”

The dualist may recognize the effects of biology and environment but argue that they are only influences not fully determinative. It may be harder for someone with an anomalous gene for the dopamine D2 receptor not to become addicted, or for someone who grew up amidst violence and abuse to avoid violence themselves, but not everyone with such preconditions gets into trouble, and not just because of chance. The individual himself or herself still has a choice to make. Otherwise, what is to keep us from fatalism? Why make any efforts at all, if everything is predetermined?

We agree with the dualist that an individual’s choices matter. Everything is not predetermined in the sense that what you choose to do is irrelevant. One can, in fact, often have a much greater effect on what happens than one realizes. It is important to recognize that the individual’s choices do depend on him or her, but it is not inconsistent with determinism. However, determinism does not mean fatalism, it just means that you are yourself a part of nature and not outside the realm of natural causation. You have become the person that you are through all this myriad of things that have gone on before (including previous choices of your own). But at any given moment, the future will be different if you choose differently. That your choice may be determined by what you have become through what came before does not mean that what you do doesn’t matter.

The dualist may feel that this gives little comfort. Does determinism not mean, he or she may ask, that in the end my choices really depend entirely on factors outside myself? My biological nature, as well as the environmental contingencies that I encounter, all ultimately depend on happenings that took place before I even existed. How can I then really be held responsible for what I do? The answer that what I do still depends on me, that what I do is still up to me to decide, may seem insufficient. In particular, the dualist may ask, if what people do depends ultimately on matters over which they had no control, is it fair to punish them when they transgress? When we are aware of factors in a wrongdoer’s background that could contribute to that individual’s poor behavior, we tend to think less punishment is deserved. If we fully understood all the factors leading to their transgression, would we not come to think of punishment as undeserved altogether?

Nondualists might make several points in response. One is that even if the absence of free will failed to support and fit customary social and political practices like punishing criminals that would hardly constitute a valid argument in free will’s favor. Another factor to consider is that perhaps those practices can be justified pragmatically by their effect in deterring undesirable behavior. Yet another factor is that perhaps those practices should be changed anyway, with the emphasis on rehabilitation rather than punishment.

On the other hand, a nondualist may also conceive of the notions of retribution and just deserts as being quite consistent with the absence of free will. When a person has performed an action, it is that person who has made the choice to act in that way; whatever may have led to the development of the person he or she is thus making that particular choice. If the person has not been threatened with adverse consequences for refraining from that action, if he or she has not been misinformed about the results that action might produce or the possibilities of alternative actions, why should that individual not be held responsible for the action?

Granted that we tend to think less punishment is deserved for wrongdoing when we are aware of factors in the wrongdoer’s background that could explain his or her poor behavior. This does not necessarily imply, however, that if we fully understood that person’s background, we would entirely exonerate her or him. Perhaps we would still think the person deserved to be punished, just less severely than comparable wrongdoers with more advantageous backgrounds, because the former would have had to work harder in order to resist temptation or control his or her actions. Given these points, seeing people as responsible for their choices, regardless of the existence of free will or not, may arguably be quite appropriate. Whether or not our choices originally depend on factors outside of ourselves seems to us to have less significance than believers in free will tend to suppose. So long as no one is constraining us, our choices as we make them depend on us, whatever led to our present state. Our choices do not have to be undetermined to avoid fatalism, and our choices do not have to be undetermined to justify punishment and reward. And if our choices depend on us, the absence of free will is perfectly consistent with ideals of social and political freedom. Denial of free will, then, does not seem to have such drastic consequences as is sometimes thought, which may render questioning of dualism more tolerable to some.

CREATIVITY?

We may not have free will any more than merely physical objects do. The radical distinction between humans with minds and what is merely physical can thus receive little support from free will arguments. Might human creativity provide a more compelling argument for the distinction? Think of a Beethoven symphony, a Picasso painting, the Empire State Building, trains and planes and television and computers, and on and on. These great developments seem to require originators or innovators—composers, artists, architects, inventors. Such developments do not seem capable of being understood as the outcome of regular, lawful processes like those of physical systems, but only as the result of the functioning of creative minds.

But it is hard to tell ahead of time just what can and cannot be understood in given ways. Not that long ago the only way of accounting for the multiplicity of plant and animal species was to posit their creation by the hand of God. Quite recently, the existence of life itself as distinct from inorganic matter was said to depend on a special force, the élan vital. Today scientists believe that biology can account both for the origin of species and the origin of life. Science keeps nibbling away at what previously seemed beyond its scope.

Novel products have now even been created by computers (Boden, 1999, 2004). A computer has originated a mathematical theorem no one had ever thought of before, including the person who designed that computer. There is a computer program which can create new music in the style of any specified composer, given a database to start from of that composer’s extant compositions. If one wants a Mozart symphony that Mozart never wrote, it can oblige. There also is a program which generates jazz in the improvisational style of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, starting from a few elementary givens just as the improviser would do.

How far could such developments go? There is no reason to think they could not and will not go further. The dualist may protest that computers have to be programmed by humans to perform these creative feats, whereas we perform them on our own. But do we really perform them “on our own”? Just as the computer’s creation of products that are novel to everyone may be explained by the scaffolding provided by the programmer, the human’s creation of such products may be explained by the biological scaffolding provided by evolution. Considerations of creativity then, as we found with considerations of free will, do not seem to provide convincing grounds for holding that human beings with minds have capacities that merely physical systems are incapable of possessing.

COULD MACHINES BE CONSCIOUS?

But, the dualist may ask, are there no other capacities of this kind? Perhaps most significantly, human beings are capable of consciousness, phenomenal experience, which in most people’s estimation is probably the most compelling argument for dualism. Could machines be conscious? The very question may seem ridiculous. No matter how closely machines could be made to resemble humans, would they not still lack phenomenal experience: lack feelings, pains, conscious thoughts, perceptions, emotions, and desires? Machines that behaved like humans would simply be zombies.

A critic may protest that in arguing for dualism, one cannot assume that consciousness is unattainable by anything that is entirely constituted of physical material. That would be begging the question. Perhaps, the critic may say, we should attribute consciousness to machines if they really acted like us. How do we know (or at least believe we know), after all, that people other than ourselves have conscious experience? On what basis do we make this attribution of friends, neighbors, lovers? Do we not infer this on the basis of their behavior? Should we not infer that robots too have consciousness, then, if they behave like us?

In our opinion, robots made entirely of the kinds of materials of which computers and other machines are made would be incapable of having consciousness in anything like the sense in which we have it (or to behave as we behave). But this is not enough to support dualism. Conceivably, it might some day become possible to fabricate protoplasm de novo from physicochemical materials, and ultimately to build another person from such materials, a construction similar physically to oneself. Certainly we are far away from having the knowledge that would be needed to build the kind of near-human “replicant” with whom the hero of Ridley Scott’s 1982 film Blade Runner falls in love in a futuristic Los Angeles, let alone something that replicates fully the physical composition of a human being. But what is there to prevent the possibility in principle of a complete replica? In the brave new world of molecular biology, genomic research, and the rest, what seems far away may even be closing in on us. If such a complete replica were to be created, and it behaved just like a human, there would seem ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Preface
• Introduction: The Problem
• 1 Mind as Distinct from the Physical World
• 2 Mind as a Manner of Speaking
• 3 Mind as Behavior
• 4 Mind as Software in the Head
• 5 Mind as Brain
• 6 Mind as Scientific Construct
• 7 Mind as Social Construct
• Conclusion: How to Avoid Dualism without Losing Your Mind (Entirely)
• References
• Index