"I Observer"/"I Avatar"

As a young adult, I bought crime novelist Mickey Spillane’s premier 1947 novel, I, The Jury. Before it was made into two movies, the book had sold 3.5 million copies. In a flurry of action, Spillane wrote it in 19 days.

In ways generally unrecognized, the book captures the essence of the existential “I” that we all carry around in that three-and-a-half pound of mush inside our head. The protagonist of the book’s narrative, detective Mike Hammer, featured his “I, Observer,” who witnessed the deliberately intended painful murder of Jack Williams, a close friend who had saved Hammer’s life during a WWII combat incident. Hammer’s “I, Observer” felt the injustice, pain, and grief of the murder. Hammer’s “I, Avatar,” acted to achieve revenge on the killer.

All real live humans have these two “I’s.” Our “I, Observer” is a witness to the events of life. We experience life as if we were given a ticket to watch the game of life as it unfolds. Our “I, Avatar” responds to what it sees to act on our behalf. We take actions that we think are appropriate ways to respond. The difference is that the one I is “captain of its own ship,” while the other I is the sail of its own ship, unfurling as the wind blows.

One way to recognize one’s own dual I’s is in the dreams we have every night. Our “I, Observer” consciously witnesses a dream, whether we later remember it or not. In such dreams, we are aware of the story and maybe even of our role in it. Normally, however, we do not intervene to alter what happens in the dream. Even our own actions are just witnessed, not modified, as if we were watching ourselves in a movie.

Photo by Daniel Hohe on Unsplash

There are, however, other dream occasions, apparently relatively rare, in which “I, Avatar” takes over in a dream to steer its course in the real time of the dream. These so-called “lucid dreams” are apparently not the default mode of brain thinking in dreams. Maybe “I, Observer” is the default mode of operation in both dreams and in wakeful life.

It does seem clear that the mode sometimes switches to “I, Avatar.” Our I becomes an agent that intends to act in response to what happens to us. “I, Avatar” reasons on the issues, decides the most appropriate course of action, constructs an action plan, launches activity, and adjusts action in response to the emerging consequences.

Neuroscientists don’t know how the brain switches between observer and avatar. In fact, some neuroscientists believe that the brain has no avatar, only the observer. These scientists enlist this view to support their contention that humans lack free will. If your conscious mind has no capacity for agency, then it surely cannot exert free will. All willed action would have to be pre-determined or driven by uncontrolled forces, like the sails of a ship. Such a view precludes a captain who can adjust the sail positions.

Most neuroscientists likely agree that Observer and Avatar, if it exists, are creatures of the brain. The brain must construct those creatures the way that it constructs everything else—that is, in the form of nerve impulse representations. This basic fact was made most compellingly by the Nobel Prize studies of David Hubel and Torsten Weisel, who noticed something astonishing as they moved recording electrodes up and down in the visual cortex of awake cats who were watching scenes on a screen. A given neuron was inactive most of the time, but occasionally fired off a burst of voltage pulses. They later proved that a given neuron was sensitive to only a small feature of the image, such as a small line segment. Other visual cortex neurons were sensitive to other small segments, and they likewise selectively responded with impulse discharge. Together, all these neurons could reconstruct the image. A key point is that the image is not in the cortex. Its representation is there, in the form of nerve impulses.

The logical extension of such facts is that the brain experiences and acts in the world via its nerve impulse representations. Both the observer and the avatar must be likewise constructed of patterns of impulses, likely differing depending on whether the I is operating as observer or avatar.

This way of thinking about selfhood also resolves the mind/brain enigma. Mind is not some ghost floating around in brain. Mind is the material existence of nerve impulse representations of experience and thought. The concept of “mind over matter” is nonsense. Mind IS matter.

No one knows how the brain decides which mode of operation to use. The Observer mode seems preferable as a default, because it is the collector of information and experience that can inform the Avatar should action be beneficial to the brain and body in which it is embedded. Without the Avatar, however, our personhood is a victim of circumstance, compelled to act in predestined ways that may not be beneficial or wise. We can argue that the Avatar is the brain’s way of saving itself from its own foolishness, of counteracting adverse circumstance, and of advancing one’s agendas. The trick of successful living is the ability to switch into Avatar mode when it is needed. When we fail in life, we should ask I, Avatar, “Where were you when I needed you?

Source:

Klemm, W. R. (2014). Mental Biology: The New Science of How the Brain and Mind Relate. New York: Prometheus.

What Am I? What Are You?

I am an agent, one who does things like think, feel, believe, choose, plan, and does things. But what is it about me that makes me an agent? Obviously, my agency arises from my brain, as does yours—but where and how?

The starting point for an answer has to be based on how the brain does everything else it does besides create my “I.” The principle is that the currency of brain function is the nerve impulse. More specifically, the brain models my inner and outer worlds by creating representations of sensation, memory, and thought in the form of patterns of nerve impulses flowing in specific neural networks. I call these Circuit Impulse Patterns (CIPs). For detection of a specific visual image, for example, the image is represented by one set of CIPS in the visual cortex. A different image will generate a different set of CIPS in the visual cortex to represent it. Documentary basis for this conclusion was provided in the Nobel Prize work of Hubel and Weisel. The same principle applies to all other mental forms of representation. That is, for example, one set of CIPS carries out the command of my “I” to type this sentence. Another set of CIPs carries out the command of my “I” to get up out of my chair and take a break. In short, everything my “I” chooses to think, feel, and do is implemented by a specific set of CIPs.

The circuit nature of the nervous system is fundamental. I have, for example, a circuit of neurons that begins in my foot, projects into a specific spinal cord segment of neurons, and these in turn project back to leg muscles that make me lift my leg if I step on a tack. Nerve impulses carry the sensory and motor information in this circuit. Additionally, this spinal circuit has reciprocal connections with various circuits in the brain that collectively inform me of pain and may also modulate my behavioral response to the pain. This information is likewise carried by nerve impulses.

So now we must examine my “I.” What is its nature? How does it get created? How is it that I know I have stepped on a tack, have generated a stream of cursing, and am aware of any other associated behaviors? Is it not likely that this “agent” of selfhood inside my brain is itself a set of CIPs? This set may operate unconsciously or consciously. I likely am not aware of what is happening in my spinal cord. I most certainly will be aware that my foot hurts and that “I” am responding to the pain. This “I” serves as an avatar that mediates my interaction with the world my brain is representing via CIPs.

Now, this brings us to the issue of conscious awareness. That too may be implemented as a set of CIPs. The CIPs of consciousness are equivalent to an avatar that the brain has instantiated to act consciously on behalf of its perceived interests. My avatar can reflect on the meaning of various sets of CIPs circulating within the global workspace of brain. The avatar can access and influence these various CIPs sets, because it too is a CIP set that connects physically to the other circuits and communicates in the shared language of nerve impulses.

This means that the conscious avatar can do things via its integral connections with other circuits. This capacity for agency refutes the contention of many scholars who have the unfounded belief that consciousness is just an “observer” that cannot do anything. Because the CIPS of my conscious avatar can do things, it means that it can implement choices and decisions that it makes.

This brings us to the issue of free will. The CIPs of my conscious avatar most certainly are affected in automatic ways by its connections to other CIPs. Thus, much of what my avatar does is not caused by free choice. Such actions result from inherent circuit connectivity and the programming of prior learning. On the other hand, because my avatar CIPs have their own existence, they can create representations for many alternative actions, including creative options that it had not been taught by prior experience. The avatar CIPs can reason about the pros and cons, and make a choice that is neither pre-determined nor inevitable. In short, my “I” avatar has the capacity for some free will.

The CIPs of my avatar allow me to be conscious, to think, feel, and choose with some degree of freedom. To reframe the dictum of Descartes:

I am, therefore I think.

References

1.       Klemm, W. R. 2016. Making a Scientific Case for Conscious Agency and Free Will. New    

York: Elsevier.

2.       Klemm, W. R. 2014. Mental Biology: The New Science of How the Brain and Mind Relate, New York: Prometheus/Random House.

3.       Klemm, W. R. 2011. Atoms of Mind. The “Ghost in the Machine” Materializes. New York: Springer.

4.       Klemm, W. R. (2015). Neurobiology Perspectives on Agency: 10 Axioms and 10 Proposition, Chapter 4. Constraints of Agency. Explorations of Theory in Everyday Life. edited  by Graig W. Gruber et al. Annals of Theoretical Psychology, Vol. 12, p.51-88.

5.     Klemm, W.  R. 2012. Sense of Self and Consciousness: Nature, Origins, Mechanisms, and Implications, p. 111-138, in Consciousness: States, Mechanisms and Disorders. Edited by A. E. Cavanna and A. Nani.  Hauppauge, N.Y.: Nova Science Publishers. Open access available at https://www.novapublishers.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=38801

6.        Klemm, W. R. 2011. Neural representations of the sense of self. Archives Cognitive Psychology. Advances in Cognitive Psychology. 7: 16-30. DOI 10.2478/v10053-008-0084-2.

Brains Have Owners

Brains have owners. The question is, "Just who is this owner?" Can the brain be its own owner? Or is it more likely that the brain generates a process that acts like an owner? You might call that process you. The owner is your conscious mind. But how does conscious mind exist? What does the brain do to possess it?

Everything the brain does, as far as we know, involves the deployment and distribution of nerve impulses in defined circuitry to control bodily functions, thought, and behavior. Thus the owner, that is your conscious you, could exist as a special collection of nerve impulses operating in a particular way.

The conscious self is an explicit frame of reference by which the nerve impulse patterns of stimuli from all senses can be evaluated in the context of self-awareness. The smell of sizzling steak is only detected by my olfactory pathways, but it is perceived by my “I.” In both cases, this processing is mediated by nerve impulses.  Likewise, the sight of a beautiful woman, or a touch of kindness, or the sound of great music, or the taste of fine wine, are all represented by nerve impulses in my primary sensory pathways, but perceived by my conscious sense of itself.

One approach to this assertion about nerve impulses and their consequences is to dismiss it as irrelevant to the issue of consciousness. This is the dualist position, which holds that mind is external to brain, but is trapped in there while you are alive. However, almost all scientists hold that mind should not be ripped out of the brain. Why can't conscious mind exist as a materialistic property, existing as unique patterns of nerve impulses flowing in self-organizing neural circuitry? Neural circuit impulse patterns (CIPs) underlie all basic brain functions–that should include the state of consciousness. Religious people might say that this is an atheistic position. Not necessarily. There are multiple other explanations for what we call the soul. Here, let us stick with what science has thus far revealed.

Consciousness is a state of awareness (knowing that you know) that uses a set of circuit impulse patterns (CIPs) to represent the sense of self, just as bodily sensations are represented by impulses flowing in the mapped circuitry of the sensory cortex. Movement commands are represented by impulse patterns in the motor cortex and allied structures. The CIPs of conscious self could be the equivalent of a brain-created avatar that acts in the world on behalf of its brain and body. I suggest that conscious CIPs constitute a being. It is what makes us a human being.

People who play computer games know about avatars that act as proxies for the gamer. The avatar is the game-player’s agent, doing things in the game on behalf of the player. A good example is the increasingly popular Web environment known as Second Life, in which players create their own avatars and live vicariously through the avatar in the virtual world. Unlike computer avatars, the brain avatar can program itself by deciding what it wants to experience, learn, and remember. Moreover, the biological avatar gets to decide or at least influence what the brain thinks is in the best interest and supervise the actions to accomplish it.

This avatar being is the conscious sense of “I.” It detects much of what the brain is thinking, such as beliefs, wishes, decisions, plans, and the like. Moreover, the avatar knows how it is teaching the unconscious brain in terms of specific cognitive capabilities, motor skills, ideas, attitudes, or emotions. The avatar, by definition, processes information in the context of its own self-identity. It is the avatar that is self-aware.

The nervous system’s fundamental design principle is to accomplish awareness—to detect things in the environment and then generate appropriate responses. In higher animals, that capability extends to detecting more and more abstract things, ultimately the most abstract thing of all, the sense of self. Such a CIP-based system is not only able to detect and code events in the “outside” world, but it can do the same for its inner sense of self. Thus, the conscious mind, being automatically and simultaneously aware of the outside world and its inner world has the capacity to know that it knows. This sense also has an autonomy not found with the traditional five senses. It is an entity that has a life of its own.

Any time we are awake, the avatar is active—deployed on line so to speak. By way of computer analogy, when the avatar is “on-line” during wakefulness, it is operating in RAM and able to exert its functions. When the avatar is shut down, as in going to sleep, the avatar goes off-line and saves its CIP files on "hard disk." In biological systems, the hard disk is stored in the neuron terminals and synapses of the preferential segments of the global neural network that hold the memory of self and the capacity for rebooting the self when sleep ends. The self may have undergone some subtle changes with the day’s experiences. By the way, updating the modified self in long-term memory is one of the functions of sleep.

The really hard question is how could such an avatar exist as a conscious being? What is it about the CIPs of the avatar that empowers it to evaluate input in the context of a conscious self-awareness? Nobody knows, but I will speculate that the consciousness exists because the avatar was created as a “second self-aware self,” which because of the intermingling with CIPs of multiple other circuits allows consciousness to tap into unconscious processes and to exert influence on the brain and behavior. Moreover, we should consider the possibility that consciousness arises because of a unique way in which CIPs are engaged. Much current research shows that the degree of synchrony and time-locking of CIPs in various regions and within regions of cortex are associated with conscious processes. One can use the electroencephalogram to monitor the oscillating field potentials that are associated with impulse activity in a given area. These are voltage waves that occur in multiple frequency bands, and their phase relationship should surely be consequential. Depending on the nature of stimulus and mental state, these oscillations may jitter with respect to each other or become time locked. The functional consequence has to be substantial, and I suggest that this is a fundamental aspect of consciousness.

How can this avatar be aware of sensations? The avatar CIP must “read” the CIP messages representing sensations, which it can do because the circuits of the avatar and sensory cortex overlap. The avatar can read memory stores because its CIPs are coupled to storage areas. Since the avatar knows who it is from the CIP representation of its sense of self, it simultaneously knows that it knows what it knows about the target sensory CIPs. This representation can be compared and evaluated with representation of other targets as they are experienced or recalled from memory, all of which can be processed in the same avatar CIP environment.

How could such an avatar do things? Most of us assume that our avatars are not only self-aware but also make choices and decisions to act on behalf of its brain. How could that be accomplished? Because the avatar is actually a set of CIPs interacting with other CIPs, it can modify and be modified by what is happening in the other CIP sets.

When the brain constructs a CIP representation of a sensation like sound or sight, as far as the brain is concerned, the representation is the sensation. It is the representation that the brain is aware of, not the outer world as it really exists. Another way to say this is you have one set of CIPs, of the avatar, sharing CIP information of another set, the otherwise unconscious sensations and processes.

How can avatars exist as the different personalities of different people? This question is wrongly posed. CIPs may help create these things, but it is also the representation of such things. The CIP coding is an essential part of the machinery of mind. The avatar can therefore influence the very circuits from which it is being generated. This is key—read it again if necessary. In that way, the avatar CIPs can change in real time the nature of the CIP codes at some future time, by creating memory storage if there is going to be significant delay. In short, conscious mind can change its mind. If the CIP codes of personality are replayed and rehearsed enough to create long-term memory, the mind change becomes permanent part of the brain's memory of who and what you are.

Maybe my idea of "I" is an illusion, a figment of my brain’s imagination … But wait: I have to be more than a virtual me. My idea of "I" is created and represented in the form of real brain circuitry, in the wetware of nerves, impulses, and aqueous solutions of neurotransmitter chemicals. When “I” am on-line, my sense of self exists as patterns of nerve impulses propagating throughout that circuitry. When I am asleep my "I" goes off-line and exists as preferred junctions among neurons that store "me" on the biological equivalent of a “hard drive” that has the capacity to put "me" back on line. Remember, all these avatar processes operate throughout our brain’s odyssey from womb to tomb. The avatar is what makes us human.

Some of this article is excerpted from my recent book, Mental Biology: The New Science of How the Brain and Mind Relate, available at Amazon or the publisher's web site. To read rave reviews, go to the author's web site and scroll down to this book.