
Joseph E. LeDoux (Harvard University Press)
John Parrington (Icon Books)
LAST month, two new books on consciousness added to the growing pile of literature on this contentious and difficult subject. One claims to give us a “new view of what makes us who we are”; the other offers “a radical new theory of human consciousness”. Bold claims indeed, but do they succeed?
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The books are The Four Realms of Existence by Joseph E. LeDoux and Consciousness by John Parrington. Both authors take an evolutionary approach to the origins of language, thought and self, and survey research on perception, learning and memory in humans and other animals. Both are materialists: they try to fit consciousness into the physical world of living bodies and brains, where everything, including mental states and consciousness, results from material interactions between material things. Both deny that consciousness is terribly mysterious after all. But there the similarity ends.
LeDoux’s aim is to provide a new theory of being human by dividing our evolutionary past into four realms: biological at the bottom, then neurobiological, cognitive and conscious. Each transcends and depends on the one below, and most living things exist “only biologically”, he writes. The integration of this ensemble is what makes humans who we are.
Along the way are excellent accounts of the evolution of brain structures and cognitive abilities. Exploring jellyfish that move and hunt without a brain, as well as the capabilities of flies, birds and mammals, LeDoux tries to place each in its realm. When it comes to cognition, he tells the fascinating story of 19th-century researchers like Hermann von Helmholtz and William James who grappled with consciousness, and how that was followed by behaviourism – the view that psychology should study only observable behaviours and events, not mind or consciousness – and how cognitive psychology broke free.
I learned much, yet I remain unpersuaded by LeDoux’s four realms. Among many previous schemes are the stages in The Major Transitions in Evolution by John Maynard Smith and Eors Szathmary (spanning life’s origins to human linguistic complexity). There are also those proposed by Daniel Dennett, who divided living beings into four ascending orders of intellectual complexity in his book . LeDoux doesn’t mention these, nor explain why his scheme is any better.
Parrington also tells an evolutionary tale, but his aim is to explain inner speech and thought, as well as the human capacity for self-conscious awareness. For him, the critical abilities are language and tool use. Seeking a materialist theory of the human mind, he claims to follow Charles Darwin in seeing the mind as produced by “the same blind chance” that guides the rest of evolution, which is distinctly odd because chance alone couldn’t account for exquisitely designed wings, eyes and brains. What Darwin saw was the power of natural selection.
Turning to consciousness, both authors mention the “hard problem” of explaining how subjective experience arises from the objective workings of a physical brain, but neither questions whether this is a soluble or well-posed question.
LeDoux lays the groundwork for his answer by describing the cognitive realm, but then seems to get confused. Briefly describing contemporary ideas such as integrated information theory and global workspace theory, he puts his money on higher-order theories, in which experiences are conscious only if re-represented or thought about. While he ably surveys which brain areas are responsible for what, such ideas rule out states like the psychedelic or deep meditation.
They also imply that since most other animals can’t sustain higher-order thoughts, they can’t be conscious. LeDoux doesn’t deny they might be, but says that “consciousness itself must be measured” if we are to find out. In the current state of consciousness science, we have no idea whether “consciousness itself” even exists, nor can we separate it from the functions of brain and behaviour – let alone measure it. While LeDoux has neither solved nor seriously questioned the validity of the hard problem, he is at least talking about subjective experience.
Parrington is not. Weirdly, although “consciousness” is mentioned on almost every page, he doesn’t explain any of the major ideas about it or propose his own. His work is devoted to understanding the neural circuits involved in perception, action, behavioural control and self-modelling, and his goal is to develop “a material explanation of human consciousness”. He has done a great job of exploring material explanations of thought, perception, self-representation and behavioural control, but none of this gets at the deeper questions about subjective experience.
Are we humans different from other creatures? With his materialist understanding, Parrington puts the burden on human tool use and the inner speech other creatures lack. Yet he gives us no clue as to how inner speech can give us the ineffable experiences of the sky’s blueness, the smell of coffee, emotions of fear or sensations of hunger.
In consciousness studies, there have been three main ways of facing the hard problem. The first accepts the problem as valid but claims it is too hard and works instead on the “easy problems” of cognition, perception and so on. This, without admitting as much, is what Parrington has done.
The second approach also accepts the problem as valid and tries to explain how subjective experiences “arise” from brain processes. No one has succeeded in doing this, including these authors. The third way is to reject the idea that consciousness arises from brain activity. This is known as “illusionism”, which, in several guises, calls for the hard problem to be replaced with the “illusion” problem of how our false ideas about consciousness arise.
These two books have much to teach us about human cognition, brain structure and evolution, but, above all, they show how far consciousness studies has to go.
Susan Blackmore has written many books on consciousness. She is visiting professor at the University of Plymouth, UK