Dennett, Chalmers, Guitar Craft

I am currently in the middle of a book by a well-known philosopher in the area, Daniel Dennett. The book is titled “Sweet Dreams,” and focuses on his work in the field of consciousness, especially since 1991. Dennett has been quite instrumental in that area for some time; he co-edited “The Mind’s I” with Douglas Hofstadter in 1981, and currently is co-director of the Center for Cognitive Studies and is a university professor, both at Tufts University (which, for what it’s worth, is in Medford, a suburb of Boston).

In chapter 3 of Sweet Dreams, Dennett explains the “Hard Problem”, a philosophical issue that was introduced by David Chalmers in 1995/1996. Though there are various ways of describing it, one way is such: The mechanics of the mind can’t fully be known, as there is always the one property we are unable to explain, which is the subjective experience of the conscious mind. One can explain all the smaller processes, or “easy problems”, but there is still the overlying master process/mechanism, the consciousness of a mind. That constitutes the “Hard Problem”, and as such is potentially unknowable.

Dennett draws a strong parallel between this and “The Tuned Deck”, a card trick created by Ralph Hull in the early part of the 20th century. The Tuned Deck was notorious for fooling everyone who watched it performed by Hull—even the most experienced and observant card tricksters were routinely stumped after dozens of repetitions. Indeed, no one seemed to get it until Hull revealed the secret to a friend, towards the end of his life.

It turned out that the trick was the absence of a trick. An audience member would pick a card from the fanned deck, show it to the audience, and replace it. After making something of a show of “listening” to the deck, by holding it to his ear while he rapidly flipped through the deck, Hull would then pull the card out of the deck, with little effort involved. What the audience didn’t realize was that he’d choose a standard method of picking out a card, and on the repetition, would simply use a different method. With the next repetition, he’d choose another method again, in full knowledge that most card magicians know at least seven or eight methods at any given time. But, because he wasn’t repeating himself, all audience members would simply rule out what they knew, because he didn’t do it that way, last time. Eventually, he’d run out of ideas, and start over again. But, at this point, the audience would fail to see it come around, as they’d already ruled out that possibility in their own minds. Enough repetitions, and they’d rule out all possibilities and conclude that he was doing the impossible. In short, there was no master process, save for a lot of different processes.

Chalmers’ “Hard Problem”, in comparison, assumes that there has to be a master process that is controlling everything, a consciousness that guides all and informs all. Dennett posits that this is misguided from the outset—the idea is primarily fueled by a fear of “not being in control” and by the “Zombic Hunch”, the suspicion that there are functionally active and identical beings that are “Zombies”. It should be noted that Chalmers is absolutely convinced that he is not a zombie, and also that the Zombic Hunch is generally, though timidly, discredited, but that many philosophers of mind seem to still suspect that it might be a little true, if only by the grace of being logically permissible (Dennett’s opposition to the Zombic Hunch is well-documented).

Granted, the idea that we are not in control of our actions—rather, that we are, but that there is not an overmind controlling it all—is a little disconcerting, and potentially anti-religious (are we all on our own, without a god-plan to guide us?). But, of course, Calvinism is no longer the power that it was, and pre-destination can be thought of as having something of a tenuous hold with the majority of the public (with some exceptions, to be sure).

Douglas Hofstadter once asked, famously, whether the “soul is more than the hum of its parts.” In other words, the possibility that Dennett is proposing is that there is no master process, and that every part of our self is simply that: a part of our self.

So, how does this relate to Guitar Craft, or that which Guitar Craft will inevitably become?
One answer is extremely obvious, of course. Guitar Craft exists because of us, to begin with—if there were no players, no practitioners, then there would be no Craft. It would cease to exist, much like what would happen if my heart and lungs were to stop working, or if they were to take their inexplicable leave of my body, unbidden. In much the same way, admittedly, some players are, through force of history, more in possession of clout than others; what they say and do in Guitar Craft has more effect and resonance than individual acts of others (such as myself). GC will probably be able to continue on without a left pinky toe, though it may be slightly more difficult for a short time.

This leads into another relation: while Guitar Craft would not exist without the players, Guitar Craft is not directly dependent on us. That is to say, if one of us were to drop out, so to speak, it would continue to continue, in a slightly modified way. If someone more central to the cause (i.e. Robert Fripp, for the most extreme example) were to disengage, it may potentially be a fatal blow, but not necessarily so. There would undoubtedly be a period of adjustment, but Guitar Craft, to my as yet inexperienced self, seems to have a resonance, a quality of longevity that informs the whole. If Guitar Craft were to shatter apart, I strongly suspect that, in due time, the essence would re-congeal, possibly in an unrecognized form.