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Something else often overlooked as a result of the dominance of rational thought in science is that the “public” science speaks of is confined to the consciousness of human beings. At first glance, this point may seem so obvious that it is irrelevant. From the scientific or rational viewpoint, of course, all other animals and the plants are excluded from the public to which scientific knowledge is communicated. For how would you communicate the theory of relativity to a dog, or transmit the concept of genetic mutation to a drosophila fly or pea-vine? These creatures can’t think; they have no rational faculties. The sharing of knowledge is limited to human consciousness because other creatures are incapable of understanding. If the dog could think rationally enough, it would understand. The knowledge is there, and it is not because of any defect in its communicability that it cannot be shared with the dog (or any other species). But just how true is all this? Rather than saying that because the dog cannot think rationally, and that the failure of communication is due to him, we could equally suggest that it is precisely because scientific knowledge is so heavily loaded with logical analysis and rational exposition that it is limited to human consciousness. The situation could be described thus: Because scientific knowledge is expressed in rational and causal terms, it is incapable of being communicated to the dog—that is, it is not translatable into information that the dog’s brain can assimilate. But there are other forms of knowledge that can be shared. We can communicate grief, anger, or joy to the dog, and it can communicate with us. The knowledge of the friendship between the dog and its master is mutually shared. And anyone who has seen cattle, sheep, pigs or chickens on the way to the slaughterhouse cannot have helped noticing that the unfortunate creatures know the butcher is waiting for them. These are extra-rational forms of knowledge that are not confined to human consciousness. Rational analysis, as we saw, derives from abstracting bits and pieces from the continuum of nature, and rearranging them according to some theory or model. But this process of gathering separate bits of knowledge does not reflect the integrity of nature. Extra-rational knowledge, which goes beyond the realms of human consciousness, derives from the continuity of nature. Extra-rational forms of knowledge are not abstracted from the rest of nature, but emerge spontaneously in suitably prepared consciousness. Despite its pretensions to “universality,” science excludes all other creatures and inanimate matter from its universal public. Rational knowledge can be communicated only between humans. And, as we have seen, the men and women that do share scientific knowledge are a select and restricted group. Is it any easier to communicate the latest news on, for example, the top quark to an indigenous tribesman in the rainforests of New Guinea, than to inform your dog about the protein in its meat? Scientific knowledge cannot rightly claim to be more real, more representative of nature, because it is objective and open to public scrutiny than extra-rational knowing which is subjective and confined to the mind of the knower. It is a false and prejudiced view that claims “real” knowledge can be acquired only through logical concepts and reason, a prejudice that leads to the false conclusion that knowledge arrived at through means other than reason is irrational, consisting of empty imaginings. But these other forms of knowing are not irrational—they are extra-rational, consisting of ideas and experiences not susceptible to rational analysis. To dismiss these other forms of knowledge is to remain restricted to the rational. And to attempt to analyze and rationalize them is to attempt to judge something that lies beyond reason by means of reason itself—and that is irrational. The process by which intuitive knowledge and insight arise in consciousness cannot be satisfactorily described in rational and causal language. Whereas the processes of logic and reason are susceptible to patterned discourse, intuition cannot be systematized in a comparable way. It, too, must be grasped intuitively. This is the basic discrimination between rational knowledge and intuitive knowledge. Because of the fundamental difference between rational thought and intuition, they have been considered two opposing and mutually exclusive modes of thinking. Those who favor logic and reason emphasize the impreciseness and lack of definitiveness of intuition (which they find confusing), while those who prefer to rely on intuition are dissatisfied with the limitations of reason, and often point to the many unsolvable paradoxes that laugh in the face of logic. However, they are not mutually exclusive. Intuition goes hand-in-hand with reason in scientific discovery. Intuition is continually filling in the gaps between the abstracted bits of knowledge produced by logic and reason. The ability to infuse intuitive understanding at each step is a prerequisite of rational analysis. It is left to intuition with its spontaneous comprehension, to grasp the knowledge of the interrelatedness and continuity of nature. Instead of priding ourselves on our rational abilities to the exclusion of other forms of knowing, we would all do better by being more open to the flow of knowledge through the other, extra-rational, shafts of wisdom. Beyond Intuition to ‘No-knowledge’When logic and reason fail, intuition often takes over. But just as reason is limited, sooner or later we find ourselves hesitating at the boundaries of intuitive knowledge, too. At this point, we must go beyond both the realms of rational and intuitive knowledge, and lose ourselves in the ever-changing continuum that we cannot know, only experience. This is the realm of “sage-knowledge” or “no-knowledge,” as Siu called it—what I call “paradox consciousness.” No-knowledge is not really knowledge in the sense ordinarily understood in the West. Knowledge, as defined in the West, usually involves the selection or abstraction of specific, circumscribed details. Western knowledge is anchored in convention, and implies the duality of the investigator as subject and the phenomenon under observation as object—the root of the epistemic pathology mentioned above. Paradox-knowledge, or no-knowledge, makes no such distinction. It involves an understanding of what the Chinese call wu, or non-being. Wu transcends the realms of concepts and matter in its myriad forms, and is not concerned with qualities and conventions. There are no separate entities and distinct phenomena—these are the objects of ordinary conventional knowledge. The wu cannot be such an object. To appreciate the wu, one must forget all distinctions and definitions, and experience the silent spontaneity of no-knowledge. The scientist or philosopher who relies solely on rational knowledge becomes an artificial spectator of nature. If a scientist opens to no-knowledge, to paradox consciousness, he or she becomes a participant in nature, and shares the ineffable understanding of what is. All true creativity springs from the shafts of wisdom connecting this ineffable region with some rational synonym. But just as there is no method of translating intuitive knowledge successfully into rational language, the ineffability of no-knowledge makes it even less susceptible to translation into rational and causal language. Since no-knowledge is experiential, beyond the abstract objectivity of rational discourse, something inevitably is lost in translation into rational terms. To compensate for what is lost, one must rely, paradoxically, on one’s own ineffable awareness of the ineffable. To achieve this awareness, one must put aside the segmented “facts” and “events” that are the objects of rational and logical thought, and allow the ego to fuse with or to dissolve into the wordless silence of no-knowledge. To a confirmed rationalist, this may sound like muddled nonsense. But to dismiss it as such is to betray the uninitiated view that cannot distinguish between “having no knowledge” and having “no-knowledge.” The former is simply a state of ignorance, the latter is to be enlightened. To criticize and analyze no-knowledge from the basis of its translation into rational language is to miss the point that the translation itself is not no-knowledge. Such criticism arises from mistaking the description for what is described. No-knowledge is not something that can be thought about and analyzed. It is to be experienced. The rationalist who refuses to open up to this ineffable shaft of wisdom, sees nature as a challenging mystery, full of puzzling paradoxes to be broken apart piece by piece using the tools of logic and reason. But the mysteries and the paradoxes cannot be dissected and deconstructed. They must be entered into, engaged with fully by the whole human being—embodied action, rational mind, intuitive soul, and wu spirit. Paradoxically, the paradox remains, yet once inside the paradox, it dissolves into “what’s-so.” No-knowledge is not restricted, like rational knowledge, to human consciousness. It is common to all nature, and is communicated wordlessly between human and mammal, bird and reptile, trees and flowers and insects, and between the molecules and atoms of the oceans and the winds. It is the language of nature, the embodied language of our ancestors when they sang with the symphony of the wild, and shared its subtle messages—before the stones fell silent. It is the silent voice that informs us how nature appears to itself, not as it appears to the abstracted gaze of some rational mind, a scientist’s or otherwise. It is through no-knowledge that the Taoist artist captures the “bambooishness of the bamboo.” As R.G.H. Siu expressed it: “With rational knowledge, one is in tune with the scientific man; with intuitive knowledge added, one is in tune with the total man; with no-knowledge added, one is in tune with nature” (1957, p. 79). There is a significant difference between the methods employed in acquiring rational knowledge and those employed in gaining no-knowledge. Rational, scientific knowledge is acquired by positively emphasizing the phenomenon under investigation—by abstracting and isolating it from the continuum in which it is embedded. No-knowledge is acquired by the opposite or negative method of not separating the phenomenon from the continuum. No-knowledge does not point out, nor describe, the phenomenon; but rather by the negative method of illuminating the shadowy character of phenomena that relate to it, but are not it, the ineffable features of the phenomenon filter through the shafts of wisdom and emerge in our consciousness. However, the positive and negative methodologies are not contradictory nor mutually exclusive. There is always an element of implication and suggestion in the positive approach, and the negative approach must be balanced by a degree of rational interpretation to be useful in practical affairs. I have discussed rational knowledge, intuitive knowledge, and no-knowledge separately; however, they are all parts of the one continuum of knowledge. To distinguish one from the other is a matter of emphasis or point of view. And to emphasize one at the expense of another, either through prejudice or ignorance, is to block access to the shafts of wisdom through which unbounded knowledge or enlightenment could flow. Once more, Dr Siu: "By seeing life steadily and as a whole, a buffer of wisdom is achieved. There is a tranquillity of mind. Events do not impinge with a singular exaggerated force. This is quite unlike the scientific weighing of matters in isolation. . . . The ideal we are seeking channels the total force of an event instantly into proper equilibrium within the universe. Only with such an unlimited and frictionless network can a matured perspective, a deep tenderness for all things, and a lasting security be maintained . . ." (1957, p. 91). In this paper, I have indicated a deep and intimate relationship between our methods of knowing nature and nature’s own modes of being. Specifically, following Siu’s notion of “no-knowledge,” as a way of relating to nature beyond both rational and intuitive knowing, I have been proposing “paradox consciousness.” This is a form of knowing indistinguishable from a state or mode of being. Paradox consciousness is a way of being-in-the-world, in which the knower knows nature the way nature knows itself. Paradox consciousness is knowing through not-knowing. It is that ineffable state of knowledge or being where the subject becomes the object; where epistemology and ontology, knowing and being, blend into one. ConclusionAnother way to approach this is to say that the consciousness of the knower tunes into the consciousness of the object. However, if we mean this literally, not simply as an epistemological figure of speech, but as an ontological reality, then we are saying that nature itself, at all levels, is imbued with consciousness. In short, the notion of paradox consciousness implies a number of rather controversial propositions: (1) That we can attain an intersubjective, even viewpointless, epistemology. That some forms of knowing involve transcending both first-person subjective and third-person objective points of view. This is what is meant by “knowing a thing as it appears to itself”—a thoroughly postmodern, non-Kantian idea. (2) That knowing and being can blend into a single activity. This is what is meant by “tuning into the consciousness of the object,” literally becoming it by experiencing its experience. (3) That “objects,” therefore, are “subjects,” too. In other words, that what we consider and perceive to be “objects,” physical parts of nature, are experiencing beings in some sense like ourselves. And (4) That, therefore, matter is in some sense experiential. With these four propositions, we have opened the way to a new approach to understanding the profound epistemological and ontological problems surrounding the perennial mind-body problem, an approach that takes us far beyond Cartesian dualism. I have tried to indicate in this paper that the “paradox” approach also provides a methodology for a much more participatory philosophy of mind and science of consciousness, wherein the philosopher/scientist’s consciousness actually undergoes a transformation by engaging with the mind-body issue, and allied philosophical—that is, epistemological and ontological—problems. Fundamental to all of this, I believe, is the ontological implication of the fourth proposition: that matter is in some sense intrinsically experiential. Matter feels. Embodied ConsciousnessCombined, the concepts of li and ch’i suggest a dynamism, a patterning that we may call, for simplicity, “in-formation”—the process of forming from within. Given the fundamental existential coupling between in-formation and substance, we can see how this has practical application in our real-world lives, in our “being-in-the-world” to use Heidegger’s evocative phrase. We know from direct experience that we cannot uncouple our mind from our body (except conceptually). As day-to-day lived experience, our body and our consciousness always go together. Whenever we attempt to divorce them, we create a psychological or physiological pathology (or both). We can know our body only through the process we call “mind,” through the action of consciousness. This is almost so obvious it may seem redundant. Of course, we can gain knowledge about the body only if we use our mental faculties: Knowing cannot take place without consciousness. But such “obviousness” is actually a hang-over from our Cartesian inheritance. For we cannot know the body through our mind without at the same time knowing consciousness through our body. In a very literal sense: The body knows itself—it feels. As human beings, we are grounded in our bodies; they are our vehicles for the practical business of getting on with living. We are embodied beings. But our bodies are not separate from our consciousness; they are the media through which we experience our being-in-the-world, through which we experience our selves and the world. Of course, this in no way implies that our bodies or brains generate consciousness, as various forms of materialism claim. On the contrary, our bodies are particular expressions of the in-formation, entelechy or li—the intrinsic organizing principle—that we happen to be. This was Descartes’ blind spot. In formulating his famous cogito—“I think, therefore I am”—he dismissed the empirical groundedness of his being in his body. Without a brain, without a body, his consciousness would not have even come up with the idea of doubting anything, never mind everything—the starting point of his revolutionary philosophy. He was correct to point out that he could not, without contradiction, doubt his own consciousness—and, therefore, declare that he existed at least as a thinking being. But he was mistaken on two other critical points. First, to make the unwarranted slip of proclaiming “therefore, I am a thinking thing.” Second, by dismissing true knowledge of his body through the doubting device of imagining a Deceiving Demon—a demon who could induce a hallucination that he possessed a body. For even if his body had no more reality than a phantasm conjured up in his or some demon’s dream, the nature of that reality would be the nature of his body. His body would still have substance, even if it were only “dream substance.” The empirical fact is that whatever the true, ultimate nature of our substance—whatever the ultimate nature of matter (whether physical or imaginal)—we, as living human beings, have no consciousness distinct from this substance. Like hyle and morph, and ch’i and li, they go together—always. Perhaps Descartes would have been closer to the mark, and have saved Western civilization from four-hundred years of epistemological and ontological dualism, if he had said instead: “Sentio, ergo sum— I feel, therefore I am.” ReferencesChan, W. T. (ed.) (1973), A source book in Chinese philosophy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Needham, J. (1977), Science and civilization in China, (Vol. II):History of scientific thought. London: Cambridge University Press. Sheldrake, R. (1981), A new science of life: The hypothesis of formative causation. Los Angeles: J. P. Tarcher. Siu, R.G.H. (1957), The tao of science: An essay on western knowledge and eastern wisdom. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Tillman, H. C. (1992), Confucian discourse and Chu Hsi’s ascendancy. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press. Whitehead, A. N. 1979), Process and reality: An essay in cosmology, (Corrected edition), D. R. Griffin & D. W. Sherburne (Eds.), New York: The Free Press. (Original work published 1929). |
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