How Did I Get Here?

By which I mean I AM, which is to say an interior locus of personal subjectivity. 

What must the universe be like in order for there to exist a conscious being asking what the universe must be like in order to have given rise to him? 

If you ponder the number of variables that have to go right, it approaches infinitude, from the basic laws of physics, to the nature of stars, to character of our galaxy, to the location of the planet, to the emergence of life, to the supposedly unguided adventure of DNA, culminating in the appearance of a neurologically immature primate, AKA the helpless baby who can internalize language and culture while his brain is developing -- in other words, an intersubjective being not bound by instinct but open to being.

And that only scratches the surface of a cursory glance at a perfunctory review of the tip of the iceberg of the variables involved in the appearance of a self-conscious rational animal. 

As I outlined in the book, the helpless baby is indeed the fulcrum of human development, a portal through which humanness emerges. It is necessary condition, or condition without which we couldn't be here. 

Note that the Incarnation fully acknowledges this, in the sense that God doesn't just pick some lucky grown-up to inhabit, but must go through the entire developmental process of becoming human, because there is no other way to become human.

This is now well understood by neuropsychology. It's been awhile since I read anything on the subject, so I've been getting up to speed with a book called The Brain: The Story of You. Which is really the story of I, at least insofar as neuroscience can illuminate the subject. 

Nevertheless, even the most detailed neuroscientific account can only illuminate the objective factors that permit subjectivity, while remaining silent on the nature of subjectivity itself -- much as how natural selection can help to explain the evolution of life but not its origins or essential nature. 

In a section called Born Unfinished, Eagleman writes that

At birth we are helpless. We spend about a year unable to walk, about two more before we can articulate full thoughts, and many more years unable to fend for ourselves. We are totally dependent on those around us for our survival.  

Is there anything more useless than a baby? And not just useless, but a great burden to even keep alive. 

Dolphins, for instance, are born swimming; giraffes learn to stand within hours; a baby zebra can run within forty-five minutes of birth. Across the animal kingdom, our cousins are strikingly independent soon after they're born.

How did man escape the circle of instinct, of neurologically imprinted and preordained patterns of behavior? Nor can other animals survive outside the narrow niche to which they are adapted, which is why we don't see polar bears in Los Angeles or snakes in the arctic. 

In contrast, humans are able to thrive in many different environments, from the frozen tundra to the high mountains to bustling urban centers. 

How? All because "the human brain is born remarkably unfinished":

Instead of arriving with everything wired up -- let's call it "hardwired" -- a human brain allows itself to be shaped by the details of life experience. This leads to long periods of helplessness as the young brain slowly molds to its environment. It's "livewired."

And even then, the brain isn't just molded to its external environment. Rather, -- and this is key -- it must be adapted to other minds, which is to say, the "interior environment" of intersubjectivity. Infants raised without this intimate connection to other subjects are left with permanent disabilities, because certain experiences must occur when the infant brain is so open and unformed:

Without an environment with emotional care and cognitive stimulation, the human brain cannot develop normally. 

Still, this intersubjective environment goes only to the necessary conditions of the human subject. What is its sufficient condition, the condition with which humanness is possible? Is subjectivity reducible to anything less than itself? Is it even conceivable that a material object -- a three pound hunk of meat called the brain -- could conjure subjectivity?

The so-called hard problem.

Yes, but maybe the problem is hard because some people just don't like the solution, which has to do with the ontological priority of mind. We've written before of how early man tended to "mentalize" everything, whereas modern man defaults in the opposite direction, "objectivizing" everything: for the former the cosmos is a crystallization of spirit, while for the latter spirit is a side effect of matter.

In The Phenomenon of Life, Jonas writes of how "When man first began to interpret the nature of things -- and this he did when he began to be man -- life was to him everywhere, and being the same as being alive" (emphasis mine).

Thus, "Animism was the widespread expression of this stage.... Soul flooded the whole of existence and encountered itself in all things. Bare matter -- that is, truly inanimate, 'dead' matter, was yet to be discovered -- as indeed its concept, so familiar to us, is anything but obvious."

Is it obvious that things aren't "alive," or imbued with a kind of life? I suspect this is partly a matter of left-brain capture of the right, in that it is through the RCH that we are in touch with the holistic and organismic nature of a nature that speaks to us of its transcendent life, truth, and beauty. There are aphorisms for this, too many to list:

Things do not have feeling, but there is feeling in many things.

True, but how?

From an aesthetic experience one returns as if from a sighting of numinous footprints.

The laws of biology do not have sufficiently delicate fingers to fashion the beauty of a face. 

When their religious depth disappears, things are reduced to a surface without thickness, where nothing shows through. 

The natural and supernatural are not overlapping planes, but intertwined threads.

Scraping the painting, we do not find the meaning of the picture, only a blank and mute canvas. Equally, it is not in scratching about in nature that we will find its sense.  

The meanings are the reality; their material vehicles are the appearance.

Imagination is the capacity to perceive through the senses the attributes of the object that the senses do not perceive.

Things are not mute. They merely select their listeners. 

Let's go back to the first one, that things -- objects -- are not mute at all, but incredibly chatty. I am reminded of Christopher Alexander's The Phenomenon of Life, in which he speaks of our "loss of the ability and desire to discern aliveness" in things. According to an amazon reviewer, 

Alexander establishes that aliveness is a property of space and matter, not only of biological organisms. Next, he establishes that aliveness exists on a spectrum: anything can be more or less alive....  

So how do we discern aliveness? After decades of experimentation, Alexander has found that it is an objective property. A basic tenet is the question, "which of these things, manifestations, etc. brings me more aliveness?"

Why do some objects radiate life?

Alexander describes a scientific view of the world in which all space-matter has perceptible degrees of life, and establishes this understanding of living structures as an intellectual basis for a new architecture....

This book shows that living structures depend on features which make a close connection with the human self, and that only living structure has the capacity to support human well-being.

This sounds remarkably similar in structure to the intersubjectivity of the human self that is forged in infancy. This same intersubjectivity is what allows is to discern the life in things, not to mention the light; or to see what is beyond sight, hear what is beyond sound, touch what is beyond the surface, etc. If we couldn't do these things, we would scarcely be deserving of the title human.

Here is Gemini's description of the image it could not create this morning due to "technical issues":

The image I intended to generate was a visual representation of the concepts in your post. It depicted a child at the center of a natural landscape. Glowing threads of light extended from the child's head to connect with other people and with the rocks, trees, and animals around them, all of which subtly radiated an inner light. 

The child represents the "unfinished" and "livewired" human, whose subjectivity is forged through intersubjectivity. 

The threads of light symbolize the deep connections to other minds that are necessary for consciousness to develop. 

The radiating aliveness of the trees, rocks, and animals visually conveys the idea that matter is not mute but is imbued with an objective quality of life that the human mind is uniquely capable of perceiving.

The image was intended to show that human consciousness is not an isolated phenomenon, but is an integral and connected part of a living universe.