So there is this intelligent body and this consciousness that must somehow work together. The body doesn’t care much about its eventual expiration, it cares a lot about present integrity. The consciousness cares less about present integrity but is scared shitless of the incoming end.
Intelligence is evolution at work. But consciousness is a side effect that rose up from the predictive analysis which intelligence enabled. Your body knows what it does. It knows it so well it doesn’t care much about you, as a person. No cell asks you if you’re happy with its DNA reading. You are built on a scripted execution environment.
At the level of the body prediction is minimal. There is possibly some kind of intelligence at the level of matter and some primal form at cellular level, but there are no unscripted decisions in the formation, maturing and living processes of a being. If it were you’d start growing a skin pocket for that cell phone by now. The homeostasis solution is known and at this level, in this environment, awareness is not required. Levels, this word repeated in this paragraph is essential to grasp: we’re layered things.
Our internal bodily processes happen without any supervision from what we call “us”. Isn’t that weird? It is amazing that most of the known diseases would be cured much easier if we could “tell” the body to stop doing something. The freaking flu happens because of too much immune response, wouldn’t it be nice to tell your body to stop overreacting?
Why don’t we have a dashboard with status parameters? Because what we call “I” or “me” is merely a small side effect of a tool the body thought would be nice to use: consciousness. We have this illusion of free will because the body does not oppose anything in particular, unless you direct your self at you. Suicide and self harm are the exception not the rule.
We’re a thin film on top of everything and the everything we’re on top of doesn’t seem to share our goals and aspirations. It is important to realize how external to your body you are. That out of body thing reported so much, that is the constant thing happening. The senses are really immersive yet what you call you is out there already. This fluctuating electrochemical equilibrium that defines you is not made of the same thing the supporting layers are made of.
You are an intelligent machinery, with billion years old scripts executing non stop in perfect order and some error correction with highly accurate short term prediction abilities, stuck to this consciousness which is a small thing busy with being itself while depending on the intelligent machinery for its existence.
We have a dream, a waking dream actually, of cohesion, as if we’re the same, integral, contiguous, smooth, inside and outside, at all times. The intelligent machine is. The consciousness is. By themselves. Together the cohesiveness breaks.
Freedom. I find it funny when I think of some cell locked into its place and purpose, controlled by the greater good’s aim of resilience. We see this interference of the machine with the conscious aware being in the way we model what we call the world: always coming back to units with easy to understand designated functions, always striving to define and box freedom into degrees that are painless to stretch into, continuously finding solutions that work on old maladjusted systems, resistant to environment but frail on the inside.
Higher conscious levels don’t have the access required to devise a clear system. Most of what we call “I” and “me” is so busy being separate that we rely in huge proportion on insight offered by unconscious and subconscious processes.
In a world made by fully aware conscious superior beings there is only spontaneous structure, the memory is collective, knowledge freely shared, goals vary and the greater good is the shared understanding of the uncertainty ahead. But there is no such thing so far.
We’re passengers on a vessel with a known destination, except that we don’t want to get there. Some are the noble guests on the deck of this vessel. some clandestine in the hideouts of the machine’s belly. Above and below though we share the impotence of changing course.