Hearing the self as sound, not meaning

Ego dissolution offers vivid experiential proof, not only that things can be different, but that the self that conditions experience is just a heuristic, not an unchangeable, persisting thing.

Philip Gerrans and Chris Letheby at Aeon on psychedelics as a spur to work more constructively with the bundle of cognitive mechanisms we call the self.

One of the more exceptional pieces in the flood of recent popular work on psychedelics and cognitive psychology.

For the love of Coimbra

I was originally planning on 2 nights here, but I instantly fell in love and extended to 5, moving from a mother’s house on a ridge on the north bank of the river, to a daughter’s on the south bank.

At first I thought it was a matter of Coimbra resembling Granada: the live music (substitute fado for flamenco, they say, and you’ll instantly grok the difference between Portuguese and Spanish temperaments) on hilly side-streets, the vague intimations of a Moorish past (much, much stronger in Granada, because there were 400+ more years of it), the spectacle of the gleaming monument quarter, an Iberian acropolis, looming over every point in the city.

But it was the early August weather, 90 and dry by day and 60 with a breeze at night, that clued me into the ghost’s actual identity: summers in Jerusalem. A friendly Brazilian goth who took care of my apartment in Porto warned me to choose Braga instead of Coimbra for my next stop, but that could not have been more wrong for me. Galicia and northern Portugal are humid and hewn of dark stone.

In Coimbra, the unsparing summer sun reflects off white stone squares and whitewashed façades—achieving a similar effect to the slightly golden limestone that by statute must cover everything in Jerusalem. Even the cathedrals here are bright, airy, and inspiring of contemplation; normally the aesthetics of medieval Western Christendom don’t do it for me at all.

Even the Coimbra fado, “Fado Dos Olhos Claros”, which hypnotized me as I heard it performed on the steps of San Tiago Church, rang with notes of the Jewish liturgy. Student and alumni troubadours ply their melodies on Coimbra’s streets wearing impossibly hot and heavy black cloaks, much like half of Jewish Jerusalem. And yesterday over mediocre falafel, the sight of a white trailer across the street announcing Aqui fazem-se milagres, no metal (“Here, make yourself miracles—in metal”) inspired me to write a strange poem about language and metallurgy in the Proto-Semitic community of the 4th millennium BCE:

In this trailer by the River Mondego,
miracles in metal
are blueprinted and set
in kludgy type—

in the beginning was
the three-letter root
which unfolded like protein
ripe for diverse expressions
and levels of analysis—

a formless aleph
innocent of glottal dreams
trailing black copper slag
into the Dead Sea.

The dial of significance

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

– Rumi

Is anyone familiar with the cognitive psychology literature (even terminology would be a good start!) on how we ascribe particular levels of significance to things?

That is to say, in everyday consciousness, objects, events, and agents feel significant/meaningful to varying degrees. These differences in significance tend to be stable across time, and seem to follow an intuitive evolutionary logic.

“Significance” or “meaningfulness”, as I see it, is a bounded conversation between internal states and feedback from the environment—the machinery of significance ascription is neither entirely scripted at birth, nor generated entirely by external stimuli.
By extension, significance levels don’t come fixed, but under normal conditions, it’s impossible to reprogram them arbitrarily.
That’s not the end of it, though. Experiments in philosophy/conceptual framing offer a peek into the wider possibility space. High school nihilism shows you that it’s possible to turn the significance dial all the way down to 0. Ecstatic, pantheistic spirituality—”everythingism”, you might call it—allows you to crank it up to, well, infinity.
Thought experiments will rarely get you there, though. We have a whole class of serotonergic compounds whose most fundamental, universal effect seems to be messing with significance ascription.

Is the answer in the serotonin system, then?

“To fathom hell or soar angelic / take a pinch of psychedelic,” wrote Humphry Osmond. But rarely does the psychonaut brush up against classical, embodied celestial beings. Hell, most generically, is the significance dial at 0; to soar angelic is to take in reality at significance-level infinity.*

*There are also experiences of pleasant meaninglessness and agonizing hyper-significance out there, so take my heaven/hell framing with a grain of salt.