By subjectivity, I am referring to the capacity for degrees of self-awareness ranging from intentional self-reflection (a very late achievement) to the most subtle, unobtrusive sense of “I-ness” by which experience is subtlety endowed with the quality that one is thinking one’s thoughts and feeling one’s feelings as opposed to living in a state of reflexive reactivity. Subjectivity is related to, but not the same as, consciousness. The experience of consciousness (and unconsciousness) follows from the achievement of subjectivity. Subjectivity, as will be discussed, is a reflection of the differentiation of symbol, symbolized, and interpreting subject. The emergence of a subject in the course of this differentiation makes it possible for a person to wish. The wish to make oneself unaware of an aspect of one’s system of meaning sets the stage for the differentiation of conscious and unconscious realms of experience.
Thomas H. Ogden – The Matrix of the Mind p.208
The primary process has been called primary because it is developmentally the first, the earliest form of mentation, and because it is seen as more primitive than secondary process. But the process is primary in a deeper sense insofar as it is unitary, non-differentiating, non-discriminating between various elements or components of a global event or experience. Thinking in terms of elements or components of an experience or act already bespeaks secondary process thinking. In primary process mentation oneness, as against duality or multiplicity, is dominant. In secondary-process mentation duality and multiplicity are dominant, i.e., differentiation, division, a splitting of what was unitary, global, unstructured oneness.
Hans Loewald – The Essential Loewald: Primary Process, Secondary Process, and Language p.196
Human life must find its way among three sets of significant boundaries. The first are those which delineate intrapsychic structure and which collectively separate what is available to consciousness from what is repressed. The second is between what is inside a person’s psyche and what lies outside. The third is between what is inside a person’s world and what lies beyond the pale. Meaningful contents may travel across a boundary, but each boundary serves as a kind of buffer. Each bounded area is offered limited freedom from the pressures exerted by what lies beyond. So, for example, while it is virtually impossible for someone to hold two consciously recognized contradictory beliefs, it is easier to tolerate living with a conscious belief and an experience in the world which seems to contradict it, or to tolerate a conscious belief and a countervailing unconscious wish. These boundaries provide some respite from the holistic demand that everything fit together. Each boundary permits certain discontinuities to lie on either side.
Jonathan Lear – Open Minded: Working Out the Logic of the Soul p.76
A similar line of reasoning applies to infantile amnesia. The hippocampus is not fully functional in the first two years of life. This suggests that it is not possible for someone to encode episodic memories during this time period. Naturally, this does not imply that these early years are unimportant, or that we have no memory of the first two years of life. It implies only that the memories that we do encode during the very early years will take the form of habits and beliefs (procedural and semantic knowledge) rather than explicit, episodic memories. Infantile knowledge is stored as “bodily memory” and implicit knowledge about how the world works. We therefore have every reason to expect that early experience has a decisive impact on personality development (considering the evidence of “neuronal pruning” and the like).
Mark Solms – The Brain and the Inner World: An Introduction to the Neuroscience of the Subjective Experience p.168
A famous case of Claparede’s is often cited in this connection. Claparede concealed a pin in his hand when he greeted the patient, pricking her hand as he shook it. When he next attempted to greet the patient, she withdrew her hand, even though she had no conscious recollection of ever having met Claparede before. The event of the meeting had disappeared from her memory, but its effect remained. This is an example of the dissociation between episodic and procedural memory. When asked why she refused to take Claparede’s hand, the patient explained that “one has the right to withdraw one’s hand” thereby demonstrating the dissociation between episodic and semantic memory. She know what to do (procedural memory), and she recalled relevant abstract facts (semantic memory), but she was unable to bring the appropriate actual experience (episodic memory) back to mind.
Mark Solms – The Brain and the Inner World: An Introduction to the Neuroscience of the Subjective Experience p.164
When one starts thinking about the problem of consciousness in the way that Damasio suggests, the question of whether or not a machine can be conscious begins to appear rather ridiculous. Some day this question might only be asked by people who are unfamiliar with the essential neuroscientific facts about consciousness. Consciousness has everything to do with being embodied, with awareness of one’s bodily state in relation to what is going on around one. Moreover, this mechanism seems to have evolved only because bodies have needs. Consciousness is therefore deeply rooted in a set of ancient biological values. These values are what feelings are, and consciousness is feeling. It is therefore very difficult to imagine how, why, and where a disembodied machine would generate consciousness. This does not rule out the possibility of an artificial system with self-monitoring properties. But the self that it monitors would have to be a body (and preferably one with a long evolutionary history) if it is really going to generate feelings.
Mark Solms – The Brain and the Inner World: An Introduction to the Neuroscience of the Subjective Experience p.94
David Chalmers – one of the philosophers participating in the interdisciplinary field of “cognitive science” – argues that one aspect of the mind-body problem is “easy” and the other “hard.” In this way, he divides the issue into two separate problems.
The easy problem is the one that most neuroscientists are concerned with, and it is the one discussed by Crick in his Scientific Search for the Soul. Crick attempts to solve the problem by neuroscientific means. His research strategy is to try to find the specific neural processes that are the correlates of our conscious awareness (he calls them “the neural correlates of consciousness,” or NCC for short). Finding the neural correlates of consciousness is a problem of the same general type as finding the neural correlates of anything – language or memory for instance. Neuroscience has made great progress in solving such problems in the past. Finding the brain regions and processes that correlate with consciousness is simply a matter of directing an existing research strategy from areas of previous success (language, memory) not a different aspect of mental functioning (consciousness).
We should not underestimate the difficulty of finding the neural correlates of consciousness, but Crick is only looking for which brain regions or processes correlate with consciousness and describing where they reside. He does not attempt to explain how that particular pattern of physiological events makes us conscious. This is the hard problem. The hard problem is a conundrum of a different magnitude – it raises the question of how consciousness (“you, your joys and your sorrows, your memories and your ambitions,…”) actually emerges from matter. Modern neuroscience is well equipped to solve the easy problem, but it is less clear whether is is capable of solving the hard problem. Science has few precedents for solving a problem that philosophers have deemed insoluble in principle.
Mark Solms – The Brain and the Inner World: An Introduction to the Neuroscience of the Subjective Experience p.47
It is not surprising that many people were attracted by the promise that there are faster and cheaper methods of “cure”. Psychoanalysis had opened up the possibility that one’s misery could be alleviated through professional help.With the change in style to greater “efficiency,” rapidity, and “group activity” and with the spread of the need for “therapy” for people whose income did not suffice for prolonged daily sessions, the new therapies necessarily became very attractive and drew away a good many potential patients form psychoanalysis.
Thus far I have only touched upon the more obvious and superficial reasons for the present crisis of psychoanalysis: the wrong use of psychoanalysis by a large number of practitioners and patients. To solve the crisis, at least on this level, would only require making a stricter selection of analysis and patients.
It is, however, necessary to ask: How could the misuse occur? I have tried to give some very limited answers to this question, but it can be answered fully only if we turn from superficial manifestations to the deeper crisis in which psychoanalysis finds itself.
What are the reasons for the deeper crisis?
I believe that the main reason lies in the change of psychoanalysis from a radical to a conformist theory. Psychoanalysis was originally a radical, penetrating, liberating theory. It slowly lost this character and stagnated, failing to develop its theory in response to the changed human salutation after the First World War; instead it retreated into conformism and the search for respectability.
Erich Fromm – The Crisis of Psychoanalysis p.4