A Key Point of Departure: He Accepts the Folk Psychology I Reject

3–5 minutes

Jason from Philosopher Muse suggested a connexion between Transductive Subjectivity and the work of Stephen Batchelor. I wasn’t familiar with Batchelor, so — as one does these days — I asked a GPT to give me the lay of the land. The machine obliged, and the result was interesting enough that it warranted a post of its own. This is it.

Audio: NotebookLM summary podcast of this topic.

Before anyone lights incense: I’m not suddenly a convert. Batchelor’s work and mine merely pass each other on adjacent footpaths. But the overlap is conceptually neat, and the divergence is even more telling.


Stephen Batchelor vs Transductive Subjectivity: A Brief Comparative Note

1. Shared Territory: The Self as Verb, Not Noun

Both Batchelor and Transductive Subjectivity reject the folk notion of a single, continuous metaphysical self.

  • Batchelor (Secular Buddhism):
    The self is an unfolding activity — impermanent, conditional, and without a stable essence. His “not-self” is a practice of disidentification from the imagined nugget of continuity we cling to.
  • Transductive Subjectivity:
    The self is a finite series: S₀ → S₁ → S₂ → … → Sₙ, each produced through the pressure of relational structures (R). Identity is what results when the world meets the organism. Nothing metaphysical required; just biology, cognition, language, and institutions doing their thing.

Overlap: Both positions dismantle the enduring pearl-of-self. Both frame identity as something generated, not possessed.


2. Divergent Aims: Inner Liberation vs Structural Clarity

This is where the paths fork.

  • Batchelor’s Agenda:
    Primarily ethical and therapeutic. The point of denying a fixed self is to reduce suffering, ease attachment, and cultivate a more responsive way of being.
  • TS’s Agenda:
    Metaphysical accuracy in the service of ethical clarity. If the self is a serial construction rather than a diachronic monolith, then retributive justice collapses under its own fictions. No self, no desert. No desert, no justification for revenge-based punishment.

Batchelor wants flourishing. I want rigour. Accidental cousins.


3. Methodological Differences: Distillation vs Reconstruction

Batchelor performs what you might call Buddhism sans metaphysics.
A very Western manoeuvre:

  • keep impermanence
  • keep ethical insight
  • jettison karma, rebirth, cosmology
  • rebrand the remnants as a secular spiritual practice

Practitioners dislike this because he amputates the structural scaffolding that supported the doctrine.

TS, by contrast, doesn’t distil anything. It reconstructs selfhood from first principles:

  • No causa sui
  • Episodic, indexical selfhood (Strawson)
  • R→S transduction (MEOW)
  • No diachronic essence
  • No metaphysical ballast

If Buddhism aligns with TS, it’s incidental — the way two different mathematicians can discover the same function by entirely different routes.


4. Conceptual Architecture: Dependent Origination vs MEOW’s Tiers

  • Batchelor:
    leans on dependent origination as a philosophical metaphor — phenomena arise through conditions.
  • TS:
    models the exact channels of that conditioning via MEOW:
    T0 → biological signals
    T1 → cognitive architecture
    T2 → linguistic formats
    T3 → social-technical pressures

Where Batchelor says “everything is contingent,” TS says “yes, and here is the actual machinery.”


5. Different Stakes

  • Batchelor: freeing the person from clinging to an imaginary core.
  • TS: freeing ethics, law, and social design from pretending that metaphysical core exists.

One is therapeutic; the other is diagnostic.


A Key Point of Departure: Batchelor Works with Folk Psychology; TS Rejects Its Premises

There is one more divergence worth highlighting because it cuts to the bone of the comparison.

Batchelor accepts the phenomenological feel of the continuous self as a legitimate starting point. His work is therapeutic: he begins where the person is, in the lived experience of being “me,” and then encourages a gentle loosening of the grip on that intuition.

Transductive Subjectivity takes a different route entirely.

For TS, the continuous, diachronic self isn’t a psychological obstacle to be softened — it is a category mistake. A narrative compression artefact. A heuristic with pragmatic uses, yes, but no metaphysical legitimacy. Batchelor tries to transform our relation to the folk-self; TS denies that the folk-self was ever more than a convenient fiction.

Batchelor says:
“You seem like a continuous self; now learn to hold that lightly.”

TS says:
“You seem like a continuous self because the system is glossing over discontinuities. The sensation itself is misleading.”

In other words:

  • Batchelor redeems the experience.
  • TS disassembles the model.

He treats the “self” as something to relate to differently.
TS treats the “self” as an ontological construct to be replaced with a more accurate one.

This is not a difference of ethical aim but of metaphysical foundation.
Batchelor trims the folk psychology; TS declines the invitation altogether.

Closing Note

So yes — the connexion Jason spotted is real. But it’s genealogical, not derivative. We arrive at similar conclusions for different reasons and with different consequences.

Batchelor is pruning a tradition.
Transductive Subjectivity is rebuilding the ontology.

And both, in their own way, make the continuity-self look like the rhetorical placeholder it always was.

A Buddhist Critique of Modern Livelihoods

It’s interesting to me that as an atheist and non-cognitivist, I can take the moral high ground relative to health insurance concerns in the United States. So, I write about it.

Blood Money and Broken Principles

In the aftermath of the tragic killing of Brian Thompson, the CEO of a health insurance conglomerate, a striking narrative has emerged. Many Americans view this act—shocking though it is—as emblematic of the anger and despair born of a system that profits by exploiting human vulnerability. Such reactions compel us to examine the ethics of industries that flourish on what can only be described as blood money. From health insurance to tobacco, alcohol, and the arms trade, these livelihoods raise profound ethical questions when viewed through the lens of the Buddhist Noble Eightfold Path, specifically Right Livelihood and Right Action.

The Moral Framework: Buddhism’s Path to Ethical Livelihood

Buddhism’s Eightfold Path provides a blueprint for ethical living, with Right Livelihood and Right Action serving as its ethical cornerstones. These principles demand that one’s work and deeds contribute to the welfare of others, avoid harm, and align with compassion and integrity. In short, they urge us to earn a living in a manner that uplifts rather than exploits. The health insurance industry’s business model—which often prioritises profits over the preservation of life—challenges these tenets in ways that are difficult to overlook.

Consider the denial of coverage for life-saving treatments, the exploitation of legal loopholes to reduce payouts, or the systemic perpetuation of healthcare inequality. These actions, while legally sanctioned, conflict sharply with the Buddhist ideal of avoiding harm and promoting well-being. Yet, this industry is not alone in its ethical failings. Many others—both legal and illegal—fall similarly short.

Industries of Exploitation: Tobacco, Alcohol, and Arms

The tobacco and alcohol industries provide stark examples of livelihoods that thrive on human suffering. Their products, despite their legality, are designed to foster dependency and harm. They exact a heavy toll on both individual lives and public health systems, a reality that makes them incompatible with Right Livelihood. The arms trade—arguably the most egregious example—profits directly from conflict and human misery. How can such industries possibly align with the Buddhist ideal of ahimsa (non-violence) or the compassionate aspiration to alleviate suffering?

In these cases, the harm caused is not incidental; it is fundamental to their business models. Whether one manufactures cigarettes, brews alcohol, or sells weapons, the destruction wrought by these activities is integral to their profitability. The contradiction is stark: the greater the harm, the greater the profit. This stands in direct opposition to the Buddhist call for livelihoods that sustain and support life.

Organised Crime: The Dark Mirror

When we turn to organised crime, the parallels become even more unsettling. Whether it’s the drug trade, human trafficking, or financial fraud, these activities epitomise unethical livelihoods. They exploit the vulnerable, foster violence, and undermine social cohesion. Yet, when viewed alongside certain legal industries, the line between “organised crime” and “corporate enterprise” begins to blur. Is the denial of life-saving healthcare less egregious than a gang’s extortion racket? Both profit by preying on human suffering. Both thrive in systems that prioritise gain over humanity.

The Buddhist Response: From Outrage to Action

Buddhism does not condone violence, no matter how symbolic or righteous it may appear. Right Action demands non-violence not only in deeds but also in thoughts and intentions. The killing of Brian Thompson, though perhaps an act of desperation or symbolism, cannot align with Buddhist ethics. Yet this tragedy should not eclipse the broader systemic critique. The true challenge is not to exact retribution but to transform the systems that perpetuate harm.

To move forward, we must ask how our societies can pivot toward livelihoods that align with compassion and justice. This entails holding exploitative industries to account and fostering economic systems that prioritise well-being over profit. The Buddhist path offers not only a critique of harmful practices but also a vision for ethical living—a vision that demands courage, compassion, and unwavering commitment to the common good.

Conclusion: Choosing a Better Path

The case of Brian Thompson’s killing is a symptom of a much larger ethical crisis. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about the industries that shape our world. Whether we scrutinise health insurance, tobacco, alcohol, the arms trade, or organised crime, the moral calculus remains the same: livelihoods that thrive on harm cannot be reconciled with the principles of Right Livelihood and Right Action.

As individuals and societies, we face a choice. We can continue to turn a blind eye to the suffering embedded in these industries, or we can commit to transforming them. The Buddhist path challenges us to choose the latter, to build systems and livelihoods rooted in compassion and justice. In doing so, we can begin to heal not only the wounds of individual tragedies but also the deeper fractures in our collective soul.

Dukkha, the Path of Pain, and the Illusion of Freedom: Buddhism, Antinatalism, and the Lonely Road of Individuation

The First Noble Truth of Buddhism—the notion that life is suffering, or dukkha—is often misinterpreted as a bleak condemnation of existence. But perhaps there’s something deeper here, something challenging yet quietly liberating. Buddhism doesn’t merely suggest that life is marred by occasional suffering; rather, it proposes that suffering is woven into the very fabric of life itself. Far from relegating pain to an exception, dukkha posits that dissatisfaction, discomfort, and unfulfilled longing are the baseline conditions of existence.

This isn’t to say that life is an unending stream of torment; even in nature, suffering may seem the exception rather than the rule, often concealed by survival-driven instincts and primal ignorance. But we, as conscious beings, are haunted by awareness. Aware of our mortality, our desires, our inadequacies, and ultimately, of our impotence to escape this pervasive friction. And so, if suffering is indeed the constant, how do we respond? Buddhism, antinatalism, and Jungian psychology each offer their own, starkly different paths.

The Buddhist Response: Letting Go of the Illusion

In Buddhism, dukkha is a truth that urges us not to look away but to peer more closely into the nature of suffering itself. The Buddha, with his diagnosis, didn’t suggest we simply “cope” with suffering but rather transform our entire understanding of it. Suffering, he argued, is born from attachment—from clinging to transient things, ideas, people, and identities. We build our lives on desires and expectations, only to find ourselves caught in a cycle of wanting, attaining, and inevitably losing. It’s a form of existential whiplash, one that keeps us bound to dissatisfaction because we can’t accept the impermanence of what we seek.

The Buddhist approach is both radical and elusive: by dissolving attachment and breaking the cycle of clinging, we supposedly dissolve suffering itself. The destination of this path—Nirvana—is not a state of elation or contentment but a transcendence beyond the very conditions of suffering. In reaching Nirvana, one no longer relies on external or internal validation, and the violence of social judgment, cultural obligation, and personal ambition falls away. This may seem austere, yet it offers a powerful antidote to a world that equates happiness with accumulation and possession.

Antinatalism: Opting Out of Existence’s Violence

Where Buddhism seeks liberation within life, antinatalism takes an even more radical stance: why bring new beings into an existence steeped in suffering? For antinatalists, the suffering embedded in life renders procreation ethically questionable. By creating life, we induct a new being into dukkha, with all its attendant violences—society’s harsh judgments, culture’s rigid impositions, the bureaucratic machinery that governs our daily lives, and the inescapable tyranny of time. In essence, to give birth is to invite someone into the struggle of being.

This perspective holds that the most humane action may not be to mend the suffering we encounter, nor even to accept it as Buddhism advises, but to prevent it altogether. It sees the cycle of life and death not as a majestic dance but as a tragic spiral, in which each generation inherits suffering from the last, perpetuating violence, hardship, and dissatisfaction. Antinatalism, therefore, could be seen as the ultimate recognition of dukkha—an extreme empathy for potential beings and a refusal to impose the weight of existence upon them.

Jungian Individuation: The Lonely Path of Becoming

Jung’s concept of individuation offers yet another approach: to delve deeply into the self, to integrate all aspects of the psyche—the conscious and the unconscious—and to emerge as a fully realised individual. For Jung, suffering is not to be escaped but understood and incorporated. Individuation is a journey through one’s darkest shadows, a confrontation with the parts of oneself that society, culture, and even one’s own ego would rather ignore. It is, in a way, an anti-social act, as individuation requires the courage to step away from societal norms and embrace parts of oneself that might be seen as disturbing or unconventional.

But individuation is a lonely road. Unlike the Buddhist path, which seeks to transcend suffering, individuation requires one to face it head-on, risking rejection and alienation. Society’s judgment, a kind of violence in itself, awaits those who deviate from accepted roles. The individuated person may, in effect, be punished by the very structures that insist upon conformity. And yet, individuation holds the promise of a more authentic existence, a self that is not a mere amalgam of cultural expectations but a reflection of one’s truest nature.

The Delusions That Keep Us Tethered to Suffering

Yet, for all their starkness, these paths might seem almost abstract, philosophical abstractions that don’t fully capture the reality of living within the constraints of society, culture, and self. Human beings are armed with powerful psychological mechanisms that obscure dukkha: self-delusion, cognitive dissonance, and hubris. We fabricate beliefs about happiness, purpose, and progress to protect ourselves from dukkha’s existential weight. We convince ourselves that fulfilment lies in achievements, relationships, or material success. Cognitive dissonance allows us to live in a world that we know, on some level, will disappoint us without being paralysed by that knowledge.

It’s worth noting that even those who acknowledge dukkha—who glimpse the violence of existence and the illusory nature of happiness—may still find themselves clinging to these mental defences. They are shields against despair, the comforting armours that allow us to navigate a world in which suffering is the baseline condition. This is why Buddhism, antinatalism, and individuation require such rigorous, often painful honesty: they each ask us to set down these shields, to face suffering not as a solvable problem but as an intrinsic truth. In this light, psychological defences are seen not as failures of awareness but as survival strategies, albeit strategies that limit us from ever fully confronting the nature of existence.

Finding Meaning Amidst the Violence of Being

To pursue any of these paths—Buddhist enlightenment, antinatalism, or Jungian individuation—one must be prepared to question everything society holds dear. They are radical responses to a radical insight: that suffering is not accidental but foundational. Each path offers a different form of liberation, whether through transcendence, abstention, or self-integration, but they all require a certain fearlessness, a willingness to look deeply into the uncomfortable truths about life and existence.

Buddhism calls us to renounce attachment and embrace impermanence, transcending suffering by reshaping the mind. Antinatalism challenges us to consider whether it is ethical to bring life into a world marked by dukkha, advocating non-existence as an escape from suffering. And individuation asks us to become fully ourselves, embracing the loneliness and alienation that come with resisting society’s violence against the individual.

Perhaps the most realistic approach is to accept that suffering exists, to choose the path that resonates with us, and to walk it with as much awareness as possible. Whether we seek to transcend suffering, avoid it, or integrate it, each path is a confrontation with the violence of being. And maybe, in that confrontation, we find a fleeting peace—not in the absence of suffering, but in the freedom to choose our response to it. Dukkha remains, but we may find ourselves less bound by it, able to move through the world with a deeper, quieter understanding.

What is Consciousness?

This infographic helps to articulate various notions of consciousness. Not much more to add.

I think I am partial to emergent theories, but I favour property dualism over emergent. The dualism employed in property dualism doesn’t feel accurate. It’s not dual so much as it just hasn’t been described yet.

I don’t think that physics can express or descriptively characterize everything that exists.

The Silence of Physics | Galen Strawson | Talks at Google

I want to accept the Buddhist notion, but I can’t seem to not differentiate.

I don’t feel I have enough information on the remainder of these. I could lean on the name and short description, but I feel this would necessarily establish me firmly in Dunning-Kruger territory. There may be even more hypotheses than are captured here.

Mindfulness*

Mindfulness, as with yoga and other Eastern concepts, gets diluted for consumption by the West becoming McMindfulness. I learnt Buddhism circa 1980 in Japan, introduced by a friend from New Zealand. He translated for me because all services and teachings were given in Japanese. I won’t get into how the mind-body-spirit connection of yoga has devolved into an exercise regimen in the West.

Yoga

a Hindu theistic philosophy teaching the suppression of all activity of body, mind, and will in order that the self may realize its distinction from them and attain liberation

Most Westerners have attention spans of gnats, so many Eastern concepts need to be homogenised for the Western consumer and then dosed homoeopathically. Only then can the typical Westerner performatively claim to understand these Eastern notions. To be fair, some of the loss occurs because of the lack of depth of cultural understanding—the same loss happens from West to East as well—and some is language—the concept doesn’t have a direct translation, so we end up with close enough.

A simple but hopefully instructive anecdote might help. Westerners, especially English-speakers, are typically well-aware of the native Japanese speaker’s inability to articulate the L sound, and so ‘fried rice‘ is rendered something like ‘flied lice‘. Only, this not what’s being said. What we are hearing only approximates an L to our ears, but the L sound is not what’s being uttered. The Japanese language doesn’t have L or R phonemes, respectively /l/ and /r/. So the absence of the R-sound in Japanese and the lack of this alveolar sound in English brings us close to the L sound we presume to perceive. What they are saying is /ɹ/, which is in between these two sounds. They don’t have /l/ or /r/, and we don’t have /ɹ/, so the misinterpretation goes both ways. Only a person trained in this aspect of linguistics can map the relationship, but this mapping is imperfect but satisfactorily explanatory.

Mindfulness

the practice of maintaining a nonjudgmental state of heightened or complete awareness of one’s thoughts, emotions, or experiences on a moment-to-moment basis

Mindfulness is a member of the eightfold path of Buddhist doctrine. Mindfulness is about being conscious of ‘the world’ of one’s environment and yet not be focused or ‘attached’ to any particular aspect of it. it’s simply being aware. In Buddhism, the scope of mindfulness is particular to the dharma, of which the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path are constituents, so technically speaking, one would need to have these aspects available in inventory.

* This post is a reaction to Landzek’s post, Mindfulness Mythology.

Pragmatism and Samsara

I was engaged in a conversation in a Facebook Philosophy group for Pragmatists. I feel that these groups take me as adversarial because I question their system of belief. To the extent that I accept any categorical distinction, I consider myself to be a Postmodernist first and foremost and a Pragmatist second. In a similar fashion, I am at once an atheist first, but I operate as a Buddhist. I am a nihilist first, but I operate as an Existentialist. In any case, in explaining this, I hit upon an analogy that I hadn’t considered before.

everything just ‘is’

Pragmatism is Samsara. In Buddhism, there is the concept of Samsara, which contains the realms we reside in before we reach Enlightenment, the state of realising that everything just ‘is’, is , and is undifferentiated, at which case we either exit the system or remain as aware (woke anyone?) Bodhisattvas.

everything is a constructed illusion

The ‘just is’ is the postmodern condition. Nothing is as it seems and everything is a constructed illusion. There is no good, no bad, no right or wrong—not even black or white. This is all perception of difference, but there is no difference.

I am a Buddhist in the same way I am a Pragmatist. I know that this is all a cognitive construct—or constructs—, but I am still stuck in the middle of it, ‘thrown in’ (Geworfenheit) to echo Heidegger, and I attempt to make the best of it. None of it is real, but, as with people of the Matrix, I can’t perceive my way out of it.

The risk for Pragmatists is that they are empiricists. They trust that the past will ostensibly operate the same as the future. It’s been generally that way thus far, and we’ve misinterpreted how things operate in the past, but we’ve corrected this interpretation, and we’ll correct and refine these interpretations in future. That’s the employed logic. I’ve not got a better plan, so as shoddy or rickety as it might be, it’s my life raft replete with holes, but I’ll patch them as swiftly as I can and hope my history of having not encountered any sharks or tidal disruptions or undertows persists.

none of this exists

All the while, my core beliefs are that none of this exists—not in a solipsistic way, just not as we imagine it does. It’s the wall constructed of atoms and molecules that is more space than not, and yet we can’t pass through it. If only we could all be Neo and overcome this misperception.

Happiness and how to defeat it (part 1)

Some Utilitarians claim that humans are happiness maximisers or at least a large component of utility is happiness. Besides happiness (nor pleasure) is not everyone’s goal. Utility maximisation has a near-term bias, and preference theory leaves a lot to be desired.

Utilitarians are not hedonists, per se, but perhaps this is only moderated by the downsides attributed to excess.

Happiness is not a goal…it’s a by-product of a life well lived.

Eleanor Roosevelt

Some people defer happiness in their engagements of so-called labours of love. Stereotypical entrepreneurs, forego near-term happiness in the hope of some future benefit. Given the low probability of even a remotely positive outcome, this is taking a lottery mentality. In the US, much entrepreneurship is reserved for the children of the affluent. This is a hobby, and they typically have several safety nets for the almost inevitable ensuing failure.

In any case, if happiness is a goal, rational choice and homo economicus have surely gone missing.

Four Nobel Truths

Buddhism has its Four Noble Truths:

  • Life is suffering
  • Suffering is due to attachment
  • There is a way to overcome attachment
  • Follow the Eightfold Path

Happiness-seeking is precisely what will ensure unhappiness. One might even argue that this is the general malaise evident in Western society. As Daniel Kahneman, Richard Thaler, and others have pointed out, people rather satisfice, a strategy of getting to good enough. Perhaps this is not letting perfection be enemy of the good, or perhaps this is somehow realising the asymptotic path of diminishing returns ahead.

Happiness should not be a goal; it’s a side-effect, a result of pursuing one’s interests. And happiness is ephemeral. We’re likely all aware of the person who was asking for just one thing to achieve happiness is quickly seeking the next thing because happiness comes with an expiration date.