Too	much	attention,	too	little	self? (forthcoming	in	PPR	symposium	for	Jonardon	Ganeri's	Attention,	Not	Self) Carolyn	Dicey	Jennings University	of	California,	Merced This	is	a	good	time	for	such	a	substantial	book	on	Buddhaghosa.	His	ideas	may	be	more difficult	to	digest	than	those	of	contemporary	authors,	but	Ganeri	convincingly	argues	for their	relevance.	Together	with	Ganeri's	considerable	interpretive	and	philosophical	work, Buddhaghosa's	view	helps	to	fill	out	a	perspective	that	is	popular	in	cognitive	science,	in which	the	self	is	replaced	by	systems.	In	this	case,	the	self	is	replaced	by	systems	of attention,	a	view	that	Ganeri	calls	'Attentionalism.'	In	this	review	I	will	focus	on	two	aspects of	the	account	that	I	find	especially	puzzling,	with	the	hope	that	this	leads	to	further elucidation,	whether	by	Ganeri	or	others.	Specifically,	I	will	focus	on	the	concepts	of ekaggatā,	or	"placing,"	and	anatta,	or	"no-self,"	as	interpreted	by	Ganeri.1 Ganeri	distinguishes	the	Pāli	term	ekaggatā	from	manasikāra,	both	of	which	are	introduced as	functions	of	attention.	They	are	discussed	to	a	much	greater	extent	than	two	other supposed	functions	of	attention-sati	("retaining,"	66)	and	cetanā	("executive	control," 223)-and	are	referred	to	in	the	index	as	the	"two	roles	of	[attention]	in	experience."	That we	can	distinguish	these	two	roles	is	crucial	to	Ganeri's	account,	but	what	are	they? Importantly,	these	are	functions	of	attention	within	experience,	so	any	descriptions	will	be phenomenological	ones.	Ekaggatā	is	described	as	a	"a	type	of	concentration...or absorption"	(66),	a	"placing"	or	a	"placing-on"	(2),	and	a	"selection	through	exclusion"	(123). Manasikāra	is	described	as	a	"focusing"	or	a	"focusing	at"	(2),	a	"directing	or	driving	at" (110),	and	an	"attenuation"	of	features	(123). As	someone	unfamiliar	with	the	concepts,	I found	these	descriptions	confusing,	as	I	suspect	they	will	be	for	many	others.	One	might wonder	at	the	difference	between	concentration	and	focusing,	between	placing	on	and driving	at,	and	between	exclusion	and	attenuation.	Ganeri	provides	an	example	from Buddhaghosa	that	I	found	particularly	helpful	for	understanding	the	distinction.	The example	has	to	do	with	seeing	the	moon	on	a	cloudy	night,	which	is	said	to	require	both ekaggatā	and	manasikāra.	As	Ganeri	puts	it,	ekaggatā	is	like	the	wind	that	"may	dispel	the clouds	but	does	not	itself	see	the	moon,"	whereas	manasikāra	can	"produce	for	thought	an intentional	object,"	such	as	the	moon,	once	the	clouds	are	dispelled	(111).	One	might	see ekaggatā	as	the	negative	side	of	the	function	of	attention,	whereas	manasikāra	is	the positive	side,	a	view	Ganeri	attributes	to	Anagarika	Govinda	(110).	In	other	words,	one might	see	ekaggatā	as	removing	distractors	from	the	object,	whereas	manasikāra	produces the	object	for	thought. We	might	contrast	the	distinction	between	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	with	that	between passive	and	active	attention.	The	latter	distinction	is	at	work	in	discussions	on	involuntary and	voluntary,	exogenous	and	endogenous,	and	bottom-up	and	top-down	attention	(see, e.g.,	Carrasco	2011;	Preciado	et	al.	2017).	It	may	sometimes	seem	as	though	Ganeri	intends this	distinction,	as	when	ekaggatā	is	described	as	a	mere	"openness	to	the	world"	(2), whereas	manasikāra	is	described	as	"driving	at	an	object"	(110).	Yet,	Ganeri	is	explicit	in 1 Thanks to Bronwyn Finnigan, Jonardon Ganeri, Christopher Mole, and Carlos Montemayor for their helpful insights and feedback. rejecting	this	more	standard	way	of	dividing	attention:	"these	formulations	are philosophically	loaded,	implying	commitment	to...an	authorship	model	of	self-control"	(63; see	also	112,	118,	175).	The	authorship	model	is	one	in	which	agents	"are	compositionally irreducible	substances"	and	"causation	by	agents	is	an	ontological	primitive"	(16).	In	other words,	Ganeri	rejects	the	idea	of	a	separable	self	and	sees	the	more	standard	distinction between	passive	and	active	attention	as	relying	on	that	idea,	since	it	is	the	self	that	is supposed	to	provide	the	activity	of	active	attention.2 Instead	of	splitting	attention	into	that	which	is	not	directed	by	the	self	(passive)	and	that which	is	(active),	Ganeri	splits	attention	into	that	which	makes	negative	(ekaggatā)	and positive	(manasikāra)	contributions	to	consciousness.	Specifically,	whereas	ekaggatā	opens "a	window	for	consciousness,"	manasikāra	accesses	"the	properties	of	whatever	the window	opens	onto"	(2).	This	is	negative	in	the	case	of	ekaggatā	because	it	operates	by excluding	distractors,	like	the	opaque	walls	around	a	window.	It	is	positive	in	the	case	of manasikāra	because	it	operates	by	accessing	categorical	properties	and	applying	them	to those	objects.	This	is	a	positive	contribution	to	consciousness,	according	to	Ganeri,	because categorical	properties	distinguish	consciousness	from	cognition.	That	is,	Ganeri	explains	the distinction	between	consciousness	and	cognition	through	a	distinction	between	the	doxastic and	subdoxastic,	such	that	"the	concomitants	of	consciousness	are	consciously	accessible" but	"cognitive	processes	are	cognitively	insulated"	(60).3	In	other	words,	consciousness	has to	do	with	belief	and	reason,	and	attention	has	two	different	ways	of	making	objects accessible	to	belief	and	reason-distractor	exclusion	and	target	categorization. In	making	negative	and	positive	contributions	to	consciousness,	the	two	functions	of attention	support	two	types	of	conscious	content,	according	to	Ganeri-phenomenal	and access	content,	respectively.	A	significant	amount	of	philosophical	research	has	been devoted	to	the	idea	that,	in	Ned	Block's	language,	we	should	separate	phenomenal consciousness	from	access	consciousness,	since	consciousness	'overflows'	access	(Block 2011).	The	intuition	behind	this	idea	can	be	understood	through	a	simple	example:	when	we taste	something	for	the	first	time,	we	may	be	able	to	access	only	limited	information	about the	flavor,	while	it	may	seem	to	us	that	our	flavor	experience	transcends	that	limited information.	A	related	question	is	whether	consciousness	'overflows'	attention.4	In	Ganeri's account,	consciousness	overflows	access	but	not	attention,	since	the	two	functions	of attention	support	two	types	of	conscious	content,	only	one	of	which	has	to	do	with	access: In	our	Buddhist	theory,	then,	the	intentional	content	of	an	experience	is	an	object, feature,	place,	or	goal	(ārammaṇa),	which	has	been	identified	in	a	certain	way (saññā),	while	phenomenal	content	is	a	'flavour'	(rasa),	which	has	been	evaluated	in a	certain	way	(vedanā).	It	is	the	function	of	focal	attention	(manasikāra)	to	bring	an intentional	object	into	experience	and	to	access	its	identifier.	The	function	of	placed attention	(ekaggatā)	is	so	to	structure	the	phenomenal	content	as	to	enable	a	felt evaluation	to	take	place.	(154) 2 Perhaps worth mentioning is that my own, opposing view is that the distinction between active and passive attention both tracks reality and indicates the existence of a self (Jennings 2012, Jennings 2017, Jennings forthcoming). 3 The "concomitants" of consciousness are the parts of consciousness that are: "co-emergent," "co-dependent," and "conjoined" (37). 4 I	argue	as	much	in	Jennings	2015. So	ekaggatā	enables	the	structuring	of	experience,	helping	to	bring	about	phenomenal content,	whereas	manasikāra	enables	access	to	a	sample	of	this	phenomenal	content	(105). Thus,	both	conscious	content	and	attention	overflow	access,	in	Ganeri's	account.	Further,	by making	attention	necessary	for	both	types	of	conscious	content,	Ganeri	thinks	Buddhaghosa is	able	to	avoid	the	Myth	of	the	Given,	a	solution	Ganeri	compares	to	that	of	John	McDowell (72,	87;	McDowell	1996).	From	the	above	it	should	be	clear	that	the	distinction	between ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	has	a	crucial	role	in	Ganeri's	account,	since	it	allows	for	a	unique position	in	this	debate. One	might	usefully	contrast	Ganeri's	account	with	that	of	Daniel	Dennett,	who	argues	that consciousness	overflows	attention	but	not	access,	and	John	Campbell,	who	argues	that conscious	content	overflows	both,	which	are	tied	together.	Dennett	emphasizes	the importance	of	the	language	faculty	for	consciousness	in	arguing	that	it	does	not	overflow access:	"One's	access	to	one's	experience	is	accomplished	via	the	access	relations	between M	and	PR	[the	language	faculty].	As	Anscombe	would	put	it,	we	simply	can	say	what	it	is	we are	experiencing,	what	it	is	we	are	up	to"	(Dennett	1978,	222).	Yet,	he	sees	attention	as	only covering	a	fraction	of	consciousness:	"One	experiences	more	than	one	attends	to"	(Dennett 1978,	222).	In	contrast,	Ganeri	explicitly	separates	the	issue	of	consciousness	from	that	of language	(90),	and	yet	sees	attention	as	necessary	for	conscious	experience	(241).	Campbell emphasizes	the	importance	of	a	target	being	separated	from	its	distractors	("singled	out")	in arguing	that	attention	is	necessary	for	demonstrative	reference	(Campbell	2002,	2).	Yet, Campbell	also	argues	that	conscious	content	overflows	attention	(Campbell	2002,	1). Ganeri,	in	contrast,	thinks	that	the	form	of	attention	that	allows	for	distractor	exclusion (ekaggatā)	does	not	get	us	all	the	way	to	access,	connecting	attention	to	access	at	a	later stage	(manasikāra).	For	this	reason,	he	finds	room	to	argue	that	attention	is	necessary	for both	conscious	content	and	access,	even	while	conscious	content	overflows	access. While	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	are	described	as	functions	of	attention	at	the	level	of consciousness,	Buddhaghosa	has	different	language	for	attention	at	the	level	of	cognition- modules	M1	through	M4.	Ganeri	argues	that	we	should	not	see	one	set	of	language	as reducible	to	the	other:	"Neither	form	of	explanation	consists	in	a	reduction	of	intentional experience	to	something	else"	(61).	Yet,	it	seems	clear	that	the	two	types	of	explanation	are related	to	one	another	in	some	way.	My	main	puzzle	about	ekaggatā	stems	from	the	fact that	the	divide	between	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	appears	to	be	supported	by	the	divide between	M1	and	M3	in	Ganeri's	model,	as	I	will	reason	below.	As	I	see	it,	this	causes	tension with	the	idea	that	ekaggatā	should	be	understood	as	a	function	of	attention. The	tasks	of	the	four	cognitive	modules	are	"attentional	orienting"	(M1),	"receiving	into early	vision"	(M2),	"determining	categorical	identity	and	late	attentional	gate-keeping" (M3),	and	"investigating	(mapping	spatial	boundaries,	etc.);	conscious	`having-that-as-anobject'	as	the	final	stage	of	running"	(199).	Ganeri	sees	these	as	lining	up	with	the	stages	of visual	processing	in	the	brain,	such	that	M2	is	early	visual	processing	"located	in	the	area	of the	brain	V1"	(184)	and	M4	is	intermediate	visual	processing	"located	in	a	range	of	brain areas"	(185).	Attention	is	required	to	make	this	processing	conscious,	and	it	is	in	the description	of	this	requirement	that	Ganeri	seems	to	tie	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	to	M1 and	M3,	respectively: The	third	phase	referred	to	above	is	responsible	for	the	difference	between unconscious	perception	and	conscious	experience,	and	what	bridges	the	two	is attention:	attention	selects	an	object	from	the	visual	scene	for	consciousness,	and attention	targets	cognitive	resources	onto	the	selected	object.	So	attention	has	two roles	in	the	theory	of	vision,	an	orienting	role	and	a	late	gate-keeping	role.	(183) Recall	above	that	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	are	indexed	under	the	"two	roles	of	[attention] in	experience."	That	entry	includes	page	183.	Further,	in	other	places	ekaggatā	and manasikāra	are	described	in	similar	terms	as	the	above,	with	ekaggatā	having	to	do	with the	selection	of	objects	(66,	121,	131)	and	manasikāra	having	to	do	with	focusing categorical	properties	onto	or	"at"	the	object	(2,	87,	109,	123,	131).	It	thus	seems	that Ganeri	is	here	connecting	ekaggatā	and	manasikāra	to	M1	and	M3;	the	two	roles	of attention	in	conscious	experience,	already	known	to	us,	are	the	very	roles	that	have	been provided	for	M1	and	M3	("attentional	orienting"	and	"determining	categorical	identity"). In	my	view,	this	interpretation	of	the	account	presents	a	puzzle.	Namely,	what	makes ekaggatā	count	as	a	function	of	attention	(see	also	Watzl	2019)?	For	Ganeri,	"attention is...the	ongoing	structuring	of	experience	and	action"	(12).	Can	the	exclusion	of	distractors count	as	the	structuring	of	experience	and	action?	This	seems	unlikely	if	ekaggatā	excludes distractors	by	preventing	them	from	being	registered	in	V1;	arguably,	exclusion	from	V1 means	exclusion	from	(visual)	experience.5	This	much	is	suggested	by	the	connection between	ekaggatā	and	M1	together	with	the	oft-used	window	metaphor,	which	"implies the	exclusion	of	items	not	currently	in	the	attended	location"	(113).	In	that	case,	ekaggatā's structuring	role	occurs	at	the	divide	between	what	is	and	what	is	not	experienced,	rather than	having	a	role	within	experience.	Another	possibility	is	that	felt	evaluation,	rather	than the	exclusion	of	distractors,	allows	ekaggatā	to	structure	consciousness	(see	the	quote above).	Felt	evaluation	is	what	provides	the	minimal	normativity	required	to	make	the content	outside	of	access	count	as	conscious	content.	But	valuation	appears	to	be	a	later stage	occurrence	for	attention,	such	that	some	have	argued	that	"theories	about	the	effects of	reward	coding	and	top–down	attention	on	visual	representations	should	be	unified" (Stănişor	et	al.	2013).	In	that	case,	valuation	and	access	seem	likely	to	have	substantial overlap.	Put	simply,	the	puzzle	is	that	of	accounting	for	something	low	level	enough	that	it can	provide	conscious	content	outside	of	access,	but	high	level	enough	that	it	can	count	as attention,	in	Ganeri's	sense	of	the	word. So	far	we	have	covered	but	one	topic	in	Ganeri's	extensive	volume,	but	in	covering	that topic	I	have	drawn	on	10	of	the	16	chapters,	demonstrating	its	importance	to	Ganeri's project.	The	other	topic	that	I	take	to	have	central	importance	is	that	of	self,	or	"no	self" (anatta).	For	the	remainder	of	this	discussion	I	will	present	what	I	take	to	be	a	puzzle	about this	part	of	Ganeri's	project. The	title	of	the	book	is	explained	by	Ganeri	as	based	on	the	idea	that	"attention,	not	self,	is the	fundamental	point	of	departure	in	explanations	of	being"	(322).	I	share	this	stance (Jennings	2017).	Yet,	Ganeri	often	goes	further	than	this	in	support	of	anatta,	or	"no	self": he	describes	the	self	as	"this	unspeakable	nothing"	(11),	claims	that	"there	is	in	fact	no	such thing	as	the	self"	(257),	and	says	that	"the	myth	of	the	self"	(313)	is	"not	merely	false	but 5 I am setting aside here the secondary visual channels that bypass V1, as are supposed to be active in blindsight. psychologically	and	morally	pernicious"	(310).	I	disagree	with	this	way	of	thinking	about	the self	(Jennings	2017,	Jennings	forthcoming).	Yet,	Ganeri's	position	is	a	powerful	alternative to,	as	he	puts	it,	the	"philosophia-falsafah	tradition"	(15).	My	puzzle	with	anatta	is	in understanding	how	its	target	is	distinct	from	mano	or	"mind,"	as	interpreted	by	Ganeri. Ganeri	summarizes	the	standard	Buddhist	argument	for	anatta	as	follows:	"being	at	the centre	of	an	organized	arena	of	experience	and	action	is	a	property	not	of	a	real	but	at	best of	a	virtual	entity,	which	as	such	cannot	have	any	causal	powers;	so	the	self	cannot	be	an agent"	(1).	This	argument	should	be	familiar	to	those	who	have	been	exposed	to	Dennett's work	on	self	as	"center	of	narrative	gravity"	(Dennett	2014).	But	why	should	we	think	of	the self	as	"the	centre	of	an	organized	arena	of	experience"	in	the	first	place?	This	appears	to	be based	on	the	presumption	that	the	self	must	occur	within	the	"space	of	experience"	or	citta: "At	its	centre	there	is	neither	an	agent,	presented	as	producing	the	centred	array,	nor	a witness	passively	observing	the	display"	(9). Against	this	presumption,	another	possibility	is	that	the	self	just	is	citta,	an	idea	Ganeri ascribes	to	Rune	Johansson	(329).	Yet,	Ganeri	thinks	this	view	is	consistent	with	the	denial of	self,	or	anatta,	since	citta	is	not	an	agent	(330).	My	puzzle	is	how	to	square	the	claim	that citta	is	not	an	agent	with	the	idea	that	citta	is	"one	in	meaning"	with	mano,	or	"mind": "consciousness	is	referred	to	as	citta	in	the	context	of	perceptual	experience	and	as	mano ('mind')	in	the	context	of	cognitive	control"	(73).	My	puzzle	stems	from	the	fact	that cognitive	control	is	typically	linked	to	the	"central	executive,"	which	is	explicitly	rejected	by Ganeri	as	a	homunculus	(207).	What	are	the	properties	of	citta	that	allow	it	to	provide cognitive	control	but	prevent	it	from	being	a	central	executive	or	agent? One	of	the	properties	of	citta	that	struck	me	as	similar	to	the	central	executive	it	that	it	is active	when	it	has	an	attentional	task	and	is	otherwise	in	a	passive	"default"	mode	(45). Compare	this	with	the	observed	trade-off	between	the	central	executive	and	default	mode networks:	"Cognitively	demanding	tasks	that	evoke	activation	in	the	brain's	centralexecutive	network	(CEN)	have	been	consistently	shown	to	evoke	decreased	activation (deactivation)	in	the	default-mode	network	(DMN)"	(Sridharan	et	al.	2007).	Further,	Ganeri claims	that	citta	leaves	the	default	mode	when	triggered	by	a	salient	stimulus	(188),	just	as the	switch	between	the	central	executive	and	default	modes	has	been	found	to	be regulated	by	"the	rFIC,	a	key	node	of	the	SN	[salience	network]"	(Sridharan	et	al. 2007).	Finally,	just	as	citta	is	responsible	for	cognitive	control	in	Ganeri's	model,	the	central executive	is	"important	for	multiple	cognitive	control	functions,	including	initiation, maintenance,	and	adjustment	of	attention"	(Sridharan	et	al.	2007). Not	only	does	citta	share	many	of	the	characteristics	of	the	central	executive,	it	is	said	by Ganeri	to	be	"emergent"	("a	unified	emergent	dynamical	system")	at	least	when	in	the active	state	(37).	This	seems	to	open	the	door	to	the	possibility	that	citta	has	new	powers and	properties	in	this	state,	such	as	those	of	the	global	workspace,	which	Ganeri	ties	to	citta (212).	The	global	workspace,	for	example,	is	said	to	allow	for	"the	spontaneous	generation of	intentional	behavior"	(Dehaene	&	Naccache	2001).	Yet,	Ganeri	sees	this	emergence	as occurring	only	at	the	level	of	description:	"A	conscious	mental	life	is,	at	another	level	of description,	the	activity	of	a	set	of	cognitive	modules.	Only	having	reached	this	point,	and not	before,	can	the	question	of	strong	first-personal	phenomena	be	raised	and	addressed" (322).	He	describes	the	maintenance	of	the	boundary	as	"apophatic	rather	than	forensic" (4).	The	puzzle	I	find	myself	left	with	is	how	we	can	be	sure	that	the	emergence	of	citta	is limited	in	this	way.	It	seems	natural	to	me	to	see	an	emergent	system	that	allows	for cognitive	control	as	having	distinct	metaphysical	status;	in	my	own	view,	the	self	is	an unified	emergent	dynamical	system	that	directs	attention,	and	we	should	see	it	as	having independent	metaphysical	status	due	to	powers	of	attention	we	only	get	through	the emergence	of	this	system	(Jennings	forthcoming).	Those	powers	are	best	summed	up,	I think,	through	the	standard	division	of	active	from	passive	attention.	Our	views	are	thus	at odds	on	this	point,	and	I	am	not	sure	why	Ganeri	has	removed	this	sort	of	view	from	the table. Finally,	according	to	Ganeri,	the	claim	that	the	concept	of	self	is	not	just	wrongheaded	but morally	pernicious	is	based	on	the	idea	that	the	self	is	rooted	in	the	past,	and	so	"insensitive to	evidence":	"The	false	belief	that	I	am	my	will	prevents	any	question	of	disidentifying	by disattending	even	from	arising,	which	is	why	craving	is	what	being	in	the	grip	of	the	myth	of self	as	detached	from	experience	entails"	(313).	Yet,	citta	is	also	rooted	in	the	past:	"the ethical	profile	of	a	mind,	the	influence	of	past	ethical	conduct,	bears	on	attentional selection"	(198).	Why	is	it	that	being	rooted	in	the	past	is	positive	or	neutral	in	the	case	of citta	but	negative	in	the	case	of	self? To	sum	up,	ekaggatā	and	anatta,	both	crucial	elements	of	Ganeri's	overall	view,	seem	to	me to	face	some	further	challenges.	It	may	be	that	Ganeri	already	has	the	resources	to	face them,	either	in	this	book	or	in	other	work,	and	I	welcome	the	opportunity	to	learn	more about	his	important	project. 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