Virginia Woolf was among the first great writers to go diving into the deep, uncharted sea of human consciousness, to break the surface again, and to hold aloft in her hand whole bodies of text, dredged from the mysteries below. Her novels are portraits of the inner world, complete with doors and windows to the outside. Much of her work is also quite philosophical in nature, and understandably so – one cannot attempt to represent an occurrences as ineffable as human consciousness without raising certain Ontological questions.

I mean to demonstrate in this paper, through an examination of To the Lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway, that one of Woolf’s chief philosophical contributions was to portray through her artistry an Ontology that is both plural and synthetic in nature. Ontology is of course most commonly understood as being that branch of metaphysics that deals with the nature and components of being. And where better to explore the nature of being than in the impressionist world of Woolf’s characters, complete with competing perspectives, and a multiplicity of world views.

I have no intention of arguing along the boundary lines of Objective/Subjective reality, and how much of each truly exists to affect the other. Since the Objective/Subjective duality is itself an ontological construct, my approach to subject/object is that they exist in varying relationships across varying ontological theories. Because I specifically am not arguing the superiority of one ontological system over another, I cannot honestly espouse one theory of subject/object over another. Rather, I wish to demonstrate the necessary existence of a plurality of operating Ontologies, and the necessity on the part of the subject to undergo a process of Ontological Synthesis.

Ontology is synthetic in nature. By this I mean that subjective consciousness renders ontology as at least partially synthesized through the experience of the subject. The ontological building blocks of reality, from which even subjective consciousness is constituted, are themselves at least partially created by subjective consciousness. To put it in biological terms, these ontological objects are at least partially created by subjective nervous systems. Unless we begin to question whether philosophical concepts do not come pre-determined from a plenum of platonic ideals, it is a fair assumption to recognize that all abstract concepts were, at some point in time, first synthesized within a human nervous system. Ontology, then, is an attempt to describe the nature of being as experienced, imagined, and logically deduced by the human nervous system. It is no surprise then to discover multiple, differing concepts of ontology have arisen from multiple, individual nervous systems. From this we may derive two basic precepts. First, we take notice that ontology as experienced by the sum total of human nervous systems is a plurality - different nervous systems experience different Ontologies. Second, we may posit that each individual nervous system necessarily experiences and negotiates this plurality of possible Ontologies through a creative process of synthesis.

For the purpose of clarity, we must distinguish between the plurality of possible Ontologies, and the operational existence of a singular, particular Ontology within an individual nervous system. To this purpose I postulate that the qualities and parameters (or game rules) of a particular, determined Ontology are particular only to that Ontology; the notion of an all-encompassing, singular Ontology that applies equally to all nervous systems almost inevitably contradicts the notion of subjective consciousness^{^[1]}^[1]. So long as we assume that each nervous system is a unique individuated system of consciousness, we must recognize that there are, existentially speaking, at least as many Ontologies as there are nervous systems^{^[2]}^[2]. A singular Ontology that claims itself applicable to all nervous systems is valid only insofar as it applies perfectly to the nervous system that has synthesized and described it. That is to say, an individual Ontology applied to multiple nervous systems can be a perfectly effective modality of experience and perception for the individual, and at the same time have absolutely no bearing whatever on the subjective experiences of the other nervous systems it attempts to describe. In other words, singular Ontologies can be true, but not universally true. Even if one nervous system espouses an Ontology that is agreeable to other nervous systems, these latter systems will inevitably be synthesizing their own version of the original Ontology based on their own subjective experience^{^[3]}^[3]. The only meaningful way to describe an “objective” or universal Ontology is to recognize it as a plurality of systems that is in constant creative dialogue with its subjects.

As we will shortly see in the writings of Virginia Woolf, the notion of plural Ontologies is not simply an issue of individual differences in aesthetic perception and categorical thinking. Ontology is one of the broadest concepts in philosophical study precisely because the concept of ontology itself must change based on the ontological qualities of the lens through which it is viewed. One cannot recognize in an alternative Ontology that which is not believed to exist in one’s accepted Ontology. The information there contained would appear at least partially nonsensical. Or, to put it in biological terms, a nervous system cannot easily process sense data that falls outside its own recognized categories of perception; Infrared and Ultraviolet light exist and are visible to many non-hominid nervous systems - human beings nevertheless cannot detect them with the naked eye. A better example perhaps is the difference in listening to orchestral music for the trained and untrained ear - the nervous system of a musician would literally sense and decode more: tonal shifts, numbers and types of instruments, subtle nuances. Meanwhile, the nervous system of a fellow with no musical training will probably not consciously register much more than a melody. The perception by the first fellow of endless musical nuance is in no way made wrong by the simplicity of his brethren, nor is the simple appreciation of melody by the layman necessarily a less meaningful perception of the music. These are alternate modalities of perception for the nervous system - and from a biological standpoint, this model should be as applicable to Ontology as it is to music^{^[4]}^[4]. Two individuals situated together in space-time will literally experience different Ontologies - and neither one Ontology nor the other holds in any way a superior validity outside of the nervous system that conceived it^{^[5]}^[5].

The Ontological Plenum, as it were, must contain all possible facets of all existing Ontologies for all existing nervous systems. We assume that no single nervous system can possibly experience the Ontological Plenum in totality, and likewise, that no single Ontology can be applied equally to all subjective nervous systems. The individual nervous system, faced with an indeterminate number of ontological permutations from which to build a working reality, must then, necessarily, synthesize a working Ontology from the ontic building blocks at hand. Thus, any Ontology conceived and communicated by a nervous system has been synthesized - it is, in effect, a Synthetic Ontology.

I hope it should be obvious to the Virginia Woolf connoisseur that the lengthy discussion of Ontology above was undertaken precisely because Woolf’s fiction is often a perfect representation of consciousness caught in the act of Ontological Synthesis. The sights, sounds, smells, thoughts, memories, emotions and perceptions of Woolf’s characters dance and weave in overwhelming waves of detail, synthesizing a delightful confluence of possibilities - real and imagined. Woolf, of course, takes us not only through the minds and bodies of single narrators, but in fact carries the lens of her creativity straight from one nervous system, to another, and another again, sometimes jumping clear of any human perception whatever, she represents an imaginary consciousness floating free, describing in detail nonetheless a unique series of perceptions along the way. In short, Woolf drives her narratives through the Ontological Plenum itself - twisting into different perspectives, mismatched intentions, contradictory perceptions, unspoken possibilities, and different worlds. Her works do not stop, however, at offering contrast between individual perspectives; Woolf’s novels sketch out a much larger picture, representing a dynamic totality of consciousness, existing in sum of the individuals whose minds she privileges us to visit. Woolf will show us a human relationship from the Ontological perspectives of both individuals, then jump free to occupy a third, empty perspective outside of them, and offer from there a third Ontology all her own. All of which can, and quite often does, take place in the course of a single paragraph.

By pulling focus from the nervous systems of individuals and allowing the narrative to travel freely across the ontological plenum, Woolf foregrounds the process of the individual in synthetic dialogue with the totality. Attention is drawn to the choices made during the process of synthesis. She demonstrates effective and ineffective Ontologies for the individual, and more importantly, she demonstrates them in direct contrast to the grand potential of the ontological plenum itself. The effect of these demonstrations is twofold - in the first place it has the effect of broadening the reader’s sense of ontological possibilities, and in the second place it engenders a sort of ontological criticism. In the case of the former, Woolf illuminates the process of Ontological Synthesis as a fundamental facet of the human condition, and evidences an ontological plenum by virtue of offering a multiple and varied model of human consciousness. In the case of engendering ontological criticism, we see that Woolf is asking the reader to compare, contrast, and critique the operating Ontologies of her characters, while at the same time explicitly raising the kinds of ontological questions which, we assume, might make for a more effective process of synthesis. Septimus Warren Smith cowering and talking to himself in the park, we imagine, is most likely not a primary candidate for emulation.

As it turns out, however, Septimus is an especially fascinating point of departure. For while Mrs. Dalloway as a novel makes no reservations about portraying Septimus as a little less than normal, and certainly somewhat tormented, he nevertheless offers the most striking ontological contrasts of all. The dynamic pairing of Septimus and Clarissa Dalloway as alternative protagonists further underscores the extremity if of this contrast - the charming socialite and the visionary pariah are not merely opposite lifestyles - they very practically inhabit different worlds. Clarissa’s world is inherently social, concerned with group events, hierarchies, politics and the like - she coasts through a morass of relationships and remembered relationships; at her party, her social movements have grown so grand and rapid that she seems to be gliding across the crowd. Septimus, quite in opposition, has no social standing nor social skills whatever - he is in fact the epitome of alienation, unable to communicate even with his wife, besieged by doctors, left to communicate cryptically with private visions in public daylight. As Clarissa herself muses, “The supreme mystery … was simply this: here was one room, there another.” (127) Clarissa and Septimus are a perfect example of ontological otherness - the paradoxical coexistence of two nervous systems, each of which seems to occupy its own universe. Clarissa buys flowers for a party, Septimus hears birds speak his name and sing in Greek, and the both of them look up, with everyone else, when the royal car stops unexpectedly on Bond Street.

At the same time, it is too quick a judgment to explain away the difference in experienced Ontology between Clarissa and Septimus to be mere mental illness on the part of the latter. The visions of Septimus may be fantastical, even terrifying - this does not necessarily make them less true, less valuable, or less effective insofar as Septimus’s nervous system is concerned. It is easy to forget, as Woolf lets us peer into this unusual mind, that when we look upon the visionary synthesis of Semptimus Warren Smith, we are privy to the private mind of a poet. What the reader sees is not what the surrounding public sees, nor his wife, nor even his doctors. Lucrezia, for all her consternation over her husband’s behavior, at one point remarks that he “had nothing whatever seriously the matter with him but was a little out of sorts” (21), and later that day, despite her earlier, tearful complaints, is swayed enough by his affection as to say, “they were perfectly happy now” (146) and insist that the doctors should not take him. As for the supposedly delusional nature of Septimus’s vision, it need not necessarily be taken as delusion - but might instead be reasonably considered an alternative, private act of synthesis. Taking for example the most blatant moment of disjuncture between the perceptions of Septimus and the supposed “reality” of the situation, Peter Walsh walks past the married couple and is “mistaken” for Evens. “A man in grey was actually walking towards them. It was Evens! But no mud was on him; no wounds; he was not changed.” (70). That Peter Walsh should be the template for this vision does not disqualify its validity as a genuine communion with the dead man. To understand this better we need only look at the following moment, in which we are privy to Peter’s consciousness; we find that from Peter’s more conventionally normative perspective, the scene of this supposed delusional fit appears as “lovers squabbling under a tree; the domestic family life of the parks” and furthermore (remarkably!) “never had he seen London look so enchanting--” (70). The disjuncture, at the very least, is a two way street; it happens to be on Peter’s mind, after seeing Clarissa, to be thinking of young love, while with Septimus there is a deep preoccupation with the boundaries between life and death. If Septimus is delusional for holding one perspective, we must admit that Peter is equally delusional for holding the other - for neither one, in any way, mirrors the experience of his fellow

Rotating our perspective as readers, however, we might understand the scene between Lucrezia and Septimus to be exactly the lovers squabble that Peter imagines - the subject of the squabble happens to be the inability of Septimus to let go of his own haunting past and pay attention to his wife. Likewise, it is only by bias of the reader that one should necessarily consider the vision of Evens to be anything less than a true vision of life after death. That the image of Evens coincides with the corporeal presence of Peter is an ontological curiosity^{^[6]}^[6] - the coincidence itself may be representative of a particular conception of immortality - perhaps one that is meaningful to the reader - but more importantly, one that is meaningful to the consciousness and nervous system of Septimus Warren Smith.

It might be argued simply that visions of the living dead are by themselves evidence of mental illness. I refer such objections to character of Lily Briscoe in To the Lighthouse, who, during an artistic vision, reflects on the frequency with which she seems to have relations with the deceased Mrs Ramsay:

And now slowly the pain and the want, and the bitter anger … lessened; and of their anguish left, as antidote, a relief that was a balm in itself, and also, but more mysteriously, a sense of someone there, of Mrs. Ramsay … staying lightly by her side and then (for this was Mrs. Ramsay in all her beauty) raising to her forehead a wreathe of white flowers with which she went. Lily squeezed her tubes again … it was strange how clearly she saw her … it was some trick of the painter’s eye. For days after she had heard of her death she had seen her thus, putting her wreathe on her forehead and going unquestioningly with her companion, a shade across the fields. (181).

Lily is described as having the experience of seeing Mrs. Ramsey, visually, not only on the occasion of completing her portrait, but also on numerous occasions immediately following her death. She attributes it to her “painter’s eye” and this may be taken in direct parallel to Septimus himself acting as a visionary and poet. The word “Vision” is used numerous times to describe the especially creative forms of consciousness that come to fruition in the minds of Lily and Septimus. To return to the biological paradigm for context, we might say that these characters are experiencing an increase in right-brain activity^{^[7]}^[7] - that is to say, creative consciousness. In this sense they occupy the same role in their respective novels - that of the visionary, the artist, the mind that makes active synthesis out of the surroundings and constantly experiences life in new forms. Whether we regard these visions of the dead returning as literally true or not, we nevertheless must give them credit as having, at the very least, symbolic significance for the minds that envisage them.

Furthermore, and without making too fine a point of it, the creative consciousness experienced both by Lily and Septimus retains its ontological validity regardless of whether or not the vision is funneled onto a canvas or piece of paper. True, Lily does experience active ontological synthesis while struggling with her painting, and Septimus does as well while scribbling his insights on paper in the park - both characters are also seen to be in a state of ontological flux at other times as well. This may in fact be nothing more than a necessary consequence of possessing the artistic temperament. Taking a casual evening stroll in the Garden, Lily needs only have the thought of Mr. Ramsey planted in her head to bring about the famous, complex vision of the phantom table. “So now she always saw, when she thought of Mr. Ramsay’s work, a scrubbed kitchen table. It lodged now in the fork of a pear tree, for they had reached the orchard.” (23). The presentation of this vision specifically places the kitchen table in external space, outside of Lily, and makes no indication that it is only being imagined. At the same time, the reader must understand that Lily is the only one who sees it. This sort of private visualization might be considered a schizophrenic hallucination by the psychiatric profession - for Lily, it is a simply the way her nervous system makes synthesis of space and abstract thought simultaneously. Keeping in mind a plurality of Ontologies is vital in understanding this moment - a nervous system subscribing to an Ontology whereby “space,” “time,” and “abstract thought” are processed as fundamentally different things, would be incapable of having this vision. For Lily, it is simply the way her mind works. Furthermore, her mind seems to work this way all the time, and a certain degree of neurosis notwithstanding, Lily Briscoe nevertheless might very well be a perfect picture of mental health.

Septimus, on the other hand, is at least a little disturbed. What I hope to have demonstrated with the above discourse, however, is that the nature of the disturbance is not necessarily an issue of “mental illness,” nor need it be a “mental” issue at all. “his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then - that he could not feel.” (88). Rather, by his own admission, Septimus has reacted to his time at war with great emotional difficulty, a sort of loss of affinity for his fellow man.

When Evens was killed … Septimus, far from showing any emotion or recognizing that there that here was the end of a friendship, congratulated himself upon feeling very little and very reasonably. The War had taught him … And to Lucrezia, the younger daughter, he became engaged one evening when the panic was upon him - that he could not feel … for now that it was all over … he had, especially in the evening, these sudden thunder-claps of fear, He could not feel.” (87)

This sort of tragic, emotional difficulty is nevertheless not indicative of brain dysfunction - at the same time, the increasingly fantastic visions that his creative mind experiences are not necessarily, by themselves, problematic. The problem lies instead of the confluence of these two forces - unmitigated visionary potential working in tandem with severe emotional repression. That his marriage is especially troubled is more than understandable - as the above passage indicates, it was forged from a desperate need on the part of Septimus to escape his emotional problems. Lucrezia feels cut off from her husbands inner world with good reason. Septimus, in fact, may feel perfectly comfortable talking to himself in public, for the very understandable reason that he cannot empathize with his fellow man, and so pays no heed to notions of acceptable social behaviors. In short, his working Ontology has become privatized to the extreme - opening his mind to a plethora of new synthetic possibilities, while at the same time further alienating him from the simple, non-creative Ontologies carried by the surrounding nervous systems. Septimus is not necessarily “wrong” about anything - in fact, his visions may contain more truth than all the musings of Clarissa Dalloway combined - nevertheless, he has yet to find a way to communicate his insights to his brethren in a meaningful way. He says so himself, and as usual, to himself -- “communication is health; communication is happiness” (93).

It must further be pointed out that even in the most extreme instances of what seems to be nonsensical insight (“tell the prime minister“ (148)), Septimus consistently returns to a more centered modality of consciousness. After the especially terrifying vision of a dog becoming a man, he even reflects on the cause of this day’s particularly extreme visions:

Heaven was divinely merciful, infinitely benignant. It spared him, pardoned his weakness. But what was the scientific explanation (for one must be scientific above all things)? Why could he see through bodies, see into the future, when dogs will become men? It was the heat wave, presumably, operating upon a brain made sensitive by eons of evolution.” (68)

Here, the overflow of right-brain creative synthesis is met with an appeal to the left-brain hemisphere, known to be the location of analytical and logistical thought process. The application of scientific (left-brain) methodology to the influx of ontological components shows not only temperance and reasonability on the part of Septimus, but makes for some interesting postulations as well. The appeal to evolutionary theory is especially fascinating; evolution is first exemplified by the vision of an animal becoming a man, and then expanded as an examination of the human brain - the evolution of consciousness itself. The perception of this “sensitive” brain (now somewhat adversely affected by the heat) implies a certainty within Septimus that his ability to perceive the world through a visionary or creative consciousness is both advantageous and ultimately progressive^{^[8]}^[8]. If we agree that Woolf has successfully demonstrated multiple and varied Ontologies among nervous systems, we may then begin to wonder if Septimus and his “evolved” brain do not represent some ability within the human nervous system to recognize increasingly complex Ontologies, and in fact, to recognize multiple Ontologies simultaneously. Septimus, after all, has in a few short leaps filtered his realty through the opposing lenses of divinity (“heaven”) and science, and inadvertently raised the issue of evolutionary consciousness - in a novel that is all about human consciousness and its permutations.

In any case, it can be clearly said of Septimus that his nervous system is in an especially active state of ontological synthesis - a perpetual creative process not altogether unlike the experiences of Lily Briscoe. If every nervous system must synthesize an Ontology from the sense-data at hand, it would seem that Septimus and Lily exhibit a heightened agency in regards to this matter. Lily of course, has more control over this agency - she is overwhelmed with vision but struggles to draw her perceptions together, distilled upon her canvas. Septimus sadly does not have so clear an outlet - his scraps of paper and drawings retain high meaning for him, but fail to offer the communicative satisfaction of a completed work of art. He experiences ontological agency insofar as he takes a constant, active role in constructing a personal Ontology, but at the same time he seems incapable resolving that Ontology as altogether workable - i.e. he does not know how to overcome his emotional problems. His most agent moment, perhaps, is his final moment. Faced with the onslaught of doctors threatening to lock him away, Septimus makes to keep his freedom by taking his life. “Life was good,” he thinks, even as he throws himself from the window. (149). The suicide becomes a declaration of independence - also a declaration of Ontological agency. His objections to the doctors, throughout his experience with them, is the ease with which they try to impose their own ontological systems upon him. “’Must’ ‘must,’ why ‘must?’ What power had Bradshaw over him? ‘what right has Bradshaw to say ‘must’ to me?’ he demanded … So he was in their power! Holmes and Bradshaw were on him!” (147). His suicidal act is not an expression of despair, but instead an intention to escape, to maintain his own worldview in a world dictated by arrogant, patronizing, and objectifying doctors. His life is ended; his world remains his own.

In the meantime, however, Septimus must deal with the same basic ontological problem as everyone else - what has in metaphysics been called “the problem of other minds” - and what might more broadly be considered the problem of other nervous systems. That is to say, Septimus, as an evolved consciousness or a madman regardless, is left to the lonesome place of occupying his perspective, and his perspective alone. We have already looked once at Clarissa Dalloway’s statement of this problem, “The supreme mystery which Kilman might say she had solved, or Peter might say he had solved, but Clarissa didn’t believe either of them had the ghost of an idea of solving, was simply this: here was one room, there another. Did religion solve that, or love?” (127). However fantastic, beautiful, or terrifying an individual Ontology may be - of what use is it, un-communicated and un-communicatable to the nervous systems of others? Clarissa is unsatisfied with Peter’s answer, which we presume is love, and certainly does not go in for Ms. Kilman’s answer, which we know to be religion. Here is one of the central questions of the novel, asked by one of two protagonists. Perhaps then, we find some indication of an answer in looking to Clarissa’s double. “Universal love: The meaning of the world” (148) Septimus has written, alluding, we hope, not to that brand of romantic love between individuals, but love instead that is pervasive, inclusive, that crosses barriers of perspective - the kind of love that all nervous systems might share for themselves and for each other, even in terrifying face of uniqueness. The kind of love, maybe, that causes Clarissa to look out of her own room and into the room of the old woman in the first place - the curiosity and sympathy that binds - a recognition of one’s self, in the very aloneness of the other.

Clarissa has also asked an answer of religion, and as Septimus’s vision in the park begins, he comes to think of religion as well: “sounds made harmonies with premeditation; the spaced between them were as significant as the sounds. A child cried. Rightly far away a Horn sounded. All taken together meant the birth of a new religion--” (23). The perceived notion of “premeditation” of harmony is especially interesting, as it seems to imply that Septimus is picking up on some sort of implicate order from the seeming chaos of his surroundings[9][9]. Both the disjointed sounds and the spaces that come in-between are taken in fusion and seem to indicate an ontological patterning of sorts. Somehow, through an a-temporal synthesis of ontological factors, Septimus seems to be perceiving a higher order – like a developing iteration moving independently through the ontological plenum itself. This “new religion” then, need not necessarily have much in common with its authoritarian predecessors (we know, after all, how Septimus feels about Ontological Authority). Rather, Septimus may simply be pointing to an overarching resonance between Ontologies – a new worldview whereby a multiplicity of Ontological agents and perspectives exist, but also, somehow, intermesh, intermingle, interpenetrate, indeed, even harmonize.

This is, in my opinion, a large part of what makes the novels of Virginia Woolf so very beautiful – they represent a collectivity of consciousness that is utterly plural, but ultimately harmonious. From the disjointed threads of individual minds, she weaves together a universe overflowing with consciousness; a world illuminating itself. The separateness of each nervous system is felt, but alongside we see drawn in the sand the lines of connection and communication. The notion of a “nervous system,” after all, no matter how effective a model, is but an ontological construct itself. And while we certainly must hold our individual Ontologies dear, as beloved maps of reality – we may nevertheless be grateful for such writers as Virginia Woolf, who reminds us that a map, however useful, is not itself the land we live in[10][10].

^{^[11]}^[1] This requires some backing up as it no doubt casually dismisses whole schools of philosophical thought. I only mean to say that in foregrounding the biological roots of consciousness, we find subjectivity literally tied to the physical process of absorbing and sorting sense data in the developing nervous system. As each nervous system is derived from a unique genetic code and occupies a unique position in space-time, its subjective experience of ontology will inevitably be at least partially unique. It is merely my assertion that these unique qualities are at least as important to subjective experience as any shared qualities, and because the factor of uniqueness cannot be removed from the human nervous system, all subjective experience of ontological phenomena is at least partially constructed by the subject. In other words, a completely objective ontology would be irrelevant to the nervous system.

^{^[12]}^[2] To say otherwise would be to refute the assertion that each nervous system is both unique and individual. Since even the language used to describe ontology is inevitably subjectively decoded by individual nervous systems, any semantic model of reality will be rendered inevitably subjective by the very process of listening. Further complications arise with the fact that it is not only language which is subjectively interpreted by the nervous system, but in fact all recognizable phenomena whatever. The only way around this problem, as I see it, would be to posit some kind of collective consciousness that is somehow present across nervous systems - Carl Jung describes such a theory in his Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Although I admire Dr. Jung’s theories, my present purposes remain only to detail the process of synthetic ontology for the individual nervous system.

^{^[13]}^[3] This is a simple and obvious consequence of modern Biology. Each central nervous system occupies an individual position in space-time and synthesizes perceived reality out of incoming signals of sense-data. Any incoming signals decoded by a nervous system as “objective ontology” would be contextualized in lieu of that nervous system’s subjective experience - that is to say, it would be understood and perceived as part of an individuated confluence of factors ranging through DNA, life experience, developmental psychology, and education, and further affected by such trivialities as the weather and the mental and emotional states of the subject at the time this “objective ontology” is being communicated. In short, the only way for the second nervous system to fully comprehend the original “objective ontology” of the first nervous system would be for the two subjects to somehow come to share the same nervous system. Outside of the realm of ESP and psychic studies, this kind of shared consciousness is generally considered impossible. All this is not to mention, of course, the complications added by modern Linguistics.

^{^[14]}^[4] A nervous system processing music is like a nervous system processing ontology insofar as, in both cases, there is a decoding both of phenomenological sense data and of symbolic-semantic sense data. By symbolic-semantic sense data I refer to compositional notes in the case of music, and compositional syntax in the case of ontology. I assume that ontology will generally be communicated at least in part by a compositional syntax, insofar as the attempt to communicate ontology is usually a linguistic pursuit. (The possibility of non-lingual communication of Ontology and Ontological concepts, although fascinating, is clearly beyond the scope of this paper).

^{^[15]}^[5] Examples of two differently experienced Ontologies occurring simultaneously between two nervous systems might include such variables as perception of specific colors or sounds, passage of time at different speeds, awareness of mind over body or vice versa, specific sensory impressions, moral and/or ethical judgments, varying awareness of pleasure or pain, experience of self as individuated or connected to a greater whole, experience of self as engaged in a personal narrative process or existing sans narrative as a perceptual apparatus, Theological, Spiritual, or Religious paradigms, as well as any labyrinthine conceptual framework of the nature and purpose of the universe that is experienced as reality - in theory the list should be endless.

^{^[16]}^[6] If, for example, we were to humor an ontological conception in the tradition of Buddhism, which holds consciousness as existing outside of corporeal spacetime, it is no stretch of the imagination to understand that the consciousness of Evens might be temporarily super-imposed over the corporeal spacetime coordinates of Peter Walsh. Yet another alternative theory of ontological consequence is the Morphogenetic Field Theory of Dr. Rupert Sheldrake, which conceives of human consciousness as consisting of and connected across global electromagnetic fields - as fantastic as it sounds, it as a relatively simple explanation for a non-corporeal manifestation of the ontological entity identified by Septimus as “Evens” - it is simply a recognized electromagnetic field pattern. I am not espousing either of these theories as “true” nor do I mean to imply that Virginia Woolf had these specific ontological models in mind. Rather I mean to offer sample ontological interpretations for a novel deeply concerned with ontological pluralism and synthesis.

^{^[17]}^[7] It is a general accepted theory among scientists studying the brain that analytical thought process takes place more in the left brain hemisphere, whereas synthetic, or creative states of consciousness occur with more activity in the right brain hemisphere. Generally, the creative process as observed in the act of making art or writing, has been shown to accompany right brain activity. Even more interestingly, it appears that the right brain hemisphere does not process the passage of time in a linear fashion - it is a-temporal. The writing and scientific study in this field is extensive. For a sample I refer the reader to the work of Jerre Levy. (see bibliography).

^{^[18]}^[8] The term “sensitive” in Psychic Studies has come to denote that ability of a nervous system to perceive and decode energetic patterns outside of the normative confluence of sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. These patterns are usually postulated as electromagnetic fields, and in theory are encoded with large amounts of information. As it is a biological fact that the human body gives off an electromagnetic field, and a physical fact that in the planet is surrounded by one, the only “pseudo-scientific” assertion in this line of thinking is that these fields are actually being read and processed by pituitary glands within trained human minds. It is usually also asserted that this sensitivity to energy fields is an evolutionary advancement which, having been under development for the last 30,000 years, is now more or less fully developed in the species as a whole, even though our modern civilization has not developed a precedent for the recognition, activation, and further development of these abilities. For more information and clinical studies, I refer the reader to “The Search For Psychic Power” by David Hammond. (see bibliography). For the purposes of this paper I only wish to draw attention to the fact that the ability to perceive existing electromagnetic fields or not would be a primary example of how two nervous systems could perceive remarkably different Ontologies simultaneously.

[19][9] In a gross over simplification I do wish to reference the work of Physicist David Bohm, who’s work with Quantum physics lead him to write whole books about consciousness and subjectivity. Specifically, his theory that the universe was dually constructed of explicate order (readily perceived) and implicate order (enfolded and unfolding) is the easiest way to understand in scientific terms how Septimus, with his “sensitive” brain, might be perceiving a “higher order” or “ontological patterning” that is beyond the scope of normative perception. I refer the reader also to the Essay “To The Lighthouse and Physics: the cosmology of David Bohm and Virginia Woolf” by Mark Hussey. (See Bibliography).

[20][10] I believe this idea was originally and most effectively stated by Semanticist Albert Korzybski when he said of language, “The Map is not the Territory.”

Levy, Jerre, “Psychobiological Implications of Bilateral Asymmetry” In Hemisphere Function in the Human Brain, edited by S.J. Dimond and J.G. Beaumont, John Wiley & sons, New York, 1974

Hammond, David, The Search for Psychic Power, Scientific Book Club, London, 1974

Hussey, Mark, “To The Lighthouse and Physics: The Cosmology of David Bohm and Virginia Woolf” in New Essays on Virginia Woolf, Wussow, Helen (ed), Contemporary Research Press, Dallas, 1995.

Woolf, Virginia, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Anne Oliver Bell (ed), Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1982.

Mctaggart, John Ellis Mctaggart, The Nature of Existence, Cambridge University Press, London, 1927.

Rochelle, Gerald, Behind Time: The incoherence of time and Mctaggart’s atemporal replacement, Ashgate Publishing, 1998.

Bergson, Henri, Time and Free Will, Pogson, F.L. (trans), Macmillan Company, New York, 1910.

Bergson, Henri, The Creative Mind, Andison, Mabelle L. (trans), Greenwood Press Publishers, Westport, Connecticut, 1946.

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LaCapra, Dominick, “History, Time, and the Novel: Reading Woolf’s To the Lighthouse” in History, Politics, and the Novel, Cornell University Press, 1987.

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