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376 pages, Hardcover
First published January 16, 2024
If mainstream scientific cosmology is correct, we have seen only a very small, perhaps an infinitesimal fraction of reality. We are life fleas on the back of a dog, watching a hair grow and saying, "Ah, so that's how the universe works!"What a delightfully fun book! It's a playful philosopher playing around with ideas. But not in an effort to find or create weirdness. No, his main point is that the greatest philosophical minds have all reached conclusions about our understandings of reality, humanity, and the interplay of the two that, by virtue of their own logics, lead to very strange places. The opening even includes a "taxonomy of weirdness" to define and delineate the different terms he will use to describe all major theories and fields of thought (weird, bizarre, dubious, wild, and theoretical wilderness). He believes bizarreness is a fundamental, universal quality of all philosophical arguments.
In the most fundamental matters of consciousness and cosmology, neither common sense, nor early twenty-first-century empirical science, nor armchair philosophical theorizing is entirely trustworthy. The rational response is to distribute our credence across a wide range of bizarre options.This is not simply a wild claim; he is a top philosopher explaining and expanding on the work of other top thinkers.
Philosophers who explore foundational metaphysical questions typically begin with some highly plausible initial commitments to commonsense intuitions, some solid starting points. . . . They think long and hard about what these seemingly obvious claims imply. In the end, they find themselves committed to peculiar-seeming, common-sense-defying views. . . . In almost 40 years of reading philosophy, I have yet to encounter a single broad-ranging exploration of the fundamental nature of things that doesn't ultimately entangle its author in seeming absurdities. Rejection of these seeming absurdities then becomes the commonsense starting point of a new round of metaphysics by other philosophers, generating a complementary bestiary of metaphysical strangeness. Thus philosophers are happily employed.After starting by making these claims about the weirdness of the world, Schwitzgebel spends the bulk of the book demonstrating that absurdity. Chapter 3, for example, makes the case:
If materialism is true, the United States is probably conscious--that is, the United States literally possesses a stream of conscious experience over and above the experiences of its citizens and residents. If we look in broad strokes at the types of properties that materialists tend to regard as indicative of the presence of conscious experience--complex information processing, rich functional roles in a historically embedded system, sophisticated environmental responsiveness, wide information sharing, complex layers of self-monitoring--the United States, conceived of as a concrete, spatially distributed entity with people as parts, appears to have exactly those properties. It thus appears to meet standard materialist criteria for consciousness.To make the argument, he necessarily explains what philosophers mean by "materialism," "consciousness," and a host of other academic terms and ideas. He wonders about how--or whether--we can ever tell if garden snails have consciousness. If Artificial Intelligence might become conscious and what that means for the morality of personhood. The possibility of infinite multiple universes. And more.
I love philosophy best when it opens my mind--when it reveals ways the world could be, possible approaches to life, lenses through which I might see and value things around me, which I might not otherwise have considered.and
Philosophy can aim to open or close. Suppose you enter Philosophical Topic X imagining three viable, mutually exclusive possibilities, A, B, and C. The philosophy of closing aims to reduce the three to one. It aims to convince you that possibility A is correct and the others wrong. If it succeeds, you know the truth about Topic X: A is the answer! In contrast, the philosophy of opening aims to add new possibilities to the mix--possibilities that you hadn't considered before or had considered but too quickly dismissed. Instead of reducing three to one, three grows to maybe five, with new possibilities D and E. We can learn by addition as well as subtraction. We can learn that the range of viable possibilities is broader than we had assumed.
For me, the greatest philosophical thrill is realizing that something I'd long taken for granted might not be true, that some "obvious" apparent truth is in fact doubtable--not just abstractly and hypothetically doubtable, but really, seriously, in-my-gut doubtable. The ground shifts beneath me. Where I'd thought there would be floor, there is instead open space I hadn't previously seen. My mind spins in new, unfamiliar directions. I wonder, and the world itself seems to glow with a new wondrousness. The cosmos expands, bigger with possibility, more complex, more unfathomable. I feel small and confused, but in a good way.
Children have a flexibility of mind and an interest in theory building. They get a kick just out of exploring the world, trying new things (well, maybe not asparagus), breaking stuff to see what happens, and capsizing tradition. They annoyingly ask for the why behind the why behind the shy. Mature, boring adults, in contrast, prefer to find practical applications for what they already know. For example, adults want their new computers to just *work* without their having to learn anything new, while children play around with the settings, adding goofy sounds and wallpaper, changing the icons, and of course ultimately coming to understand the computers much better. . . .Embracing that everything we can understand about existence is both bizarre and dubious is not only fun, it's good for us. And so is this book.
Childlike philosophy toys with wild ideas at the boundaries of our understanding. Are these ideas useful or true? Can we plug them in straightaway into our existing conceptions and put them to work? For me, if I was already sure they were false and useless, that would steal away their charm. But to be in a hurry to judge their merits, to want to expunge doubt and wonder so as to settle on a final view that we can put immediately to work, to want to close rather than open--let's not be in such a rush to grow up. What's life for if there's no time to play and explore?
An impulse grab off the "New Books" shelf of the Portsmouth (NH) Public Library. Author Eric Schwitzgebel's overall thesis is expressed in the title: the world is weird. Since he is a philosopher, he rigorously defines his terms:
Weird: contrary to the conventional, ordinary, and well-understood. Bizarre: contrary to common sense—i.e., something that people without specialized training confidently but perhaps implicitly believe to be false Dubious: doubtful in the sense that we are not epistemically compelled to believe it Wild: both bizarre and dubious Theoretical wilderness: a topic on which every viable theory is wild You get the idea: Professor Schwitzgebel is kind of out there, but in a way that's entirely plausible. And a lot of fun. One of his chapters argues, from materialistic precepts, that the United States of America is a conscious entity; this manages to be both hilarious and profound.
Do we live in a simulation, run on a supercomputer by an alien nerd, just for fun? (Illustrated with a figure captioned: "God stumbles over the power cord". Oops!)
One chapter is "The Loose Friendship of Visual Experience and Reality". Which has the launching point expressed in federal regulation:
Each convex mirror shall have permanently and indelibly marked at the lower edge of the mirror's reflective surface, in letters not less than 4.8 mm nor more than 6.4 mm high the words “Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear.”
Don't think about this too hard while driving; could be fatally distracting. Schwitzgebel argues that the required wording is wrong. At length.
He writes on his experience with ChatGPT, and observes: "The darn thing has a better sense of humor than most humans."
And in a very thought-provoking chapter, he considers what our moral obligations should be toward AIs that develop consciousness. Snippet:
Or suppose we could create an AI system so cognitively superior to us that it is capable of valuable achievements and social relationships that the limited human mind cannot even conceive of—achievements and relationships qualitatively different from anything we can understand, sufficiently unknowable that we cannot even feel their absence from our lives, as unknowable to us as cryptocurrency is to a sea turtle.
Maybe that won't keep you awake at night, but it's something to think about in the dark when you can't sleep.
I'm kind of used to the world's "weirdness", since I studied me some quantum mechanics back in the day. Here's the relevant Feynman quote, from one of his lectures (to a general audience) on quantum electrodynamics:
What I am going to tell you about is what we teach our physics students in the third or fourth year of graduate school—and you think I'm going to explain it to you so you can understand it? No, you're not going to be able to understand it. Why, then, and I going to bother you with all this? Why are you going to sit here all this time, when you won't be able to understand what I'm going to say? It is my task to convince you not to turn away because you don't understand it. You see, my physics students don't understand it either. That is because I don't understand it. Nobody does.Similarly, I didn't find Schwitzgebel's argument about the "consciousness" of the USA to be all that wacky. It didn't seem that different from: Adam Smith's invocation of the Invisible hand; Hayek's Knowledge Problem; or Leonard E. Read's essay "I, Pencil", in which the titular character claims, perceptively, "not a single person on the face of this earth knows how to make me."
Ah, but "the market" knows how. And does so, cheaply and in abundance.
So: A wonderful book. I found it tough going in spots, but in most parts wonderfully accessible and insightful.