The infinite monkey theorem and the anthropic principle

 I was originally going to write this as an addendum to my not-so-recent post, The problem with physics, but it became obvious that it deserved a post of its own.
 
It so happens that Sabine Hossenfelder has posted a video relevant to this topic since I published that post. She cites a paper by some renowned physicists, including Lawrence Krauss, that claims a theory of everything (TOE) is impossible. Not surprisingly, Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem for mathematics forms part of their argument. In fact, the title of their paper is Quantum gravity cannot be both consistent and complete, which is a direct reference to Godel. This leads to a discussion by Sabine about what constitutes ‘truth’ in physics and the relationship between mathematical models, reality and experiments. Curiously, Australian-American, world-renowned mathematician, Terence Tao, has a similar discussion in a podcast with Lex Fridman (excellent series, btw).
 
Tao makes the point that there are 3 aspects to this, which are reality, our perception of it, and the mathematical models, and they have been converging over centuries without ever quite meeting up in a final TOE. Tao comes across as very humble, virtually egoless, yet he thinks string theory is 'out of fashion', which he has worked on, it should be pointed out. Tao self-describes himself as a ‘fox’, not a ‘hedgehog’, meaning he has diverse interests in maths, and looks for connections between various fields. A hedgehog is someone who becomes deeply knowledgeable in one field, and he has worked with such people. Tao is known for his collaborations.
 
But his 3 different but converging perspectives is consistent with my Kantian view that we may never know the thing-in-itself, only our perception of it, while such perceptions are enhanced by our mathematical interpretations. We use our mathematical models as additional, complementary tools to the physical tools, such as the LHC and the James Webb telescope.
 
Tao gives the example of the Earth appearing flat to all intents and purposes, but even the ancient Greeks were able to work out a distance to the moon orbiting us, based on observations (I don’t know the details). Over time, our mathematical theories tempered by observation, have given us a more accurate picture of the entire observable universe, which is extraordinary.
 
I’ve made the point that all our mathematical models have limitations, which makes me sceptical that a 'final' TOE will be possible, even before I’d heard of the paper that Sabine cited. But, while mathematics provides epistemological limits on what we can know, I also believe it provides ontological limits on what’s possible. The Universe obeys mathematical rules at every level we’ve observed it. The one possible exception being consciousness – I am sceptical we will ever find a mathematical model for consciousness, but that’s another topic.
 
Tao doesn’t mention the anthropic principle – at least in the videos I’ve watched – but he does at one point talk about the infinite monkey theorem, which is a real mathematical theorem and not just a thought experiment or a pop-culture meme. Basically, it says that if you have an infinite number of monkeys bashing away on typewriters they will eventually type out the complete works of Shakespeare, despite our intuitive belief that this should be impossible.
 
As Tao points out, the salient feature of this thought experiment is infinity. In his own words, ‘Infinity absolves a lot of sins’. In the real world, everything we’re aware of is finite, including the observable universe. We’ve no idea what’s beyond the horizon, and, if it’s infinite, then it may remain forever unknowable, as pointed out by Marcus du Sautoy in his excellent book, What We Cannot Know. Tao makes the point that there is a ‘finite’ limit where this extraordinary but not impossible task becomes a distinct possibility. And I would argue that this applies to the evolution of complex life, which eventually gave rise to us. An event that seems improbable, but becomes possible if the Universe is big and old enough, while remaining finite, not infinite. To me, this is another example of how mathematics determines the limits of what’s possible.

Tao has his own views on a TOE or a theory for quantum gravity, which is really what they’re talking about. I think it will require a Kuhnian revolution as I concluded in my second-to-last post, and like all resolutions, it will uncover further mysteries.

 

Sympathy and empathy; what’s the difference?

 This arose from an article I read in Philosophy Now (Issue 167, April/May 2025) by James R. Robinson, who developed his ideas while writing his MA thesis in the Netherlands. It prompted me to write a letter, which was published in the next issue (168, June/July 2025). It was given pole position, which in many periodicals would earn the appellation ‘letter of the week’ (or month or whatever). But I may be reading too much into it, because Philosophy Now group their letters by category, according to the topic they are addressing. Anyway, being first, is a first for me.
 
They made some minor edits, which I’ve kept. The gist of my argument is that there is a dependency between sympathy and empathy, where sympathy is observed in one’s behaviour, but it stems from an empathy for another person – the ability to put ourselves in their shoes. This is implied in an example (provided by Robinson) rather than stated explicitly.
 
 
In response to James R. Robinson’s ‘Empathy & Sympathy’ in Issue 167, I contend that empathy is essential to a moral philosophy, both in theory and practice. For example, it’s implicit in Confucius’s rule of reciprocity, “Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to yourself” and Jesus’s Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.” Empathy is a requisite for the implementation of either. And as both a reader and writer of fiction, I know that stories wouldn’t work without empathy. Indeed, one study revealed that reading fiction improves empathy. The tests used ‘letter box’ photos of eyes to assess the subject’s ability to read the emotion of the characters behind the eyes (New Scientist, 25 June 2008).

The dependency between empathy and sympathy is implicit in the examples Robinson provides, like the parent picking up another parent’s child from school out of empathy for the person making the request. In most of these cases there is also the implicit understanding that the favour would be returned if the boot was on the other foot. Having said that, many of us perform small favours for strangers, knowing that one day we could be the stranger.

Robinson also introduces another term, ‘passions’; but based on the examples he gives – like pain – I would call them ‘sensations’ or ‘sensory responses’. Even anger is invariably a response to something. Fiction can also create sensory responses (or passions) of all varieties (except maybe physical pain, hunger, or thirst) – which suggests empathy might play a role there as well. In other words, we can feel someone else’s emotional pain, not to mention anger, or resentment, even if the person we’re empathising with is fictional.

The opposite to compassion is surely cruelty. We have world leaders who indulge in cruelty quite openly, which suggests it’s not an impediment to success; but it also suggests that there’s a cultural element that allows it. Our ability to demonise an outgroup is the cause of most political iniquities we witness, and this would require the conscious denial of sympathy and therefore empathy, because ultimately, it requires treating them as less than human, or as not-one-of-us.

The problem with physics

 This title could be easily misconstrued, as it gives the impression that there is only one problem in physics and if we could solve that, everything would be resolved and there would be nothing left to understand or explain. Anyone familiar with this blog will know that I don’t believe that at all, so I need to unpack this before I even start.
 
And you might well ask: if I know there are a number of problems in physics, why didn’t I make that clear in the title? You see, I’ve embedded a question in the title that I want you to ask.
 
I’ve been watching a number of videos over a period of time, many of them on Curt Jaimungal’s channel, Theories of Everything, where he talks to a lot of people, much cleverer than me, some of whom have the wildest theories in science, and physics in particular. If one takes John Wheeler’s metaphor of an island of knowledge in an infinite sea of ignorance, they are all building theories on the shoreline of that island. I like to point out (as a personal ego-boost) that I came up with that metaphor before I knew Wheeler had beaten me to it.
 
To give just one example that seems totally ‘out there’, Emily Adlam proposes her ‘Sudoku universe’ where everything exists at once. She’s not alone, because it’s not dissimilar to Sabine Hossenfelder’s position, though she uses different arguments. Of course, both her and Sabine are far more knowledgeable on these topics than me, so while I disagree, I acknowledge I don’t have the chops to take them on in a proper debate. Another example is Claudia de Rahm, whom I’ve referenced before, who thinks that gravitons may have mass, which would seem to contradict the widely held belief that gravitational waves travel at the speed of light. She has discussions with Curt, that once again, are well above my level of knowledge on this topic. 

Another person he interviews is Avshalom Elitzur, who even makes statements I actually agree with. In this video, he argues that space-time is created when the wave function collapses. It’s a very unorthodox view but it’s consistent with mine and Freeman Dyson’s belief that QM (therefore the wave function) can only describe the future. However, he also has a radical idea that the ‘creation’ of space may be related to the creation of charge, because if the space is created between the particles, they repel, and if it’s created outside, they attract. I admit I have problems with this, even though it took Curt to clarify it. Richard Muller (whose book, NOW, I’ve read) also argues that space may be created along with time. Both of these ideas are consistent with the notion that the Big Bang is still in progress – both time and space are being created as the Universe expands.
 
So there are lots of problems, and the cleverest people on the planet, including many I haven’t mentioned like Roger Penrose and Sean Carroll, all have their own pet theories, all on the shoreline of Wheeler’s metaphorical island.
 
But the island metaphor provides a clue to why the problem exists, and that is that they are all just as philosophical as they are scientific. Sabine attempted to address this in 2 books she wrote: Lost in Math and Existential Physics; both of which I’ve read. But there are 2 levels to this problem when it comes to physics, which are effectively alluded to in the titles of her books. In other words, one level is philosophical and the next level is mathematical.
 
All of the people I mentioned above, along with others I haven’t mentioned, start with a philosophical position, even if they don’t use that term. And all physics theories are dependent on a mathematical model. There is also arguably a third level, which is experimental physics, and that inexorably determines whether the model, and hence the theory, is accurate.
 
But there is a catch: sometimes the experimental physics has proven the ‘theory’ correct, yet the philosophical implications are still open to debate. This is the case with quantum mechanics (QM), and has been for over a century. As Sabine pointed out in a paper she wrote, our dilemmas with QM haven’t really changed since Bohr’s and Einstein’s famous arguments over the Copenhagen interpretation, which are now almost a century old.
 
Some would argue that the most pertinent outstanding ‘problem’ in physics is the irreconcilability of gravity, or Einstein’s general theory of relativity (GR), and QM. Given the problems we have with dark matter and dark energy, which are unknown yet make up 95% of the Universe, I think we are ripe for another Kuhnian revolution in physics. And if that’s true, then we have no idea what it is.

The role of the arts. Why did it evolve? Will AI kill it?

 As I mentioned in an earlier post this month, I’m currently reading Brian Greene’s book, Until the End of Time; Mind, Matter; and Our Search for Meaning in an Evolving Universe, which covers just about everything from cosmology to evolution to consciousness, free will, mythology, religion and creativity. He spends a considerable amount of time on storytelling, compared to other art forms, partly because it allows an easy segue from language to mythology to religion.
 
One of his points of extended discussion was in trying to answer the question: why did our propensity for the arts evolve, when it has no obvious survival value? He cites people like Steven Pinker, Brian Boyd (whom I discuss at length in another post) and even Darwin, among others. I won’t elaborate on these, partly due to space, and partly because I want to put forward my own perspective, as someone who actually indulges in an artistic activity, and who could see clearly how I inherited artistic genes from one side of my family (my mother’s side). No one showed the slightest inclination towards artistic endeavour on my father’s side (including my sister). But they all excelled in sport (including my sister), and I was rubbish at sport. One can see how sporting prowess could be a side-benefit to physical survival skills like hunting, but also achieving success in combat, which humans have a propensity for, going back to antiquity.
 
Yet our artistic skills are evident going back at least 30-40,000 years, in the form of cave-art, and one can imagine that other art forms like music and storytelling have been active for a similar period. My own view is that it’s sexual selection, which Greene discusses at length, citing Darwin among others, as well as detractors, like Pinker. The thing is that other species also show sexual selection, especially among birds, which I’ve discussed before a couple of times. The best known example is the peacock’s tail, but I suspect that birdsong also plays a role, not to mention the bower bird and the lyre bird. The lyre bird is an interesting one, because they too have an extravagant tail (I’m talking about the male of the species) which surely would be a hindrance to survival, and they perform a dance and are extraordinary mimics. And the only reason one can think that this might have evolutionary value at all is because the sole purpose of those specific attributes is to attract a mate.
 
And one can see how this is analogous to behaviour in humans, where it is the male who tends to attract females with their talents in music, in particular. As Greene points out, along with others, artistic attributes are a by-product of our formidable brains, but I think these talents would be useless if we hadn’t evolved in unison a particular liking for the product of these endeavours (also discussed by Greene), which we see even in the modern world. I’m talking about the fact that music and stories both seem to be essential sources of entertainment, evident in the success of streaming services, not to mention a rich history in literature, theatre, ballet and more recently, cinema.
 
I’ve written before that there are 2 distinct forms of cognitive ability: creative and analytical; and there is neurological evidence to support this. The point is that having an analytical brain is just as important as having a creative one, otherwise scientific theories and engineering feats, for which humans seem uniquely equipped to provide, would never have happened, even going back to ancient artefacts like Stonehenge and both the Egyptian and Mayan pyramids. Note that these all happened on different continents.
 
But there are times when the analytical and creative seem to have a synergistic effect, and this is particularly evident when it comes to scientific breakthroughs – a point, unsurprisingly, not lost on Greene, who cites Einstein’s groundbreaking discoveries in relativity theory as a case-in-point.
 
One point that Greene doesn’t make is that there has been a cultural evolution that has effectively overtaken biological evolution in humans, and only in humans I would suggest. And this has been a direct consequence of our formidable brains and everything that goes along with that, but especially language.
 
I’ve made the point before that our special skill – our superpower, if you will – is the ability to nest concepts within concepts, which we do with everything, not just language, but it would have started with language, one would think. And this is significant because we all think in a language, including the ability to manipulate abstract concepts in our minds that don’t even exist in the real world. And no where is this more apparent than in the art of storytelling, where we create worlds that only exist in the imagination of someone’s mind.
 
But this cultural evolution has created civilisations and all that they entail, and survival of the fittest has nothing to do with eking out an existence in some hostile wilderness environment. These days, virtually everyone who is reading this has no idea where their food comes from. However, success is measured by different parameters than the ability to produce food, even though food production is essential. These days success is measured by one’s ability to earn money and activities that require brain-power have a higher status and higher reward than so-called low-skilled jobs. In fact, in Australia, there is a shortage of trades because, for the last 2 generations at least, the emphasis, vocationally, has been in getting kids into university courses, when it’s not necessarily the best fit for the child. This is why the professional class (including myself) are often called ‘elitist’ in the culture wars and being a tradie is sometimes seen as a stigma, even though our society is just as dependent on them as they are on professionals. I know, because I’ve spent a working lifetime in a specific environment where you need both: engineering/construction.
 
Like all my posts, I’ve gone off-track but it’s all relevant. Like Greene, I can’t be sure how or why evolution in humans was propelled, if not hi-jacked, by art, but art in all its forms is part of the human condition. A life without music, stories and visual art – often in combination – is unimaginable.
 
And this brings me to the last question in my heading. It so happens that while I was reading about this in Greene’s thought-provoking book, I was also listening to a programme on ABC Classic (an Australian radio station) called Legends, which is weekly and where the presenter, Mairi Nicolson, talks about a legend in the classical music world for an hour, providing details about their life as well as broadcasting examples of their work. In this case, she had the legend in the studio (a rare occurrence), who was Anna Goldsworthy. To quote from Wikipedia: Anna Louise Goldsworthy is an Australian classical pianist, writer, academic, playwright, and librettist, known for her 2009 memoir Piano Lessons.

But the reason I bring this up is because Anna mentioned that she attended a panel discussion on the role of AI in the arts. Anna’s own position is that she sees a role for AI, but in doing the things that humans find boring, which is what we are already seeing in manufacturing. In fact, I’ve witnessed this first-hand. Someone on the panel made the point that AI would effectively democratise art (my term, based on what I gleaned from Anna’s recall) in the sense that anyone would be able to produce a work of art and it would cease to be seen as elitist as it is now. He obviously saw this as a good thing, but I suspect many in the audience, including Anna, would have been somewhat unimpressed if not alarmed. Apparently, someone on the panel challenged that perspective but Anna seemed to think the discussion had somehow veered into a particularly dissonant aberration of the culture wars.
 
I’m one of those who would be alarmed by such a development, because it’s the ultimate portrayal of art as a consumer product, similar to the way we now perceive food. And like food, it would mean that its consumption would be completely disconnected from its production.
 
What worries me is that the person on the panel making this announcement (remember, I’m reporting this second-hand) apparently had no appreciation of the creative process and its importance in a functioning human society going back tens of thousands of years.
 
I like to quote from one of the world’s most successful and best known artists, Paul McCartney, in a talk he gave to schoolchildren (don’t know where):
 
“I don't know how to do this. You would think I do, but it's not one of these things you ever know how to do.” (my emphasis)
 
And that’s the thing: creative people can’t explain the creative process to people who have never experienced it. It feels like we have made contact with some ethereal realm. On another post, I cite Douglas Hofstadter (from his famous Pulitzer-prize winning tome, Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid) quoting Escher:
 
"While drawing I sometimes feel as if I were a spiritualist medium, controlled by the creatures I am conjuring up."
 
Many people writing a story can identify with this, including myself. But one suspects that this also happens to people exploring the abstract world of mathematics. Humans have developed a sense that there is more to the world than what we see and feel and touch, which we attempt to reveal in all art forms, and this, in turn, has led to religion. Of course, Greene spends another entire chapter on that subject, and he also recognises the connection between mind, art and the seeking of meaning beyond a mortal existence.

Insights into writing fiction

 This is a series of posts I published on Quora recently, virtually in one day, in response to specific questions, so I thought it worth posting them here.
 
 
What made you start writing science fiction?
 
I was late coming to science fiction as a reader, partly because I studied science and the suspension of disbelief was more difficult as a result. In my teens I read James Bond and Carter Brown novels that my father had, plus superhero comics, which I’d been addicted to from a young age. I think all of these influenced my later writing. Mind you, I liked innovative TV shows like Star Trek and The Twilight Zone. The British TV show, The Avengers with Emma Peel and Steed was a favourite, which had sci-fi elements. So the seeds were there.
 
I came to sci-fi novels via fantasy, where the suspension of disbelief was mandatory. I remember 2 books which had a profound effect on me: The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien and Dune by Frank Herbert; and I read them in that order. I then started to read Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein and Le Guin. What I liked about sci-fi was the alternative worlds and societies more than the space-travel and gizmos.
 
The first sci-fi I wrote was a screenplay for a teenage audience, called Kidnapped in Time, and it was liberating. I immediately realised that this was my genre. I combined a real-world scenario, based (very loosely*) on my own childhood with a complete fantasy world set in the future and on another planet, which included alien creatures. To be honest, I’ve never looked back.
 
Elvene was even more liberating, partly because I used a female protagonist. Not sure why that worked, but women love it, so I must have done something right. Since then, all my stories feature female protagonists, as well as males. Villains can be male or female or even robots.
 
Science fiction is essentially what-ifs. What if we genetically engineered humans? What if we had humanoid robots? What if we found life on another world? What if we colonised other worlds? What if we could travel intergalactic distances?
 
 
What unconventional writing techniques have you found most effective in crafting compelling characters?
 
How do you differentiate ‘unconventional’ from ‘conventional’? I don’t know if my techniques are one or the other. Characters come to me, similarly, I imagine, to the way melodies and tunes come to composers and songwriters. That wasn’t always the case. When I started out all the characters were different versions of me and not very believable.
 
It’s like acting, and so, in the beginning, I was a poor actor. Don’t ask me how I changed that, because I don’t know – just practice, I guess. To extend the analogy with composing, I compare writing dialogue to playing jazz, because they both require extemporisation. I don’t overthink it, to be honest. I somehow inhabit the character and they come alive. I imagine it’s the same as acting. I say, ‘imagine’, because I can’t act to save my life – I know, I’ve tried.
 
 
How do you balance originality and familiarity when creating characters and plots in your stories?
 
All fiction is a blend of fantasy and reality, and that blend is dependent on the genre and the author’s own proclivities. I like to cite the example of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels, where the reality was the locations, but also details like what type of gun Bond used (Walther PPK) and the type of cigarettes he smoked (Turkish blend). The fantasy was in the plots, the larger-than-life villains and the femme-fatales with outlandish names.
 
My fiction is sci-fi, so the worlds and plots are total fantasy and the reality is all in the characters and the relationships they form.
 
 
*When I say ‘loosely’, the time and milieu is pretty much the same, but whereas the protagonist had a happy home life, despite having no memory of his mother (he lived with his father and older brother), I had a mother, a father and an older sister, but my home life was anything but happy. I make it a rule not to base characters on anyone I know.

Is Morality Objective or Subjective?

 This was a Question of the Month, answers to which appeared in the latest issue of Philosophy Now (Issue 167, April/May 2025). I didn’t submit an answer because I’d written a response to virtually the same question roughly 10 years ago, which was subsequently published. However, reading the answers made me want to write one of my own, effectively in response to those already written and published, without referencing anything specific.
 
At a very pragmatic level, morality is a direct consequence of communal living. Without rules, living harmoniously would be impossible, and that’s how morals become social norms, which for the most part, we don’t question. This means that morality, in practice, is subjective. In fact, in my previous response, I said that subjective morality and objective morality could be described as morality in practice and morality in theory respectively, where I argued morality in theory is about universal human rights, probably best exemplified by the golden rule: assume everyone has the same rights as you.  A number of philosophers have attempted to render a meta-morality or a set of universal rules and generally failed.
 
But there is another way of looking at this, which are the qualities we admire in others. And those qualities are selflessness, generosity, courage and honesty. Integrity is often a word used to describe someone we trust and admire. By the way, courage in this context, is not necessarily physical courage, but what’s known as moral courage: taking a stand on a principle even if it costs us something. I often cite Aristotle’s essay on friendship in his Nicomachean Ethics, where he distinguishes between utilitarian friendship and genuine friendship, and how it’s effectively the basis for living a moral life.
 
In our work, and even our friendships occasionally, we can find ourselves being compromised. Politicians find this almost daily when they have to toe the party line. Politicians in retirement are refreshingly honest and forthright in a way they could never be when in office, and this includes leaders of parties.
 
I’ve argued elsewhere that trust is the cornerstone to all relationships, whether professional or social. In fact, I like to think it’s my currency in my everyday life. Without trust, societies would function very badly and our interactions would be constantly guarded, which is the case in some parts of the world.
 
So an objective morality is dependent on how we live – our honesty to ourselves and others; our ability to forgive; to let go of grievances; and to live a good life in an Aristotlean sense. I’ve long contended that the measure of my life won’t be based on my achievements and failures, but my interactions with others, and whether they were beneficial or destructive (usually mutual).
 
I think our great failing as a communal species, is our ability to create ingroups and outgroups, which arguably is the cause of all our conflicts and the source of most evil: our demonisation of the other, which can lead even highly intelligent people to behave irrationally; no one is immune, from what I’ve witnessed. A person who can bridge division is arguably the best leader you will find, though you might not think that when you look around the world.

Noam Chomsky on free will

 Whatever you might think about Noam Chomsky’s political views, I’ve always found his philosophical views worth listening to, whether I agree with him or not. In the opening of this video - actually an interview by someone (name not given) on a YouTube channel titled, Mind-Body Solution – he presents a dichotomy that he thinks is obvious, but, as he points out, is generally not acknowledged.
 
Basically, he says that everyone, including anyone who presents an argument (on any topic), behaves as if they believe in free will, even if they claim they don’t. He reiterates this a number of times throughout the video. On the other hand, science cannot tell us anything about free will and many scientists therefore claim it must be an illusion. The contradiction is obvious. He’s not telling me anything I didn’t already know, but by stating it bluntly up-front, he makes you confront it, where more often than not, people simply ignore it.
 
My views on this are well known to anyone who regularly reads this blog, and I’ve challenged smarter minds than mine (not in person), like Sabine Hossenfelder, who claims that ‘free will needs to go in the rubbish bin’, as if it’s an idea that’s past its use-by-date. She claims:
 
...how ever you want to define the word [free will], we still cannot select among several possible different futures. This idea makes absolutely no sense if you know anything about physics.
 
I’ve addressed this elsewhere, so I won’t repeat myself. Chomsky makes the point that, while science acknowledges causal-determinism and randomness, neither of these rule out free will categorically. Chomsky makes it clear that he’s a ‘materialist’, though he discusses Descartes’ perspective in some depth. In my post where I critique Sabine, I conclude that ‘it [free will] defies a scientific explanation’, and I provide testimony from Gill Hicks following a dramatic near-death experience to make my point.
 
Where I most strongly agree with Chomsky is that we are not automatons, though I acknowledge that other members of the animal kingdom, like ants and bees, may be. This doesn’t mean that I think insects and arachnids don’t have consciousness, but I think a lot of their behaviours are effectively ‘programmed’ into their neural structures. It’s been demonstrated by experiments that bees must have an internal map of their local environment, otherwise the ‘dance’ they do to communicate locations to other bees in their colony would make no sense. Also, I think these creatures have feelings, like fear, attraction and hostility. Both of these aspects of their mental worlds distinguish them from AI, in my view, though others might disagree. I think these particular features of animal behaviour, even in these so-called ‘primitive’ creatures, provide the possibility of free will, if free will is the ability to act on the environment in a way that’s not determined solely by reflex actions.
 
Some might argue that acting on a ‘feeling’ is a ‘reflex action’, whereas I’m saying it’s a catalyst to act in a way that might be predictable but not predetermined. I think the ability to ‘feel’ is the evolutionary driver for consciousness. Surely, we could all be automatons without the requirement to be consciously aware. I’ve cited before, incidents where people have behaved like they are conscious, in situations of self-defence, but have no memory of it, because they were ‘knocked out’. It happened to my father in a boxing ring, and I know of other accounts, including a female security guard, who shot her assailant after he knocked her out. If one can defend oneself without being conscious of it, then why has evolution given us consciousness?
 
My contention is that consciousness and free will can’t be separated: it simply makes no sense to me to have the former without the latter. And I think it’s worth comparing this to AI, which might eventually develop to the point where it appears to have consciousness and therefore free will. I’ve made the argument before that there is a subtle difference between agency and free will, because AI certainly has agency. So, what’s the difference? The difference is what someone (Grant Bartley) called ‘conscious causality’ – the ability to turn a thought into an action. This is something we all experience all the time, and is arguably the core precept to Chomsky’s argument that we all believe in free will, because we all act on it.
 
Free will deniers (if I can coin that term) like Sabine Hossenfelder, argue that this is the key to the illusion we all suffer. To quote her again:
 
Your brain is running a calculation, and while it is going on you do not know the outcome of that calculation. So the impression of free will comes from our ‘awareness’ that we think about what we do, along with our inability to predict the result of what we are thinking.
 
In the same video (from which this quote is extracted) she uses the term ‘software’ in describing the activity of one’s brain’s processes, and in combination with the word, ‘calculation’, she clearly sees the brain as a wetware computer. So, while Chomsky argues that we all ‘believe’ in free will because we act like we do, Sabine argues that we act like we do, because the brain is ‘calculating’ the outcome without our cognisance. In effect, she argues that once it becomes conscious, the brain has made the ‘decision’ for you, but gives you the delusion that you have. Curiously, Chomsky uses the word, ‘delusion’, to describe the belief that you don’t have free will.
 
If Sabine is correct and your brain has already made the ‘decision’, then I go back to my previous argument concerning unconscious self-defence. If our ‘awareness’ is an unnecessary by-product of the brain’s activity (because any decision is independent of it), then why did we evolve to have it?
 
Chomsky raises a point I’ve discussed before, which is that, in the same way there are things we can comprehend that no other creature can, there is the possibility that there are things in the Universe that we can’t comprehend either. And I have specifically referenced consciousness as potentially one of those things. And this takes us back to the dichotomy that started the entire discussion – we experience free will, yet it’s thus far scientifically inexplicable. This leads to another dichotomy – it’s an illusion or it’s beyond human comprehension. There is a non-stated belief among many in the scientific community that eventually all unsolved problems in the Universe will eventually be solved by science – one only has to look at the historical record.
 
But I’m one of those who thinks the ‘hard problem’ (coined by David Chalmers) of consciousness may never be solved. Basically, the hard problem is that the experience of consciousness may remain forever a mystery. My argument, partly taken from Raymond Tallis, is that it won’t fall to science because it can’t be measured. We can only measure neuron-activity correlates, which some argue already resolves the problem. Actually, I don’t think it does, and again I turn to AI. If that’s correct, then measuring analogous electrical activity by an AI would also supposedly measure consciousness. At this stage in AI development, I don’t think anyone believes that, though some people believe that measures of global connectivity or similar parameters in an AI neural network may prove otherwise.
 
Basically, I don’t think AI will ever have an inner world like we do – going back to the bees I cited – and if it does, we wouldn’t know. I don’t know what inner world you have, but I would infer you have one from your behaviour (assuming we met). On the other hand, I don’t know that anyone would infer that an AI would have one. I’ve made the comparison before of an AI-operated, autonomous drone navigating by GPS co-ordinates, which requires self-referencing algorithms. Notice that we don’t navigate that way, unless we use a computer interface (like your smart phone). AI can simulate what we do: like write sentences, play chess, drive cars; but doing them in a completely different fashion.
 
In response to a question from his interlocutor, Chomsky argues that our concept of justice is dependent on a belief in free will, even if it’s unstated. It’s hard to imagine anyone disagreeing, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to hold anyone accountable for their actions.

As I’ve argued previously, it’s our ability to mental time-travel that underpins free will, because, without an imagined future, there is no future to actualise, which is the whole point of having free will. And I would extend this to other creatures, who may be trying to catch food or escape being eaten – either way, they imagine a future they want to actualise.

 

Addendum: I’m currently reading Brian Greene’s Until The End Of Time (2020), who devoted an entire chapter to consciousness and, not surprisingly, has something to say about free will. He’s a materialist, and he says in his intro to the topic:
 
This question has inspired more pages in the philosophical literature than just about any other conundrum.  

Basically, he argues, like Sabine Hossenfelder, that it’s in conflict with the laws of physics, but given he’s writing in a book, and not presenting a time-limited YouTube video (though he does those too), he goes into more detail.
 
To sum up: We are physical beings made of large collections of particles governed by nature’s laws. Everything we do and everything we think amounts to motions of those particles.
 
He then provides numerous everyday examples that we can all identify with.
 
And since all observations, experiments, and valid theories confirm that particle motion is fully controlled by mathematical rules, we can no more intercede in this lawful progresson of particles than we can change the value of pi.
 
Interesting analogy, because I agree that even God can’t change the value of pi, but that’s another argument. And I’m not convinced that consciousness can be modelled mathematically, which, if true, undermines his entire argument regarding mathematical rules.
 
My immediate internal response to his entire thesis was that he’s writing a book, yet effectively arguing that he has no control over it. However, as if he anticipated this response, he addresses that very point at the end of the next section, titled Rocks, Humans and Freedom.

What matters to me is… my collection of particles is enabled to execute an enormously diverse set of behaviours. Indeed, my particles just composed this very sentence and I’m glad they did… I am free not because I can supersede physical law, but because my prodigious internal organisation has emancipated my behavioural responses.
 
In other words, the particles in his body and his brain, in particular, (unlike the particles in inert objects, like rocks, tables, chairs etc) possess degrees of freedom that others don’t. But here’s the thing: I and others, including you, read these words and form our own ideas and responses, which we intellectualise and even emote about. In fact, we all form an opinion that either agrees or disagrees with his point. But whether there are diverse possibilities, he’s effectively saying that we are all complex automatons, which means there is no necessity for us to be consciously aware of what we are doing. And I argue that this is what separates us from AI.
 
Just be aware that Albert Einstein would have agreed with him.

 

Writing and philosophy

 I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos of Alan Moore, who’s probably best known for his graphic novels, Watchmen and V for Vendetta, both of which were turned into movies. He also wrote a Batman graphic novel, The Killing Joke, which was turned into an R rated animated movie (due to Batman having sex with Batgirl) with Mark Hamill voicing the Joker. I’m unsure if it has any fidelity to Moore’s work, which was critically acclaimed, whereas the movie received mixed reviews. I haven’t read the graphic novel, so I can’t comment.
 
On the other hand, I read Watchmen and saw the movie, which I reviewed on this blog, and thought they were both very good. I also saw V for Vendetta, starring Natalie Portman and Hugo Weaving, without having read Moore’s original. Moore also wrote a novel, Jerusalem, which I haven’t read, but is referenced frequently by Robin Ince in a video I cite below.
 
All that aside, it’s hard to know where to start with Alan Moore’s philosophy on writing, but the 8 Alan Moore quotes video is as good a place as any if you want a quick overview. For a more elaborate dialogue, there is a 3-way interview, obviously done over a video link, between Moore and Brian Catling, hosted by Robin Ince, with the online YouTube channel, How to Academy. They start off talking about imagination, but get into philosophy when all 3 of them start questioning what reality is, or if there is an objective reality at all.
 
My views on this are well known, and it’s a side-issue in the context of writing or creating imaginary worlds. Nevertheless, had I been party to the discussion, I would have simply mentioned Kant, and how he distinguishes between the ‘thing-in-itself’ and our perception of it. Implicit in that concept is the belief that there is an independent reality to our internal model of it, which is mostly created by a visual representation, but other senses, like hearing, touch and smell, also play a role. This is actually important when one gets into a discussion on fiction, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I just wish to make the point that we know there is an external objective reality because it can kill you. Note that a dream can’t kill you, which is a fundamental distinction between reality and a dreamscape. I make this point because I think a story, which takes place in your imagination, is like a dreamscape; so that difference carries over into fiction.
 
And on the subject of life-and-death, Moore references something he’d read on how evolution selects for ‘survivability’ not ‘truth’, though he couldn’t remember the source or the authors. However, I can, because I wrote about that too. He’s obviously referring to the joint paper written by Donald Hoffman and Chetan Prakash called Objects of Consciousness (Frontiers of Psychology, 2014). This depends on what one means by ‘truth’. If you’re talking about mathematical truths then yes, it has little to do with survivability (our modern-day dependence on technical infrastructure notwithstanding). On the other hand, if you’re talking about the accuracy of the internal model in your mind matching the objective reality external to your body, then your survivability is very much dependent on it.
 
Speaking of mathematics, Ince mentions Bertrand Russell giving up on mathematics and embracing philosophy because he failed to find a foundation that ensured its truth (my wording interpretating his interpretation). Basically, that’s correct, but it was Godel who put the spanner in the works with his famous Incompleteness Theorem, which effectively tells us that there will always exist mathematical truths that can’t be proven true. In other words, he concretely demonstrated (proved, in fact) that there is a distinction between truth and proof in mathematics. Proofs rely on axioms and all axioms have limitations in what they can prove, so you need to keep finding new axioms, and this infers that mathematics is a neverending endeavour. So it’s not the end of mathematics as we know it, but the exact opposite.
 
All of this has nothing to do with writing per se, but since they raised these issues, I felt compelled to deal with them.
 
At the core of this part of their discussion, is the unstated tenet that fiction and non-fiction are distinct, even if the boundary sometimes becomes blurred. A lot of fiction, if not all, contains factual elements. I like to cite Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels containing details like the gun Bond used (a Walther PPK) and the Bentley he drove, which had an Amherst Villiers supercharger. Bizarrely, I remember these trivial facts from a teenage obsession with all things Bond.
 
And this allows me to segue into something that Moore says towards the end of this 3-way discussion, when he talks specifically about fantasy. He says it needs to be rooted in some form of reality (my words), otherwise the reader won’t be able to imagine it at all. I’ve made this point myself, and give the example of my own novel, Elvene, which contains numerous fantasy elements, including both creatures that don’t exist on our world and technology that’s yet to be invented, if ever.
 
I’ve written about imagination before, because I argue it’s essential to free will, which is not limited to humans, though others may disagree. Imagination is a form of time travel, into the past, but more significantly, into the future. Episodic memories and imagination use the same part of the brain (so we are told); but only humans seem to have the facility to time travel into realms that don’t exist anywhere else other than the imagination. And this is why storytelling is a uniquely human activity.
 
I mentioned earlier how we create an internal world that’s effectively a simulation of the external world we interact with. In fact, my entire philosophy is rooted in the idea that we each of us have an internal and external world, which is how I can separate religion from science, because one is completely internal and the other is an epistemology of the physical universe from the cosmic scale to the infinitesimal. Mathematics is a medium that bridges them, and contributes to the Kantian notion that our perception may never completely match the objective reality. Mathematics provides models that increase our understanding while never quite completing it. Godel’s incompleteness theorem (referenced earlier) effectively limits physics as well. Totally off-topic, but philosophically important.
 
Its relevance to storytelling is that it’s a visual medium even when there are no visuals presented, which is why I contend that if we didn’t dream, stories wouldn’t work. In response to a question, Moore pointed out that, because he worked on graphic novels, he had to think about the story visually. I’ve made the point before that the best thing I ever did for my own writing was to take some screenwriting courses, because one is forced to think visually and imagine the story being projected onto a screen. In a screenplay, you can only write down what is seen and heard. In other words, you can’t write what a character is thinking. On the other hand, you can write an entire novel from inside a character’s head, and usually more than one. But if you tell a story from a character’s POV (point-of-view) you axiomatically feel what they’re feeling and see what they’re witnessing. This is the whole secret to novel-writing. It’s intrinsically visual, because we automatically create images even if the writer doesn’t provide them. So my method is to provide cues, knowing that the reader will fill in the blanks. No one specifically mentions this in the video, so it’s my contribution.
 
Something else that Moore, Catling and Ince discuss is how writing something down effectively changes the way they think. This is something I can identify with, both in fiction and non-fiction, but fiction specifically. It’s hard to explain this if you haven’t experienced it, but they spend a lot of time on it, so it’s obviously significant to them. In fiction, there needs to be a spontaneity – I’ve often compared it to playing jazz, even though I’m not a musician. So most of the time, you don’t know what you’re going to write until it appears on the screen or on paper, depending which medium you’re using. Moore says it’s like it’s in your hands instead of your head, which is certainly not true. But the act of writing, as opposed to speaking, is a different process, at least for Moore, and also for me.
 
I remember many years ago (decades) when I told someone (a dentist, actually) that I was writing a book. He said he assumed that novelists must dictate it, because he couldn’t imagine someone writing down thousands upon thousands of words. At the time, I thought his suggestion just as weird as he thought mine to be. I suspect some writers do. Philip Adams (Australian broadcaster and columnist) once confessed that he dictated everything he wrote. In my professional life, I have written reports for lawyers in contractual disputes, both in Australia and the US, for which I’ve received the odd kudos. In one instance, someone I was working with was using a cassette-like dictaphone and insisted I do the same, believing it would save time. So I did, in spite of my better judgement, and it was just terrible. Based on that one example, you’d be forgiven for thinking that I had no talent or expertise in that role. Of course, I re-wrote the whole thing, and was never asked to do it again.
 
I originally became interested in Moore’s YouTube videos because he talked about how writing affects you as a person and can also affect the world. I think to be a good writer of fiction you need to know yourself very well, and I suspect that is what he meant without actually saying it. The paradox with this is that you are always creating characters who are not you. I’ve said many times that the best fiction you write is where you’re completely detached – in a Zen state – sometimes called ‘flow’. Virtuoso musicians and top sportspersons will often make the same admission.
 
I believe having an existential philosophical approach to life is an important aspect to my writing, because it requires an authenticity that’s hard to explain. To be true to your characters you need to leave yourself out of it. Virtually all writers, including Moore, talk about treating their characters like real people, and you need to extend that to your villains if you want them to be realistic and believable, not stereotypes. Moore talks about giving multiple dimensions to his characters, which I won’t go into. Not because I don’t agree, but because I don’t over-analyse it. Characters just come to me and reveal themselves as the story unfolds; the same as they do for the reader.
 
What I’ve learned from writing fiction (which I’d self-describe as sci-fi/fantasy) – as opposed to what I didn’t know – is that, at the end of the day (or story), it’s all about relationships. Not just intimate relationships, but relationships between family members, between colleagues, between protagonists and AI, and between protagonists and antagonists. This is the fundamental grist for all stories.
 
Philosophy is arguably more closely related to writing than any other artform: there is a crossover and interdependency; because fiction deals with issues relevant to living and being.

Time again

 This is a topic I’ve written about before, many times, but I’m returning to it on this occasion because of a video I watched by Curt Jaimungal, whom I can recommend. He’s smart and interviews people who are even smarter, and he has a particular penchant for interviewing people with unorthodox ideas, but with the knowledge to support them. He also has the good sense to let them do nearly all of the talking. He rarely interjects and when he does, it’s pertinent and tends to not interrupt the flow. I’ve sometimes been annoyed by interviewers cutting someone off when they were about to say something that I was interested in hearing. I could never accuse Curt of that.
 
In this case he’s interviewing Avshalom Elitzur, whom I’ve also referenced before. He’s a bit of an iconoclast – my favourite type of person, even if I disagree with them. If I’m to be fair, I’d have to include Donald Hoffman in that category, though I’ve been a harsh critic in the past. Having said that, I’ve noticed that Donald has changed his approach over the 8 or so years I’ve been following him. As I’ve said before, it’s important to follow the people you disagree with as well as those you agree with, especially when they have knowledge or expertise that you don’t.
 
Elitzur discusses three or more topics, all related to Einstein’s theories of relativity, but mostly the special theory. He starts off by calling out (my phrase) what he considers a fundamental problem that most physicists, if not all (his phraseology) ignore, which is that time is fundamentally different to space, because time changes in a way that space does not. What’s more we all experience this, with or without a scientific theory to explain it. He gives the example of how another country (say, Japan) still exists even though you don’t experience it (assuming you’re not Japanese). If you are in Japan, make it Australia. On the other hand, another time does not exist in the same way (be it past or present), yet many physicists talk about it as if it does. I discussed this in some depth, when I tackled Sabine Hoffenfelder’s book, Existential Physics; A Scientist’s Guide to Life’s Biggest Questions.
 
Elitzur raises this at both the start and towards the end of the video, because he thinks it’s distorting how physicists perceive the world. Specifically, Einstein’s block-universe, where all directions in time exist simultaneously in the same way that all directions in space exist all at once. He mentions that Penrose challenges this and so did Paul Davies once, but not now. In fact, I challenge Davies’ position in another post I wrote after reading his book, The Demon in the Machine. Elitzur makes the point that challenging this is considered naïve but he also makes another point much more dramatically. He says that for Einstein, the ‘future cut’ in time is ‘already there’ (10.50) and consequently said, ‘…has the same degree of reality as the present cut and the past cut. Are you okay with that?’ His exact words.
 
He recounts the famous letter that Einstein wrote to the family of a good friend who had just passed away, and only 4 weeks before Einstein himself passed away (I didn’t know that before Elitzur told me), from which we have this much quoted extract: ‘The past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.’ Davies also used this quote in his abovementioned book.
 
I’m going to talk about last what Elitzur talked about early, if not quite first, which is the famous pole-in-the-barn thought experiment. Elitzur gives a good explanation, if you haven’t come across it before, but I’ll try because I think it’s key to understanding the inherent paradox of special relativity, and also providing an explanation that reconciles with our perception of reality.
 
It's to do with Lorenz-contraction, which is that, for an observer, an object travelling transversely to their field of vision (say horizontally) shortens in the direction of travel. This is one of those Alice and Bob paradoxes, not unlike the twin paradox. Let us assume that Alice is in a space ship who goes through a tunnel with doors at both ends, so that her ship fits snugly inside with no bits hanging out (like when both are stationary). And Bob operates the doors, so that they open when Alice arrives, close when she is inside and open to allow her to leave. From Bob’s perspective, Alice’s spaceship is shorter than the tunnel, so she fits inside, no problem. Also, and this is the key point (highlighted by Elitzur): according to Bob, both doors open and close together – there is no lag.
 
The paradox is resolved by relativity theory (and the associated mathematics), because, from Alice’s perspective, the doors don’t open together but sequentially. The first door opens and then closes after she’s passed through it, and the second door opens slightly later and remains open slightly longer so that the first door closes behind her before she leaves the tunnel. In other words, both doors are closed while she’s in the tunnel, but in such a way that they’re not closed at the same time, therefore her spaceship doesn’t hit either of them. This is a direct consequence of simultaneity being different for Alice. If you find that difficult to follow, watch the video
 
I have my own unorthodox way of resolving this, because, contrary to what everyone says, I think there is a preferred frame of reference, which is provided by ‘absolute spacetime’. You can even calculate the Earth’s velocity relative to the overall spacetime of the entire universe by measuring the Doppler shift of the CMBR (cosmic microwave background radiation). This is not contentious – Penrose and Davies both give good accounts of this. It’s also related to what Tim Maudlin called, the most important experiment in physics, which is Newton spinning a bucket of water and observing the concave surface of the water due to the centrifugal force, and then asking: what is it spinning in reference to? Answer: the entire universe.
 
You might notice that when someone describes or explains the famous twin paradox, they only ever talk about the time difference – they rarely, if ever, talk about the space contraction. Personally, I don’t think space contracts in reality, but time duration does. If you take an extreme example, you could hypothetically travel across the entire galaxy in your lifetime, which means, from your perspective, the distance travelled would be whole orders of magnitude shorter. This can be resolved if it’s the ruler measuring the distance that changes and not the distance. In this case, the clock acts as a ruler. Kip Thorne has commented on this without drawing any conclusions.
 
This same logic could be applied to the spaceship and the tunnel. For Alice, it appears shorter, but she’s the one ‘measuring’ it. If one extends this logic, then I would argue that there is a ‘true simultaneity’, experienced by Bob in this case, because he is in the same frame of reference as the tunnel and the doors. I need to point out that, as far as I know, no one else agrees with me, including Elitzur. However, it’s consistent with my thought experiment about traversing the galaxy: time contracts but space doesn't.
 
I’ve raised this before, but I believe that there is an independent reality to all observers, and this is consistent with Kant’s famous dictum that there is a ‘thing-in-itself’ that we may never perceive. In other words, relativity can only tell us about what we observe, which leaves open the possibility that there is a reality that one observer has a better perception of than another. It’s possible that while ‘time passed’ is observer-dependent, space is not, but only the observer’s perception of it.
 
This is also consistent with Elitzur’s overall thesis and core argument that space and time are different. It’s also consistent with the idea that there is a frame of reference for the entire universe, which I argue is what general relativity (GR) gives us. And in fact, we observe that local frames of reference can actually travel faster than light, which is why the observable universe has a horizon: there are parts of the Universe receding from us faster than light.
 
There is another aspect of this that Elitzur doesn’t bring up, and that is that there is an edge in time for the Universe, but no boundary in space. I find it curious that, if physicists bring this up at all, they tend to gloss over it and not provide a satisfactory resolution. You see, it conflicts with the idea, inherent in the block-universe model, that there is no ‘now’.
 
Curt introduces ‘now’ towards the end of the video, but only in reference to the ‘flow’ of time that we all experience. Again, I’m a heretic in that I believe there is a universal now for the entire universe.
 
And while I don’t think it explains entanglement and non-locality in QM, it’s consistent with it. Entanglement works across space and time independently of relativistic causality, without breaking the relativistic rule that you can’t send information faster than light.
 
As it happens, there is another video by Curt with Tim Maudlin, an American philosopher of science, whom Curt introduces as ‘bringing some sober reality to this realm of quantum confusion and mysticism.’ In particular, Maudlin gives an excellent exposition of Bell’s famous theorem, and debunks the claim that it questions whether there is ‘reality’. In other words, it’s often formulated as: you can accept non-locality or you can accept reality, but you can’t have both. Just to clarify, ‘locality’ means local phenomena that obey SR (special relativity) as I’ve discussed above.
 
Maudlin argues quite cogently that you only need 2 assumptions for Bell’s theorem to make sense and neither of them break reality. The main assumption is that there is ‘statistical independence’, which he explains by giving examples of medical controlled experiments (for example, to test if tobacco causes lung cancer). It just means that random really does mean random, which gives true independence.
 
The only other assumption is that we can have non-locality, which means you can have a connection or relationship between events that is not dependent on special relativity. Numerous experiments have proven this true.
 
Maudlin challenges Sabine’s contention that Bell’s Theorem can only be explained by ‘superdeterminism’, which is another name for Einstein’s block-universe, which started this whole discussion. Sabine is so convinced by superdeterminism, she has argued that one day everyone will agree with her. This of course has implications for free will and is central to Elitzur’s argument that the future does not exist in the same way as the present or even the past, which is fixed. And that’s his point. Sabine’s and most physicist’s view on all this is that what we experience must be an illusion: there is no now, no flow of time, and no free will.

Addendum 1: I came across another video by Curt with Jacob Barandes, that came out after I posted this. Jacob is a Harvard scientist, who has done a series of videos with Curt. It's relevance to this topic is that he talks about space-time in GR and how, unlike Newtonian physics, and even SR, you can't tell which direction time and space have. And this axiomatically creates problems when you try to quantumise it (to coin a term). I think the superposition of a gravitational field creates its own problems (not discussed). He then goes on to conjecture that there should be an intermediate step in trying to derive a quantum field theory of gravity, and that is to do probabilities on gravity. He acknowledges this is a highly speculative idea.

He then goes on to talk about 'expectation values', which is the standard way physicists have tried to model QFT (quantum field theory) on to spacetime, and is called 'semi-classical gravity'. Viktor T Toth (on Quora) says about this: …it is hideously inelegant, essentially an ad-hoc averaging of the equation that is really, really ugly and is not derived from any basic principle that we know. Nevertheless, Toth argues that it 'works'. Barandes goes further and says it's based on a fallacy (watch the video if you want an elaboration). To quote Toth again: We can do quantum field theory just fine on the curved spacetime background of general relativity. What we have so far been unable to do in a convincing manner is turn gravity itself into a quantum field theory.

I tend to agree with Freeman Dyson, who contends that they are not compatible in theory or in nature. In other words, he argues that quantum gravity is a chimera. Dyson also argues that QM can't describe past events; so, if that's true, quantum gravity is attempting to describe spacetime in its future. Arguably, this is what happens the other side of the event horizon of a black hole, where space itself only exists in one's future, which leads to the singularity. 

Addendum 2: Since posting this I've watched a lot of other videos, many of them by Curt, which may become the subject of a future post. But I just wanted to reference this one with Emily Adlam, who has a view completely opposite to the one expressed in my post above. She's developed what she calls the 'Sudoku universe', or the 'all at once' universe. The analogy with Sudoku is that the outcome is already 'known' and you can start anywhere at all - there is no progression from a fixed starting point to a fixed end point. This video is 1hr 19m, and I need to point out that she knows a lot more about this subject than I do, and so does Curt. Curt had obviously read all her papers relevant to this and knew exactly what to ask her. I know that if I was to go one-on-one with her, I could never argue at her level. I intend, at some point, to write another post where I discuss points-of-view of various physicists that are all driven more by philosophy than science.

Truth, trust and lies; can we tell the difference?

 I’ve written on this topic before, more than once, but one could write a book on it, and Yuval Noah Harari has come very close with his latest tome, Nexus; A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI. As the subtitle suggests, it’s ostensibly about the role of AI, both currently and in the foreseeable future, but he provides an historical context, which is also alluded to in the subtitle. Like a lot of book titles, the subtitle tells us more than the title, which, while being succinct and punchy, is also nebulous and vague, possibly deliberately. AI is almost a separate topic, but I find it interesting that it has become its own philosophical category (even on this blog) when it was not even a concept a century ago. I might return to this point later.
 
The other trigger was an essay in Philosophy Now (Issue 166, Feb/Mar 2025) with the theme articulated on the cover: Political Philosophy for our time (they always have a theme). This issue also published my letter on Plato’s cave and social media, which is not irrelevant. In particular, was an essay containing the 2 key words in my own title: Trust, Truth & Political Conversations; by Adrian Brockless, who was Head of Philosophy at Sutton Grammar School and has taught at a number of universities and schools: Heythrop College, London; the University of Hertfordshire; Roedean School; Glyn School; and now teaches philosophy online at adrianbrockless.com. I attempted to contact him via his website but he hasn’t responded.
 
Where to start? Brockless starts with ‘the relationship between trust and truth’, which seems appropriate, because there is a direct relationship and it helps to explain why there is such a wide dispersion, even polarisation, within the media, political apparatuses and the general public. Your version of the truth is heavily dependent on where you source it, and where you source it depends on whom you trust. And whom you trust depends on whether their political and ideological views align with yours or not. Confirmation bias has never been stronger or more salient to how we perceive the world and make decisions about its future.
 
And yes, I’m as guilty as the next person, but history can teach us lessons, which is a theme running throughout Harari’s book – not surprising, given that’s his particular field or discipline. All of Harari’s books (that I’ve read) are an attempt to project history into the future, partially based on what we know about the past. What comes across, in both Harari’s book and Brockless’s essay, is that truth is subjective and so is history to a large extent.
 
Possibly the most important lessons can be learned from examining authoritarian regimes. All politicians, irrespective of their persuasion or nationality, know the importance of ‘controlling the narrative’ as we like to say in the West, but authoritarian dictatorships take this to the extreme. Russia, for example, assassinates journalists, because Putin knows that the pen is mightier than the sword, but only if the sword is sheathed. Both Brockless and Harari give examples of revising history or even eliminating it, because we all know how certain figures have maintained an almost deistic persistence in the collective psyche. In some cases, like Jesus, Buddha, Confucius and Mohammed, it’s overt and has been maintained and exported into other cultures, so they have become global. In all cases, they had political origins, where they were iconoclasts. I’m not sure that any of them would have expected to be well known some 2 centuries later when worldwide communication would become a reality. I tend to think there is a strong element of chance involved rather than divine-interceded destiny, as many believe and wish to believe. In fact, what we want to believe determines to a much greater extent than we care to admit, what we perceive as truth.
 
Both authors make references to Trump, which is unavoidable, given the subject matter, because he’s almost a unique phenomenon and arguably one who could only arise in today’s so-called ‘post-truth’ world. It’s quite astute of Trump to call his own social media platform, Truth Social, because he actively promotes his own version of the truth in the belief that it can replace all other versions, and he’s so successful that his opponents struggle to keep up.
 
All politicians know the value (I wouldn’t use the word, virtue) of telling the public the lies they want to hear. Brockless gives the example that ‘on July 17, 1900, both The Times and The Daily Mail published a false story about the slaughter of Europeans in the British Embassy in Peking (the incident never happened)’. His point being that ‘fake news’ is a new term but an old concept. In Australia, we had the notorious ‘children thrown overboard affair’ in 2001, regarding the behaviour of asylum seekers intercepted at sea, which helped the then Howard government to win an election, but was later revealed to be completely false.
 
However, I think Trump provides the best demonstration of the ability to create a version of truth that many people would prefer to believe, and even maintain it over a period of years so that it grows stronger, not weaker, with time; to the point that it becomes the dominant version in some media, be it online or mainstream. The fact that FOX News was forced to go to court and pay out to a company that they libelled in the 2020 election as a direct consequence of unfaltering loyalty to Trump, did nothing to stem the lie that Biden stole the election from Trump. Murdoch even sacked the head of FOX’s own election-reporting team for correctly calling the election result; such was his dedication to Trump’s version of the truth.
 
And the reason I can call that particular instance a lie, as opposed to the truth, as many people maintain, is because it was tested in court. I’ve had some experience with testing different versions of truth in courts and mediation: specifically, contractual disputes, whereby I did analyses of historical data and prepared evidence in the form of written reports for lawyers to argue in court or at hearings. This is not to say that the person who wins is necessarily right, but there is a limitation on what can be called truth, which is the evidence that is presented. And, in those cases, the evidence is always in the form of documents: plans, minutes of meetings, date-stamped photos, site diaries, schedules (both projected and actual). I learned not to get emotional, which was relatively easy given I never had a personal stake in it; meaning it wasn’t going to cost me financially or reputationally. I also took the approach that I would get the same result no matter which side I was on. In other words, I tried to be as objective as possible. I found this had the advantage of giving me credibility and being believed. But it was also done in the belief that trying to support a lie invariably did you more harm than good, and I sometimes had to argue that case against my own client; I wouldn’t want to be a lawyer for Trump.
 
And of course, all this ties to trust. My client knew they could trust my judgement – if I wasn’t going to lie for them, I wasn’t going to lie to them. I make myself sound very important, but in reality, I was just a small cog in a much larger machine. I was a specialist who did analysis and provided evidence, which sometimes was pertinent to arguments. As part of this role, I oftentimes had to provide counter-arguments to other plaintiff’s claims – I’ve worked on both sides.
 
Anyway, I think it gives me an insight into truth that most people, including philosophers, don’t experience. Like most of my posts, I’ve gone off on a tangent, yet it’s relevant.
 
Brockless brings another dimension into the discussion, when he says:
 
Having an inbuilt desire to know and tell the truth matters because this attitude underpins genuine love, grief and other human experiences: authentic love and grief etc cannot be separated from truthfulness.
 
I’ve made the point before that trust underpins so many of our relationships, both professional and social, without which we can’t function, either as individuals or as a society.
 
Brockless makes a similar point when he says: Truthfullness is tied to how we view others as moral beings.
 
He then goes on to distinguish this from our love for animals and pets: Moral descriptions apply fully to human beings, not to inanimate objects, or even to animals… If we fail to see the difference between love for a pet and love for a person, then our concept of humanity has been corrupted by sentimentality.
 
I’m not sure I fully agree with him on this. Even before I read this passage, I was thinking of how the love and trust that some animals show to us is uncorrupted and close to unconditional. Animals can get attached to us in a way that we tend NOT to see as abnormal, even though an objective analysis might tell us it’s ‘unnatural’. I’ve had a lot of relationships with animals over many years, and I know that they become completely dependent on us; not just for material needs, but for emotional needs, and they try to give it back. The thing is that they do this despite an inability to directly communicate with us except through emotions. I can’t help but think that this is a form of honesty that many, if not most of us, have experienced, yet we rarely give it a second thought.
 
A recurring theme on this blog is existentialism and living authentically, which is tied to a requisite for self-honesty, and as bizarre as it may sound, I think we can learn from the animals in our lives, because they can’t lie at an emotional level. They have the advantage that they don’t intellectualise what they feel – they simply act accordingly.
 
Not so much a recurring theme, as a persistent one, in Harari’s book, is that more knowledge doesn’t equate to more truth. Nowhere is this more relevant than in the modern world of social media. Harari argues that this mismatch could increase with AI, because of how it’s ‘trained’ and he may have a point. We are already finding ‘biases’, and people within the tech industry have already tried to warn those of us outside the industry.
 
In another post, I referenced an article in New Scientist (23 July 2022), by Annalee Newitz who reported on a Google employee, Timnit Gebru, who, as ‘co-lead of Google’s ethical AI team’, expressed concerns that LLM (Large Language Model) algorithms pick up racial and other social biases, because they’re trained on the internet. She wrote a paper about the implications for AI applications using internet trained LLMs in areas like policing, health care and bank lending. She was subsequently fired by Google, though one doesn’t know how much the ‘paper’ played a role in that decision (quoting directly from my post).
 
Of course, I’ve explored the role of AI in science fiction, which borders on fantasy, but basically, I see a future where humans will have a symbiotic relationship with AI far beyond what we have today. I can see AI agents that become ‘attached’ to us in a way that animals do, not dissimilar to what I described above, but not the same either, as I don’t expect them to be sentient. But, even without sentience, they could pick up our biases and prejudices and amplify them, which some might argue (like Harari) is already happening.
 
As you can see, after close to 2,000 words, I haven’t really addressed the question in the tail of my title. I recently had a discussion with someone on Quora about Trump, whom I argued lived in the alternative universe that Trump had created. It turned out he has family, including grandchildren, living in Australia, because one of their parents is on a 2 year assignment (details unknown and not relevant). According to him, they hate it here, and I responded that if they lived in Trumpworld that was perfectly understandable, because they would be in a distinct minority. Believe it or not, the discussion ended amicably enough, and I wished both him and his family well. What I noticed was that his rhetoric was much more emotional – one might even say, irrational – than mine. Getting back to the contractual disputes I mentioned earlier, I’ve often found that when you have an ingroup-outgroup dynamic – like politics or contractual matters – highly intelligent people can become very irrational. Everyone claims they go to the facts, but these days you can find your own ‘facts’ anywhere on the internet, which leads to echo-chambers.
 
People look for truth in different places. Some find it in the Bible or some other religious text. I look for it in mathematics, despite a limited knowledge in that area. But I take solace in the fact that mathematics is true, independent of culture or even the Universe. All other truths are contingent. I have an aversion to conspiracy theories, which usually require a level of evidence that most followers don’t pursue. And most of them can be dismissed when you realise how many people from all over the world need to be involved just to keep it secret from the rest of us.
 
A good example is climate change, which I’ve been told many times over, is a worldwide hoax maintained for no other purpose than to keep climatologists in their jobs. But here’s the thing: the one lesson I learned from over 4 decades working on engineering projects is that if there is a risk, and especially an unquantified risk, the worst strategy is to ignore it and hope it doesn't happen.

Addendum 1: It would be remiss of me not to mention that there was a feature article in the Good Weekend magazine that came out the same day I wrote this: on the increasing role of chatbot avatars in virtual relationships, including relationships with erotic content. If you can access the article, you'll see that the 'conversations' using LLM (large language models) AI are very realistic. I wrote about this phenomena on another post fairly recently (the end of last year), because it actually goes back to 1966 with Joseph Weizenbaum's ELIZA, who was a 'virtual therapist' that many people took seriously. So not really new, but now more ubiquitous and realistic.

Addendum 2: I did receive acknowledgement from Adrian Brockless, who was gracious and generous in his response.

Have we forgotten what ‘mind’ means?

 There is an obvious rejoinder to this, which is, did we ever know what ‘mind’ means? Maybe that’s the real question I wanted to ask, but I think it’s better if it comes from you. The thing is that we have always thought that ‘mind’ means something, but now we are tending to think, because we have no idea where it comes from, that it has no meaning at all. In other words, if it can’t be explained by science, it has no meaning. And from that perspective, the question is perfectly valid.
 
I’ve been watching a number of videos hosted by Curt Jaimungal, whom I assume has a physics background. For a start, he’s posted a number of video interviews with a ‘Harvard scientist’ on quantum mechanics, and he provided a link (to me) of an almost 2hr video he did with Sabine Hossenfelder, and they talked like they were old friends. I found it very stimulating and I left a fairly long comment that probably no one will read.
 
Totally off-topic, but Sabine’s written a paper proposing a thought-experiment that would effectively test if QM and GR (gravity) are compatible at higher energies. She calculated the energy range and if there is no difference to the low energy experiments already conducted, it effectively rules out a quantum field for gravity (assuming I understand her correctly). I expressed my enthusiasm for a real version to be carried out, and my personal, totally unfounded prediction that it would be negative (there would be no difference).
 
But there are 2 videos that are relevant to this topic and they both involve Stephen Wolfram (who invented Mathematica). I’ve referenced him in previous posts, but always second-hand, so it was good to hear him first-hand. In another video, also hosted by Jaimungal, Wolfram has an exchange with Donald Hoffman, whom I’ve been very critical of in the past, even saying that I found it hard to take him seriously. But to be fair, I need to acknowledge that he’s willing to put his ideas out there and have them challenged by people like Stephen Wolfram (and Anil Seth in another video), which is what philosophy is all about. And the truth is that all of these people know much more about their fields than me. I’ll get to the exchange with Hoffman later.
 
I have the impression from Gregory Chaitin, in particular, that Wolfram argues that the Universe is computable; a philosophical position I’ve argued against, mainly because of chaos theory. I’ve never known Wolfram to mention chaos theory, and he certainly doesn’t in the 2 videos I reference here, and I’ve watched them a few times.
 
Jaimungal introduces the first video (with Wolfram alone) by asking him about his ‘observer theory’ and ‘what if he’s right about the discreteness of space-time’ and ‘computation underlying the fundament?’ I think it’s this last point which goes to the heart of their discussion. Wolfram introduces a term called the Ruliad, which I had to look up. I came across 2 definitions, both of which seem relevant to the discussion.
 
A concept that describes all possible computations and rule-based systems, including our physical universe, mathematics, and everything we experience.
 
A meta-structural domain that encompasses every possible rule-based system, or computational eventuality, that can describe any universe or mathematical structure.
 
Wolfram confused me when he talked about ‘computational irreducibility’, which infers that there are some things that are not computable, to which I agree. But then later he seemed to argue that everything we can know is computable, and things we don’t know now are only unknowable because we’re yet to find their computable foundation. He argues that there are ‘slices of reducible computability’ within the ‘computational irreducibility’, which is how we do mathematical physics.
 
Towards the end of the video, he talks specifically about biology, saying, ‘there is no grand theory of biology’, like we attempt in physics. He has a point. I’ve long argued that natural selection is not the whole story, and there is a mystery inherent in DNA, in as much as it’s a code whose origin and evolvement is still unknown. Paul Davies attempted to tackle this in his book, The Demon in the Machine, because it’s analogous to software code and it’s information based. This means that it could, in principle, be mathematical, which means it could lead to a biological ‘theory of everything’, which I assume is what Wolfram is claiming is lacking.
 
However, I’m getting off-track again. At the start of the video, Wolfram specifically references the Copernican revolution, because it was not just a mathematical reformulation, but it changed our entire perspective of the Universe (we are not at the centre) without changing how we experience it (we are standing still, with the sky rotating around us). At the end of the day, we have mathematical models, and some are more accurate than others, and they all have limitations – there is no all-encompassing mathematical TOE (Theory of Everything). There is no Ruliad, as per the above definitions, and Wolfram acknowledges that while apparently arguing that everything is computable.
 
I find it necessary to bring Kant into this, and his concept of the ‘thing-in-itself’ which we may never know, but only have a perception of. My argument, which I’ve never seen anyone else employ, is that mathematics is one of our instruments of perception, just like our telescopes and particle accelerators and now, our gravitational wave detectors. Our mathematical models, be they GR (general relativity), QFT or String Theory, are perceptual and conceptual tools, whose veracity are ultimately determined by empirical evidence, which means they can only be applied to things that can be measured. And I think this leads to an unstated principle that if something can’t be measured it doesn’t exist. I would put ‘mind’ in that category.
 
And this allows me to segue into the second video, involving Donald Hoffman, because he seems to argue that mind is all that there is, and it has a mathematical foundation. He put forward his argument (which I wrote about recently) that, using Markovian matrices, he’s developed probabilities that apparently predict ‘qualia’, which some argue are the fundaments of consciousness. Wolfram, unlike the rest of us, actually knows what Hoffman is talking about and immediately had a problem that his ‘mathematical model’ led to probabilities and not direct concrete predictions. Wolfram seemed to argue that it breaks the predictive chain (my terminology), but I confess I struggled to follow his argument. I would have liked to ask: what happens with QM, which can only give us probabilities? In that case, the probabilities, generated by the Born Rule, are the only link between QM and classical physics – a point made by Mark John Fernee, among others.
 
But going back to my argument invoking Kant, it’s a mathematical model and not necessarily the thing-in-itself. There is an irony here, because Kant argued that space and time are a priori in the mind, so a projection, which, as I understand it, lies at the centre of Hoffman’s entire thesis. Hoffman argues that ‘spacetime is doomed’ since Nima Arkani-Hamed and his work on amplituhedrons, because (to quote Arkani-Hamed): This is a concrete example of a way in which the physics we normally associate with space-time and quantum mechanics arises from something more basic. In other words, Arkani-Hamed has found a mathematical substructure or foundation to spacetime itself, and Hoffman claims that he’s found a way to link that same mathematical substructure to consciousness, via Markovian matrices and his probabilities.
 
Hoffman analogises spacetime to wearing a VR headset and objects in spacetime to icons on a computer desktop, which seems to infer that the Universe is a simulation, though he’s never specifically argued that. I won’t reiterate my objections to Hoffman’s fundamental idealism philosophy, but if you have a mathematical model, however it’s formulated, its veracity can only be determined empirically, meaning we need to measure something. So, what is he going to measure? Is it qualia? Is it what people report what they think?
 
No. According to Hoffman, they can do empirical tests on spacetime (so not consciousness per se) that will determine if his mathematical model of consciousness is correct, which seems a very roundabout way of doing things. From what I can gather, he’s using a mathematical model of consciousness that’s already been developed (independently) to underpin reality, and then testing it on reality, thereby implying that consciousness is an intermediate step between the mathematical model and the reality. His ambition is to demonstrate that there is a causal relationship between consciousness and reality, when most argue that it’s the other way around. I return to this point below, with Wolfram’s response.
 
Wolfram starts off in his interaction with Hoffman by defining the subjective experience of consciousness that Hoffman has mathematically modelled and asking, can he apply that to an LLM (like ChatGPT, though he doesn’t specify) and therefore show that an LLM must be conscious? Wolfram argues that such a demonstration would categorically determine the ‘success’ (his term) of Hoffman’s theory, and Hoffman agreed.
 
I won’t go into detail (watch the video) but Hoffman concludes, quite emphatically, that ‘It’s not logically possible to start with non-conscious entities and have conscious agents emerge’ (my emphasis, obviously). Wolfram immediately responded (very good-naturedly), ‘That’s not my intuition’. He then goes on to say how that’s a Leibnizian approach, which he rejected back in the 1980s. I gather that it was around that time that Wolfram adopted and solidified (for want of a better word) his philosophical position that everything is ultimately computable. So they both see mathematics as part of the ‘solution’, but in different ways and with different conclusions.
 
To return to the point I raised in my introduction, Wolfram starts off in the first video (without Hoffman), that we have adopted a position that if something can’t be explained by science, then there is no other explanation – we axiomatically rule everything else out - and he seems to argue that this is a mistake. But then he adopts a position which is the exact opposite: that everything is “computational all the way down”, including concepts like free will. He argues: “If we can accept that everything is computational all the way down, we can stop searching for that.” And by ‘that’ he means all other explanations like mysticism or QM or whatever.
 
My own position is that mathematics, consciousness and physical reality form a triumvirate similar to Roger Penrose’s view. There is an interconnection, but I’m unsure if there is a hierarchy. I’ve argued that mathematics can transcend the Universe, which is known as mathematical Platonism, a view held by many mathematicians and physicists, which I’ve written about before.
 
I’m not averse to the view that consciousness may also exist beyond the physical universe, but it’s not something that can be observed (by definition). So far, I’ve attempted to discuss ‘mind’ in a scientific context, referencing 2 scientists with different points of view, though they both emphasise the role of mathematics in positing their views.
 
Before science attempted to analyse and put mind into an ontological box, we knew it as a purely subjective experience. But we also knew that it exists in others and even other creatures. And it’s the last point that actually triggered me to write this post and not the ruminations of Wolfram and Hoffman. When I interact with another animal, I’m conscious that it has a mind, and I believe that’s what we’ve lost. If there is a collective consciousness arising from planet Earth, it’s not just humans. This is something that I’m acutely aware of, and it has even affected my fiction.
 
The thing about mind is that it stimulates empathy, and I think that’s the key to the long-term survival of, not just humanity, but the entire ecosystem we inhabit. Is there a mind beyond the Universe? We don’t know, but I would like to think there is. In another recent post, I alluded to the Hindu concept of Brahman, which appealed to Erwin Schrodinger. You’d be surprised how many famous physicists were attracted to the mystical. I can think of Pauli, Einstein, Bohr, Oppenheimer – they all thought outside the box, as we like to say.
 
Physicists have no problem mentally conceiving 6 or more dimensions in String Theory that are ‘curled up’ so miniscule we can’t observe them. But there is also the possibility that there is a dimension beyond the universe that we can’t see. Anyone familiar with Flatland by Edwin Abbott (a story about social strata as much as dimensions), would know it expounds on our inherent inability to interact with higher dimensions. It’s occurred to me that consciousness may exist in another dimension, and we might ‘feel’ it occasionally when we interact with people who have died. I have experienced this, though it proves nothing. I’m a creative and a neurotic, so such testimony can be taken with a grain of salt.
 
I’ve gone completely off-track, but I think that both Wolfram and Hoffman may be missing the point, when, like many scientists, they are attempting to incorporate the subjective experience of mind into a scientific framework. Maybe it just doesn’t fit.