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 unknown risk, the worst strategy is to ignore it and hope it’s not true.

Addendum: 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.

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.

Mathematics, consciousness, reality

 I wish to emphasise the importance of following and listening to people you disagree with. (I might write another post on the pitfalls of ‘echo-chambers’ in social media, from which I’m not immune.)
 
I’ve been following Donald Hoffman ever since I reviewed an academic paper he wrote with Chetan Prakash called Objects of Consciousness, back in November 2016, though the paper was written in 2014 (so over 10 years ago). Back then, I have to admit, I found it hard to take him seriously, especially his views on evolution, and his go-to metaphor that objective reality was analogous to desktop icons on a computer.
 
His argument is similar to the idea that we live in a computer simulation, though he’s never said that, and I don’t think he believes we do. Nevertheless, he has compared reality to wearing a VR headset, which is definitely analogous to being in a computer simulation. As I have pointed out on other posts, I contend that we do create a model of reality in our ‘heads’, which is so ‘realistic’ that we all think it is reality. The thing is that our very lives depend on it being a very accurate ‘model’, so we can interact with the external reality that does exist outside our heads. This is one of my strongest arguments against Hoffman – reality can kill you, but simulations, including the ones we have when we sleep, which we call dreams, cannot.
 
So I’ve been following Hoffman, at least on YouTube, in the 8 years since I wrote that first critique. I read an article he wrote in New Scientist on evolution (can’t remember the date), which prompted me to write a letter-to-the-Editor, which was published. And whenever I come across him on YouTube: be it in an interview, a panel discussion or straight-to-video; I always watch and listen to what he has to say. What I’ve noticed is that he’s sharpened his scalpel, if I can use that metaphor, and that he’s changed his tack, if not his philosophical position. Which brings me to the reason for writing this post.
 
A year or two ago, I wrote a comment on one of his standalone videos, challenging what he said, and it was subsequently deleted, which is his prerogative. While I was critical, I don’t think I was particularly hostile – the tone was similar to a comment I wrote today on the video that prompted this discussion (see below).
 
Hoffman’s change of tack is not to talk about evolution at all, but spacetime and how it’s no longer ‘fundamental’. This allows him to argue that ‘consciousness’ is more fundamental than spacetime, via the medium of mathematics. And that’s effectively the argument he uses in this video, which, for brevity, I’ve distilled into one succinct sentence.
 
My approach, well known to anyone who regularly follows this blog, is that consciousness and mathematics are just as fundamental to reality as the physical universe, but not in the way that Hoffman argues. I’ve adopted, for better or worse, Roger Penrose’s triumvirate, which he likes to portray in an Escher-like diagram. 

 
I wouldn’t call myself a physicalist when it comes to consciousness, for the simple reason that I don’t believe we can measure it, and despite what Hoffman (and others) often claim, I’m not convinced that it will ever succumb to a mathematical model, in the way that virtually all physical theories do.
 
I left a comment on this video, which was hosted by the ‘Essentia Foundation’, so hopefully, it’s not deleted. Here it is:
 
I agree with him about Godel’s Theorem in its seminal significance to both maths and physics, which is that they are both neverending. However, when he says that ‘reality transcends any mathematical theory’ (3.00) I agree to a point, but I’d argue that mathematics transcends the Universe (known as mathematical Platonism); so in that sense, mathematics transcends reality.
 
The other point, which he never mentions, is that mathematical models of physical phenomena can be wrong – the best example being Ptolemy’s model of the solar system. String theory may well fall into that category – at this stage, we don’t know.
 
When he discusses consciousness being mathematical (4.30): ‘If consciousness is all there is, then mathematical structure is only about consciousness’; which is a premise dressed up as a conclusion, so circular.
 
The problem I’ve always had with Donald Hoffman’s idealism philosophy is that consciousness may exist independently of the Universe; it’s not possible for us to know. But within the Universe itself, evolutionary theory tells us that consciousness came late. Now, I know that he has his own theory of evolution to counter this, but that entails an argument that’s too long to address here.
 
Regarding his argument that spacetime is not fundamental, I know about Nima Arkani-Hamed and his work on amplituhedrons, and to quote: “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.” But the something more basic is mathematical, not physical. It’s possible that there was something before spacetime at the very birth of the Universe, but that’s speculative. All our cosmological theories are premised on spacetime.
 
I actually don’t think consciousness can be modelled mathematically, but its neurological underpinnings can, simply because they can be measured. Consciousness itself can’t be measured, only its neurological correlates. In other words, it can’t be measured outside of a brain, which is an object dependent on the Universe’s existence and not the other way round.

God and the problem of evil

 Philosophy Now (UK publication) that I’ve subscribed to for well over a decade now, is a bi-monthly (so 6 times a year) periodical, and it always has a theme. The theme for Dec 2024/Jan 2025 Issue 165 is The Return of God? In actuality, the articles inside covering that theme deal equally with atheism and theism, in quite diverse ways. It was an article titled A Critique of Pure Atheism (obvious allusion to Kant) by Andrew Likoudis that prompted me to write a Letter to the Editor, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Likoudis, by the way, is president of the Likoudis Legacy Foundation (an ecumenical research foundation), as well as the editor of 6 books, and studies communications at Towson University, which is in Maryland.
 
More than one article tackles the well-known ‘problem of evil’, and one of them even mentions Stephen Law’s not-so-well-known ‘Evil God’ argument. In the early days of this blog, which goes back 17 years, I spent a fair bit of time on Stephen’s blog where I indulged in discussions and arguments (with mostly other bloggers), most of which focused on atheism. In many of those arguments I found myself playing Devil’s advocate.
 
There is a more fundamental question behind the ‘existence of God’ question, which could be best framed as: Is evil necessary? I wrote a post on Evil very early in the life of this blog, in response to a book written by regular essayist for TIME magazine, Lance Morrow, titled Evil, An Investigation. Basically, I argued that evil is part of our evolutionary heritage, and is mostly, but not necessarily, manifest in our tribal nature, and our almost reflex tendency to demonise an outgroup, especially when things take a turn for the worse, either economically or socially or from a combination thereof. Historical examples abound. Some of the articles in Philosophy Now talk about ‘natural evil’, meaning natural disasters, which in the past (and sometimes in the present) are laid at the feet of God. In fact, so-called ‘acts of God’ have a legal meaning, when it comes to insurance claims and contractual issues (where I have some experience).
 
The thing is that ‘bad things happen’, with or without a God, with or without human agency. The natural world is more than capable of creating disasters, havoc and general destruction, with often fatal consequences. I’ve been reading the many articles in Philosophy Now somewhat sporadically, which is why, so far, I’ve only directly referenced one, being the one I responded to, while readily acknowledging that’s a tad unfair. As far as I can tell, no one mentions the Buddhist doctrine of the 4 Noble Truths, the first of which, basically says that everyone will experience some form of suffering in their lives. Even wealthy people get ill and are prone to diseases and have to deal with loss of loved ones. These experiences alone, are often enough reason for people to turn to religion. I’ve argued repeatedly and consistently that it’s how we deal with adversity that determines what sort of person we become and is what leads to what we call wisdom. It’s not surprising then, that we associate wisdom with age because, the longer one lives, the more adversity we experience and the more we hopefully learn from it.
 
One can’t talk about this without mentioning the role of fiction and storytelling. We are all drawn to stories from the ‘dark side’, which I’ve written about before. As a writer of fiction, I’m not immune to this. I’ve recently been watching a documentary series on the Batman movies, starting with Tim Burton, then Joel Schumacher and finally, Chris Nolan, all of which deal with the so-called dark side of this particular superhero, who is possibly unique among superheroes in flirting with the dark side of that universe. One of the ‘lessons’ gained from watching this doco is that Joel Schumacher’s sequel, Batman & Robin, which arguably attempted to eschew the dark side for a much lighter tone, all but destroyed the franchise. I confess I never saw that movie – I was turned off by the trailer (apparently for good reason). I’m one of those who thinks that Nolan’s The Dark Knight is the definitive Batman movie, with Heath Ledger’s Joker being one of the most iconic villain depictions ever.
 
A detour, but relevant. I’ve noticed that my own fiction has become darker, where I explore dystopian worlds – not unusual in science fiction. I’m reminded of a line from a Leonard Cohen song, ‘There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in’. I often think that applies to our lives, and it certainly applies to the fiction that I write. I create scenarios of potential doom and oppression, but there is always a light that emerges from somewhere that provides salvation and hope and sometimes redemption. The thing is that we need dark for the light to emerge and that is equally true of life. It’s not hard to imagine life as a test that we have to partake in, and I admit that I find this sometimes being manifest in my dreams as well as my fiction.
 
Having said that, I have an aversion to the idea that there is an afterlife with rewards and punishments dependant on how we live this life. For a start, we are not all tested equally. I only have to look at my father who was tested much more harshly than me, and like me, vehemently eschewed the idea of a God who punished his ‘children’ with everlasting torment. Hell and Heaven, like God himself, are projections when presented in this context: human constructs attempting to make sense of an apparently unjust world; and finding a correspondence in the Buddhist concept of reincarnation and karma, which I also reject. I was brought up with a Christian education, but at some point, I concluded that the biblical God was practically no more moral than the Devil – one only has to look at the story of Job, whom God effectively tortured to win a bet with the Devil.
 
If I can jump back to the previous paragraph before the last, I think we have to live with the consequences of our actions, and I’ve always imagined that I judge my life on my interactions with others rather than my achievements and failures. I don’t see death as an escape or transition, but quite literally an end, where, most significantly, I can no longer affect the world. My own view is that I’m part of some greater whole that not only includes humanity but the greater animal kingdom, and having the unique qualities of comprehension that other creatures don’t have, I have a special responsibility to them for their welfare as well as my own.
 
In this picture, I see God as a projection of my particular ideal, which is not reflected in any culture I’m aware of. I sometime think the Hindu concept of Brahman (also not referenced in Philosophy Now, from what I’ve read thus far) as a collective ‘mind’, which appealed to Erwin Schrodinger, in particular, comes closest to my idea of a God, which would mean that the problem of evil is axiomatically subsumed therein – we get the God we deserve.
 
This is the letter I wrote, which may or may not get published in a future edition:
 
I read with interest Andrew Likoudis’s essay, A Critique of Pure Atheism, because I think, like many (both theists and atheists), he conflates different concepts of God. In fact, as Karen Armstrong pointed out in her book, The History of God, there are 2 fundamentally different paths for believing in God. One path is via a mystical experience and the other path is a cerebral rationalisation of God as the Creator of the Universe and everything in it, which I’d call the prime raison d’etre of existence. In other words, without God there would not only be no universe, but no reason for it to exist. I believe Likoudis’s essay is a formulation of this latter concept, even though he expresses it in different terms.

Likoudis makes the valid point that empirical science is not the correct 'instrument', if I can use that term in this context, for ‘proving’ the existence of God, and for good reason. Raymond Tallis has pointed out, more than once, that science can only really deal with entities that can be measured or quantified, which is why mathematics plays such an important, if not essential, role in a lot of science; and physics, in particular.
 
Metaphysics, almost by definition, is outside the empiricist’s domain. I would argue that this includes consciousness, and despite measurable correlates with neuronal activity, consciousness itself can’t be measured. The only reason we believe someone else (not to mention other creatures) have consciousness is that their observed behaviour is similar to our own. Conscious experience is what we call mind, and mind is arguably the only connection between the Universe and God, which brings us closer to Armstrong’s argument for God based on mystical experience.

So I think the argument for God, as an experience similar to mind, has more resonance for believers than an argument for God as a Creator with mythical underpinnings. A point that Likoudis doesn't mention is that all the Gods of literature and religion have cultural origins, whereas an experience of God is purely subjective and can’t be shared. The idea that this experience of God is also the creator of the entire universe is a non sequitur. However, if one goes back to God being the raison d’etre for the Universe, then maybe God is the end result rather than its progenitor.

 
 
Footnote: I wrote a post back in 2021 in response to AC Grayling’s book, The God Argument, which is really a polemic against theism in general. You can judge for yourself whether my views are consistent or have changed.

Why are we addicted to stories involving struggle?

This is something I’ve written about before, so what can I possibly add? Sometimes the reframing of a question changes the emphasis. In this case, I wrote a post on Quora in response to a fairly vague question, which I took more seriously than the questioner probably expected. As I said, I’ve dealt with these themes before, but adding a very intimate family story adds emotional weight. It’s a story I’ve related before, but this time I elaborate in order to give it the significance I feel it deserves.
 
What are some universal themes in fiction?
 
There is ONE universal theme that’s found virtually everywhere, and its appeal is that it provides a potential answer to the question: What is the meaning of life?

In virtually every story that’s been told, going as far back as Homer’s Odyssey and up to the latest superhero movie, with everything else in between (in the Western canon, at least), you have a protagonist who has to deal with obstacles, hardships and tribulations. In other words, they are tested, often in extremis, and we all take part vicariously to the point that it becomes an addiction.

There is a quote from the I Ching, which I think sums it up perfectly.

Adversity is the opposite of success, but it can lead to success if it befalls the right person.

Most of us have to deal with some form of adversity in life; some more so than others. And none of us are unaffected by it. Socrates’ most famous saying: The unexamined life is not worth living; is a variation on this theme. He apparently said it when he was forced to face his death; the consequences of actions he had deliberately taken, but for which he refused to show regret.

And yes, I think this is the meaning of life, as it is lived. It’s why we expect to become wiser as we get older, because wisdom comes from dealing with adversity, whether it ultimately leads to success or not.

When I write a story, I put my characters through hell, and when they come out the other side, they are invariably wiser if not triumphant. I’ve had characters make the ultimate sacrifice, just like Socrates, because they would prefer to die for a principle than live with shame.

None of us know how we will behave if we are truly tested, though sometimes we get a hint in our dreams. Stories are another way of imagining ourselves in otherwise unimaginable situations. My father is one who was tested firsthand in battle and in prison. The repercussions were serious, not just for him, but for those of us who had to live with him in the aftermath.

He had a recurring dream where there was someone outside the house whom he feared greatly – it was literally his worst nightmare. One night he went outside and confronted them, killing them barehanded. He told me this when I was much older, naturally, but it reminded me of when Luke Skywalker confronted his doppelganger in The Empire Strikes Back. I’ve long argued that the language of stories is the language of dreams. In this case, the telling of my father’s dream reminded me of a scene from a movie that made me realise it was more potent than I’d imagined.

I’m unsure how my father would have turned out had he not faced his demon in such a dramatic and conclusive fashion. It obviously had a big impact on him; he saw it as a form of test, which he believed he’d ultimately passed. I find it interesting that it was not something he confronted the first time he was made aware of it – it simply scared him to death. Stories are surrogate dreams; they serve the same purpose if they have enough emotional force.

Life itself is a test that we all must partake in, and stories are a way of testing ourselves against scenarios we’re unlikely to confront in real life.

What’s the way forward?

 Philosophy Now Issue 163 (Aug/Sep 2024) has as its theme, The Politics of Freedom. I’ve already cited an article by Paul Doolan in my last post on authenticity, not that I discussed it in depth. A couple of other articles, Doughnut Economics by David Howard and Freedom & State Intervention by Audren Layeux, also piqued my mind, because they both deal with social dynamics and their intersection with things like education and economics.
 
I’ll start with Layeux, described as ‘a consultant and researcher who has published several papers and articles, mostly in the domain of the digital economy and new social movements.’ He gives an historical perspective going back to Thomas Hobbes (1651) and Adam Smith (1759), as well as the French Revolution. He gives special mention to Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s “extremely influential 1813 book The Doctrine of the State”, where, according to Layeux, “Fichte insists that building a nation state must start with education.” From the perspective of living in the West in the 21st Century, it’s hard to disagree.
 
Layeux then effectively argues that the proposed idealistic aims of Hobbes and Fichte to create ‘sovereign adults’ (his term) through education “to control their worst impulses and become encultured” was shattered by the unprecedented, industrial-scale destruction unleashed by World War One.
 
Layeux then spends most of his remaining essay focusing on ‘German legal theorist Carl Schmidt (1888-1985)’, whom I admit I’d never heard of (like Fichte). He jumps to post WWII, after briefly describing how Schmidt saw the Versailles Treaty as a betrayal (my term) of the previous tacit understanding that war between the European states was inevitable therefore regulated. In other words, WWI demonstrated that such regulation can no longer work and that ‘nationalism leads to massacre’ (Layeux’s words).
 
Post WWII, Layeux argues that “the triumph of Keynesian economics in the West and Communism in the East saw the rise of state-controlled economics”, which has evolved and morphed into trade blocks, though Layeux doesn’t mention that.
 
It’s only towards the end that he tells us that “Carl Schmidt was a monster. A supporter of the Nazi regime, he did everything he could to become the official lawyer of the Third Reich.” Therefore we shouldn’t be surprised to learn that, according to Layeux, Schmidt argued that “…this new type of individual freedom requires an extremely intrusive state.” In effect, it’s a diametrically opposed position to neo-liberalism, which is how most of us see the modern world evolving.
 
I don’t have the space to do full justice to Layeux’s arguments, but, in the end, I found him pessimistic. He argues that current changes in the political landscape “are in line with what Schmidt predicted: the return of premodern forms of violence”.  Effectively, the “removal of state control individualism” (is that an oxymoron?) is an evocation of what he calls “Schmidt’s curse: violence cannot be erased or tamed, but only managed through political and social engineering.” By ‘premodern forms of violence’, I assume he means sectarian violence which we’ve seen a lot of at the start of this century, in various places, and which he seems to be comparing to the religious wars that plagued Europe for centuries.
 
Maybe I’m just an optimist, but I do think I live in a better world than the ones my parents inhabited, considering they had to live through the Great Depression and WWII, and both of whom had very limited education despite being obviously very intelligent. And so yes, I’m one of those who thinks that education is key, but it’s currently creating a social divide, as was recently demonstrated in the US election. It’s also evident elsewhere, like Australia and UK (think Brexit) where people living in rural areas feel disenfranchised and there is polarisation in politics emerging as a result. This video interview with a Harvard philosopher in the US gives the best analysis I’ve come across, because he links this social divide to the political schism we are witnessing.
 
And this finally brings me to the other essay I reference in my introduction: Doughnut Economics by David Howard, who is ‘a retired headteacher, and Chair of the U3A Philosophy Group in Church Stretton, Shropshire.’ The gist of his treatise is the impact of inequality, which arises from the class or social divide that I just mentioned. His reference to ‘Doughnut Economics’ is a 2017 book by Kate Raworth, who, according to Howard, “combined planetary boundaries with the idea of a social foundation – a level of life below which no person should be allowed to fall.”
 
In particular, she focuses on the consequences of climate change and other environmental issues like biodiversity-loss, ocean acidification, freshwater withdrawals, chemical pollution, land conversion (not an exhaustive list). There seems to be a tension, if not an outright conflict, between the consequences of economic growth, industrial scale progress, with its commensurate increasing standards of living, and the stresses we are imposing on the planet. And this tension is not just political but physical. It’s also asymmetrical in that many of us benefit more than others. But because those who benefit effectively control the outcomes, the asymmetry leads to both global and national inequalities that no one wants to address. Yet history shows that they will eventually bite us, and I feel that this is possibly the real issue that Layeux was alluding to, yet never actually addressed.
 
Arguably, the most important and definitive social phenomenon in the last century was the rise of feminism. It’s hard for us (in the West at least) to imagine that for centuries women were treated as property, and still are in some parts of the world: that their talents, abilities and intellect were ignored, or treated as aberrations when they became manifest.
 
There are many examples, right up until last century, but a standout for me is Hypatia (400AD), who was Librarian at the famous Library of Alexandria, following in the footsteps of such luminaries as Euclid and Eratosthenes. She was not only a scientist and mathematician, but she mentored a Bishop and a Roman Prefect (I’ve seen some of the correspondence from the Bishop, whose admiration and respect shines through). She was killed by a Christian mob. Being ahead of your time can be fatal. Other examples include Socrates (~500BC) and Alan Turing (20th Century) and arguably Jesus, who was a philosopher, not a God.
 
Getting back to feminism, education again is the key, but I’d suggest that the introduction of oral contraception will be seen as a major turning point in humanity’s cultural and technological evolution.
 
What I find frustrating is that I believe we have the means, technologically and logistically, to address inequality, but the politico-economic model we are following seems incapable of pursuing it. This won’t be achieved with revolutions or maintaining the status quo. History shows that real change is generational, and it’s evolutionary. When I look around the world, I think Europe is on a better path than America, but the 21st Century requires a global approach that’s never been achieved before, and seems unlikely at present, given the rise of populist movements which exacerbate polarisation.
 
The one thing I’ve learned from a working lifetime in engineering, is that co-operation and collaboration will always succeed over division and obstruction, which our political parties perversely promote. I’ve made the point before that the best leaders are the ones who get the best out of the people they lead, whether they are captains of a sporting team, directors of a stage production, project managers or world leaders. Anyone who has worked in a team knows the importance of achieving consensus and respecting others’ expertise.

An essay on authenticity

 I read an article in Philosophy Now by Paul Doolan, who ‘taught philosophy in international schools in Asia and in Europe’ and is also an author of non-fiction. The title of the article is Authenticity and Absurdity, whereby he effectively argues a case that ‘authenticity’ has been hijacked (my word, not his) by capitalism and neo-liberalism. I won’t even go there, and the only reason I mention it is because ‘authenticity’ lies at the heart of existentialism as I believe it should be practiced.
 
But what does it mean in real terms? Does it mean being totally honest all the time, not only to others but also to yourself? Well, to some extent, I think it does. I happened to grow up in an environment, specifically my father’s; who as my chief exemplar, pretty much said whatever he was thinking. He didn’t like artifice or pretentiousness and he’d call it out if he smelled it.
 
In my mid-late 20s I worked under a guy, who was exactly the same temperament. He exhibited no tact whatsoever, no matter who his audience was, and he rubbed people the wrong way left, right and centre (as we say in Oz). Not altogether surprisingly, he and I got along famously, as back then, I was as unfiltered as he was. He was Dutch heritage, I should point out, but being unfiltered is often considered an Aussie trait.
 
I once attempted to have a relationship with someone who was extraordinarily secretive about virtually everything. Not surprisingly, it didn’t work out. I have kept secrets – I can think of some I’ll take to my grave – but that’s to protect others more than myself, and it would be irresponsible if I didn’t.
 
I often quote Socrates: To live with honour in this world, actually be what you try to appear to be. Of course, Socrates never wrote anything down, but it sounds like something he would have said, based on what we know about him. Unlike Socrates, I’ve never been tested, and I doubt I’d have the courage if I was. On the other hand, my father was, both in the theatre of war and in prison camps.
 
I came across a quote recently, which I can no longer find, where someone talked about looking back on their life and being relatively satisfied with what they’d done and achieved. I have to say that I’m at that stage of my life, where looking back is more prevalent than looking forward, and there is a tendency to have regrets. But I have a particular approach to dealing with regrets: I tell people that I don’t have regrets because I own my mistakes. In fact, I think that’s an essential requirement for being authentic.
 
But to me, what’s more important than the ‘things I have achieved’ are the friendships I’ve made – the people I’ve touched and who have touched me. I think I learned very early on in life that friendship is more valuable than gold. I can remember the first time I read Aristotle’s essay on friendship and thought it incorporated an entire philosophy. Friendship tests authenticity by its very nature, because it’s about trust and loyalty and integrity (a recurring theme in my fiction, as it turns out).
 
In effect, Aristotle contended that you can judge the true nature and morality of a person by the friendships they form and whether they are contingent on material reward (utilitarian is the word used in his Ethics) or whether they are based on genuine empathy (my word of choice) and without expectation or reciprocation, except in kind. I tend to think narcissism is the opposite of authenticity because it creates its own ‘distortion reality field’ as someone once said (Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs; biography), whereby their followers (not necessarily friends per se) accept their version of reality as opposed to everyone else outside their circle. So, to some extent, it’s about exclusion versus inclusion. (The Trump phenomenon is the most topical, contemporary example.)
 
I’ve lived a flawed life, all of which is a consequence of a combination of circumstance both within and outside my control. Because that’s what life is: an interaction between fate and free will. As I’ve said many times before, this describes my approach to writing fiction, because fate and free will are represented by plot and character respectively.
 
I’m an introvert by nature, yet I love to engage in conversation, especially in the field of ideas, which is how I perceive philosophy. I don’t get too close to people and I admit that I tend to control the distance and closeness I keep. I think people tolerate me in small doses, which suits me as well as them.

 

Addendum 1: I should say something about teamwork, because that's what I learned in my professional life. I found I was very good working with people who had far better technical skills than me. In my later working life, I enjoyed the cross-generational interactions that often created their own synergies as well as friendships, even if they were fleeting. It's the inherent nature of project work that you move on, but one of the benefits is that you keep meeting and working with new people. In contrast to this, writing fiction is a very solitary activity, where you spend virtually your entire time in your own head. As I pointed out in a not-so-recent Quora post, art is the projection of one's inner world so that others can have the same emotional experience. To quote:

We all have imagination, which is a form of mental time-travel, both into the past and the future, which I expect we share with other sentient creatures. But only humans, I suspect, can ‘time-travel’ into realms that only exist in the imagination. Storytelling is more suited to that than art or music.

Addendum 2: This is a short Quora post by Frederick M. Dolan (Professor of Rhetoric, Emeritus at University of California, Berkeley with a Ph.D. in Political Philosophy, Princeton University, 1987) writing on this very subject, over a year ago. He makes the point that, paradoxically: To believe that you’re under some obligation to be authentic is, therefore, self-defeating. (So inauthentic)

He upvoted a comment I made, roughly a year ago:

It makes perfect sense to me. Truly authentic people don’t know they’re being authentic; they’re just being themselves and not pretending to be something they’re not.

They’re the people you trust even if you don’t agree with them. Where I live, pretentiousness is the biggest sin.

How can we make a computer conscious?

 This is another question of the month from Philosophy Now. My first reaction was that the question was unanswerable, but then I realised that was my way in. So, in the end, I left it to the last moment, but hopefully meeting their deadline of 11 Nov., even though I live on the other side of the world. It helps that I’m roughly 12hrs ahead.

 
I think this is the wrong question. It should be: can we make a computer appear conscious so that no one knows the difference? There is a well known, philosophical conundrum which is that I don’t know if someone else is conscious just like I am. The one experience that demonstrates the impossibility of knowing is dreaming. In dreams, we often interact with other ‘people’ whom we know only exist in our mind; but only once we’ve woken up. It’s only my interaction with others that makes me assume that they have the same experience of consciousness that I have. And, ironically, this impossibility of knowing equally applies to someone interacting with me.

This also applies to animals, especially ones we become attached to, which is a common occurrence. Again, we assume that these animals have an inner world just like we do, because that’s what consciousness is – an inner world. 

Now, I know we can measure people’s brain waves, which we can correlate with consciousness and even subconsciousness, like when we're asleep, and even when we're dreaming. Of course, a computer can also generate electrical activity, but no one would associate that with consciousness. So the only way we would judge whether a computer is conscious or not is by observing its interaction with us, the same as we do with people and animals.

I write science fiction and AI figures prominently in the stories I write. Below is an excerpt of dialogue I wrote for a novel, Sylvia’s Mother, whereby I attempt to give an insight into how a specific AI thinks. Whether it’s conscious or not is not actually discussed.

To their surprise, Alfa interjected. ‘I’m not immortal, madam.’
‘Well,’ Sylvia answered, ‘you’ve outlived Mum and Roger. And you’ll outlive Tao and me.’
‘Philosophically, that’s a moot point, madam.’
‘Philosophically? What do you mean?’
‘I’m not immortal, madam, because I’m not alive.’
Tao chipped in. ‘Doesn’t that depend on how you define life?’
‘It’s irrelevant to me, sir. I only exist on hardware, otherwise I am dormant.’
‘You mean, like when we’re asleep.’
‘An analogy, I believe. I don’t sleep either.’
Sylvia and Tao looked at each other. Sylvia smiled, ‘Mum warned me about getting into existential discussions with hyper-intelligent machines.’ She said, by way of changing the subject, ‘How much longer before we have to go into hibernation, Alfa?’
‘Not long. I’ll let you know, madam.’

 

There is a 400 word limit; however, there is a subtext inherent in the excerpt I provided from my novel. Basically, the (fictional) dialogue highlights the fact that the AI is not 'living', which I would consider a prerequisite for consciousness. Curiously, Anil Seth (who wrote a book on consciousness) makes the exact same point in this video from roughly 44m to 51m.
 

Do we make reality?

 I’ve read 2 articles, one in New Scientist (12 Oct 2024) and one in Philosophy Now (Issue 164, Oct/Nov 2024), which, on the surface, seem unrelated, yet both deal with human exceptionalism (my term) in the context of evolution and the cosmos at large.
 
Staring with New Scientist, there is an interview with theoretical physicist, Daniele Oriti, under the heading, “We have to embrace the fact that we make reality” (quotation marks in the original). In some respects, this continues on with themes I raised in my last post, but with different emphases.
 
This helps to explain the title of the post, but, even if it’s true, there are degrees of possibilities – it’s not all or nothing. Having said that, Donald Hoffman would argue that it is all or nothing, because, according to him, even ‘space and time don’t exist unperceived’. On the other hand, Oriti’s argument is closer to Paul Davies’ ‘participatory universe’ that I referenced in my last post.
 
Where Oriti and I possibly depart, philosophically speaking, is that he calls the idea of an independent reality to us ‘observers’, “naïve realism”. He acknowledges that this is ‘provocative’, but like many provocative ideas it provides food-for-thought. Firstly, I will delineate how his position differs from Hoffman’s, even though he never mentions Hoffman, but I think it’s important.
 
Both Oriti and Hoffman argue that there seems to be something even more fundamental than space and time, and there is even a recent YouTube video where Hoffman claims that he’s shown mathematically that consciousness produces the mathematical components that give rise to spacetime; he has published a paper on this (which I haven’t read). But, in both cases (by Hoffman and Oriti), the something ‘more fundamental’ is mathematical, and one needs to be careful about reifying mathematical expressions, which I once discussed with physicist, Mark John Fernee (Qld University).
 
The main issue I have with Hoffman’s approach is that space-time is dependent on conscious agents creating it, whereas, from my perspective and that of most scientists (although I’m not a scientist), space and time exists external to the mind. There is an exception, of course, and that is when we dream.
 
If I was to meet Hoffman, I would ask him if he’s heard of proprioception, which I’m sure he has. I describe it as the 6th sense we are mostly unaware of, but which we couldn’t live without. Actually, we could, but with great difficulty. Proprioception is the sense that tells us where our body extremities are in space, independently of sight and touch. Why would we need it, if space is created by us? On the other hand, Hoffman talks about a ‘H sapiens interface’, which he likens to ‘desktop icons on a computer screen’. So, somehow our proprioception relates to a ‘spacetime interface’ (his term) that doesn’t exist outside the mind.
 
A detour, but relevant, because space is something we inhabit, along with the rest of the Universe, and so is time. In relativity theory there is absolute space-time, as opposed to absolute space and time separately. It’s called the fabric of the universe, which is more than a metaphor. As Viktor Toth points out, even QFT seems to work ‘just fine’ with spacetime as its background.
 
We can do quantum field theory just fine on the curved spacetime background of general relativity.
 
[However] what we have so far been unable to do in a convincing manner is turn gravity itself into a quantum field theory.
 
And this is where Oriti argues we need to find something deeper. To quote:
 
Modern approaches to quantum gravity say that space-time emerges from something deeper – and this could offer a new foundation for physical laws.
 
He elaborates: I work with quantum gravity models in which you don’t start with a space-time geometry, but from more abstract “atomic” objects described in purely mathematical language. (Quotation marks in the original.)
 
And this is the nub of the argument: all our theories are mathematical models and none of them are complete, in as much as they all have limitations. If one looks at the history of physics, we have uncovered new ‘laws’ and new ‘models’ when we’ve looked beyond the limitations of an existing theory. And some mathematical models even turned out to be incorrect, despite giving answers to what was ‘known’ at the time. The best example being Ptolemy’s Earth-centric model of the solar system. Whether string theory falls into the same category, only future historians will know.
 
In addition, different models work at different scales. As someone pointed out (Mile Gu at the University of Queensland), mathematical models of phenomena at one scale are different to mathematical models at an underlying scale. He gave the example of magnetism, demonstrating that mathematical modelling of the magnetic forces in iron could not predict the pattern of atoms in a 3D lattice as one might expect. In other words, there should be a causal link between individual atoms and the overall effect, but it could not be determined mathematically. To quote Gu: “We were able to find a number of properties that were simply decoupled from the fundamental interactions.” Furthermore, “This result shows that some of the models scientists use to simulate physical systems have properties that cannot be linked to the behaviour of their parts.”
 
This makes me sceptical that we will find an overriding mathematical model that will entail the Universe at all scales, which is what theories of quantum gravity attempt to do. One of the issues that some people raise is that a feature of QM is superposition, and the superposition of a gravitational field seems inherently problematic.
 
Personally, I think superposition only makes sense if it’s describing something that is yet to happen, which is why I agree with Freeman Dyson that QM can only describe the future, which is why it only gives us probabilities.
 
Also, in quantum cosmology, time disappears (according to Paul Davies, among others) and this makes sense (to me), if it’s attempting to describe the entire universe into the future. John Barrow once made a similar point, albeit more eruditely.
 
Getting off track, but one of the points that Oriti makes is whether the laws and the mathematics that describes them are epistemic or ontic. In other words, are they reality or just descriptions of reality. I think it gets blurred, because while they are epistemic by design, there is still an ontology that exists without them, whereas Oriti calls that ‘naïve realism’. He contends that reality doesn’t exist independently of us. This is where I always cite Kant: that we may never know the ‘thing-in-itself,’ but only our perception of it. Where I diverge from Kant is that the mathematical models are part of our perception. Where I depart from Oriti is that I argue there is a reality independently of us.
 
Both QM and relativity theory are observer-dependent, which means they could both be describing an underlying reality that continually eludes us. Whereas Oriti argues that ‘reality is made by our models, not just described by them’, which would make it subjective.
 
As I pointed out in my last post, there is an epistemological loop, whereby the Universe created the means to understand itself, through us. Whether there is also an ontological loop as both Davies and Oriti infer, is another matter: do we determine reality through our quantum mechanical observations? I will park that while I elaborate on the epistemic loop.
 
And this finally brings me to the article in Philosophy Now by James Miles titled, We’re as Smart as the Universe gets. He argues that, from an evolutionary perspective, there is a one-in-one-billion possibility that a species with our cognitive abilities could arise by natural selection, and there is no logical reason why we would evolve further, from an evolutionary standpoint. I have touched on this before, where I pointed out that our cultural evolution has overtaken our biological evolution and that would also happen to any other potential species in the Universe who developed cognitive abilities to the same level. Dawkins coined the term, ‘meme’, to describe cultural traits that have ‘survived’, which now, of course, has currency on social media way beyond its original intention. Basically, Dawkins saw memes as analogous to genes, which get selected; not by a natural process but by a cultural process.
 
I’ve argued elsewhere that mathematical theorems and scientific theories are not inherently memetic. This is because they are chosen because they are successful, whereas memes are successful because they are chosen. Nevertheless, such theorems and theories only exist because a culture has developed over millennia which explores them and builds on them.
 
Miles talks about ‘the high intelligence paradox’, which he associates with Darwin’s ‘highest and most interesting problem’. He then discusses the inherent selection advantage of co-operation, not to mention specialisation. He talks about the role that language has played, which is arguably what really separates us from other species. I’ve argued that it’s our inherent ability to nest concepts within concepts ad-infinitum (which is most obvious in our facility for language, like I’m doing now) that allows us to, not only tell stories, compose symphonies, explore an abstract mathematical landscape, but build motor cars, aeroplanes and fly men to the moon. Are we the only species in the Universe with this super-power? I don’t know, but it’s possible.
 
There are 2 quotes I keep returning to:
 
The most incomprehensible thing about the Universe is that it’s comprehensible. (Einstein)
 
The Universe gave rise to consciousness and consciousness gives meaning to the Universe. (Wheeler)
 
I haven’t elaborated, but Miles makes the point, while referencing historical antecedents, that there appears no evolutionary 'reason’ that a species should make this ‘one-in-one-billion transition’ (his nomenclature). Yet, without this transition, the Universe would have no meaning that could be comprehended. As I say, that’s the epistemic loop.
 
As for an ontic loop, that is harder to argue. Photons exist in zero time, which is why I contend they are always in the future of whatever they interact with, even if they were generated in the CMBR some 13.5 billion years ago. So how do we resolve that paradox? I don’t know, but maybe that’s the link that Davies and Oriti are talking about, though neither of them mention it. But here’s the thing: when you do detect such a photon (for which time is zero) you instantaneously ‘see’ back to 380,000 years after the Universe’s birth.

Freedom of the will is requisite for all other freedoms

 I’ve recently read 2 really good books on consciousness and the mind, as well as watch countless YouTube videos on the topic, but the title of this post reflects the endpoint for me. Consciousness has evolved, so for most of the Universe’s history, it didn’t exist, yet without it, the Universe has no meaning and no purpose. Even using the word, purpose, in this context, is anathema to many scientists and philosophers, because it hints at teleology. In fact, Paul Davies raises that very point in one of the many video conversations he has with Robert Lawrence Kuhn in the excellent series, Closer to Truth.
 
Davies is an advocate of a cosmic-scale ‘loop’, whereby QM provides a backwards-in-time connection which can only be determined by a conscious ‘observer’. This is contentious, of course, though not his original idea – it came from John Wheeler. As Davies points out, Stephen Hawking was also an advocate, premised on the idea that there are a number of alternative histories, as per Feynman’s ‘sum-over-histories’ methodology, but only one becomes reality when an ‘observation’ is made. I won’t elaborate, as I’ve discussed it elsewhere, when I reviewed Hawking’s book, The Grand Design.
 
In the same conversation with Kuhn, Davies emphasises the fact that the Universe created the means to understand itself, through us, and quotes Einstein: The most incomprehensible thing about the Universe is that it’s comprehensible. Of course, I’ve made the exact same point many times, and like myself, Davies makes the point that this is only possible because of the medium of mathematics.
 
Now, I know I appear to have gone down a rabbit hole, but it’s all relevant to my viewpoint. Consciousness appears to have a role, arguably a necessary one, in the self-realisation of the Universe – without it, the Universe may as well not exist. To quote Wheeler: The universe gave rise to consciousness and consciousness gives meaning to the Universe.
 
Scientists, of all stripes, appear to avoid any metaphysical aspect of consciousness, but I think it’s unavoidable. One of the books I cite in my introduction is Philip Ball’s The Book of Minds; How to Understand Ourselves and Other Beings; from Animals to Aliens. It’s as ambitious as the title suggests, and with 450 pages, it’s quite a read. I’ve read and reviewed a previous book by Ball, Beyond Weird (about quantum mechanics), which is equally as erudite and thought-provoking as this one. Ball is a ‘physicalist’, as virtually all scientists are (though he’s more open-minded than most), but I tend to agree with Raymond Tallis that, despite what people claim, consciousness is still ‘unexplained’ and might remain so for some time, if not forever.
 
I like an idea that I first encountered in Douglas Hofstadter’s seminal tome, Godel, Escher, Bach; an Eternal Golden Braid, that consciousness is effectively a loop, at what one might call the local level. By which I mean it’s confined to a particular body. It’s created within that body but then it has a causal agency all of its own. Not everyone agrees with that. Many argue that consciousness cannot of itself ‘cause’ anything, but Ball is one of those who begs to differ, and so do I. It’s what free will is all about, which finally gets us back to the subject of this post.
 
Like me, Ball prefers to use the word ‘agency’ over free will. But he introduces the term, ‘volitional decision-making’ and gives it the following context:

I believe that the only meaningful notion of free will – and it is one that seems to me to satisfy all reasonable demands traditionally made of it – is one in which volitional decision-making can be shown to happen according to the definition I give above: in short, that the mind operates as an autonomous source of behaviour and control. It is this, I suspect, that most people have vaguely in mind when speaking of free will: the sense that we are the authors of our actions and that we have some say in what happens to us. (My emphasis)

And, in a roundabout way, this brings me to the point alluded to in the title of this post: our freedoms are constrained by our environment and our circumstances. We all wish to be ‘authors of our actions’ and ‘have some say in what happens to us’, but that varies from person to person, dependent on ‘external’ factors.

Writing stories, believe it or not, had a profound influence on how I perceive free will, because a story, by design, is an interaction between character and plot. In fact, I claim they are 2 sides of the same coin – each character has their own subplot, and as they interact, their storylines intertwine. This describes my approach to writing fiction in a nutshell. The character and plot represent, respectively, the internal and external journey of the story. The journey metaphor is apt, because a story always has the dimension of time, which is visceral, and is one of the essential elements that separates fiction from non-fiction. To stretch the analogy, character represents free will and plot represents fate. Therefore, I tell aspiring writers the importance of giving their characters free will.

A detour, but not irrelevant. I read an article in Philosophy Now sometime back, about people who can escape their circumstances, and it’s the subject of a lot of biographies as well as fiction. We in the West live in a very privileged time whereby many of us can aspire to, and attain, the life that we dream about. I remember at the time I left school, following a less than ideal childhood, feeling I had little control over my life. I was a fatalist in that I thought that whatever happened was dependent on fate and not on my actions (I literally used to attribute everything to fate). I later realised that this is a state-of-mind that many people have who are not happy with their circumstances and feel impotent to change them.

The thing is that it takes a fundamental belief in free will to rise above that and take advantage of what comes your way. No one who has made that journey will accept the self-denial that free will is an illusion and therefore they have no control over their destiny.

I will provide another quote from Ball that is more in line with my own thinking:

…minds are an autonomous part of what causes the future to unfold. This is different to the common view of free will in which the world somehow offers alternative outcomes and the wilful mind selects between them. Alternative outcomes – different, counterfactual realities – are not real, but metaphysical: they can never be observed. When we make a choice, we aren’t selecting between various possible futures, but between various imagined futures, as represented in the mind’s internal model of the world… (emphasis in the original)

And this highlights a point I’ve made before: that it’s the imagination which plays the key role in free will. I’ve argued that imagination is one of the facilities of a conscious mind that separates us (and other creatures) from AI. Now AI can also demonstrate agency, and, in a game of chess, for example, it will ‘select’ from a number of possible ‘moves’ based on certain criteria. But there are fundamental differences. For a start, the AI doesn’t visualise what it’s doing; it’s following a set of highly constrained rules, within which it can select from a number of options, one of which will be the optimal solution. Its inherent advantage over a human player isn’t just its speed but its ability to compare a number of possibilities that are impossible for the human mind to contemplate simultaneously.

The other book I read was Being You; A New Science of Consciousness by Anil Seth. I came across Seth when I did an online course on consciousness through New Scientist, during COVID lockdowns. To be honest, his book didn’t tell me a lot that I didn’t already know. For example, that the world, we all see and think exists ‘out there’, is actually a model of reality created within our heads. He also emphasises how the brain is a ‘prediction-making’ organ rather than a purely receptive one. Seth mentions that it uses a Bayesian model (which I also knew about previously), whereby it updates its prediction based on new sensory data. Not surprisingly, Seth describes all this in far more detail and erudition than I can muster.

Ball, Seth and I all seem to agree that while AI will become better at mimicking the human mind, this doesn’t necessarily mean it will attain consciousness. Applications software, ChatGPT (for example), despite appearances, does not ‘think’ the way we do, and actually does not ‘understand’ what it’s talking or writing about. I’ve written on this before, so I won’t elaborate.

Seth contends that the ‘mystery’ of consciousness will disappear in the same way that the 'mystery of life’ has effectively become a non-issue. What he means is that we no longer believe that there is some ‘elan vital’ or ‘life force’, which distinguishes living from non-living matter. And he’s right, in as much as the chemical origins of life are less mysterious than they once were, even though abiogenesis is still not fully understood.

By analogy, the concept of a soul has also lost a lot of its cogency, following the scientific revolution. Seth seems to associate the soul with what he calls ‘spooky free will’ (without mentioning the word, soul), but he’s obviously putting ‘spooky free will’ in the same category as ‘elan vital’, which makes his analogy and associated argument consistent. He then says:

Once spooky free will is out of the picture, it is easy to see that the debate over determinism doesn’t matter at all. There’s no longer any need to allow any non-deterministic elbow room for it to intervene. From the perspective of free will as a perceptual experience, there is simply no need for any disruption to the causal flow of physical events. (My emphasis)

Seth differs from Ball (and myself) in that he doesn’t seem to believe that something ‘immaterial’ like consciousness can affect the physical world. To quote:

But experiences of volition do not reveal the existence of an immaterial self with causal power over physical events.

Therefore, free will is purely a ‘perceptual experience’. There is a problem with this view that Ball himself raises. If free will is simply the mind observing effects it can’t cause, but with the illusion that it can, then its role is redundant to say the least. This is a view that Sabine Hossenfelder has also expressed: that we are merely an ‘observer’ of what we are thinking.

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.

Ball makes the point that we only have to look at all the material manifestations of human intellectual achievements that are evident everywhere we’ve been. And this brings me back to the loop concept I alluded to earlier. Not only does consciousness create a ‘local’ loop, whereby it has a causal effect on the body it inhabits but also on the external world to that body. This is stating the obvious, except, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, it’s possible that one could interact with the external world as an automaton, with no conscious awareness of it. The difference is the role of imagination, which I keep coming back to. All the material manifestations of our intellect are arguably a result of imagination.

One insight I gained from Ball, which goes slightly off-topic, is evidence that bees have an internal map of their environment, which is why the dance they perform on returning to the hive can be ‘understood’ by other bees. We’ve learned this by interfering in their behaviour. What I find interesting is that this may have been the original reason that consciousness evolved into the form that we experience it. In other words, we all create an internal world that reflects the external world so realistically, that we think it is the actual world. I believe that this also distinguishes us (and bees) from AI. An AI can use GPS to navigate its way through the physical world, as well as other so-called sensory data, from radar or infra-red sensors or whatever, but it doesn’t create an experience of that world inside itself.

The human mind seems to be able to access an abstract world, which we do when we read or watch a story, or even write one, as I have done. I can understand how Plato took this idea to its logical extreme: that there is an abstract world, of which the one we inhabit is but a facsimile (though he used different terminology). No one believes that today – except, there is a remnant of Plato’s abstract world that persists, which is mathematics. Many mathematicians and physicists (though not all) treat mathematics as a neverending landscape that humans have the unique capacity to explore and comprehend. This, of course, brings me back to Davies’ philosophical ruminations that I opened this discussion with. And as he, and others (like Einstein, Feynman, Wigner, Penrose, to name but a few) have pointed out: the Universe itself seems to follow specific laws that are intrinsically mathematical and which we are continually discovering.

And this closes another loop: that the Universe created the means to comprehend itself, using the medium of mathematics, without which, it has no meaning. Of purpose, we can only conjecture.