The mystery of reality

Many will say, ‘What mystery? Surely, reality just is.’ So, where to start? I’ll start with an essay by Raymond Tallis, who has a regular column in Philosophy Now called, Tallis in Wonderland – sometimes contentious, often provocative, always thought-expanding. His latest in Issue 157, Aug/Sep 2023 (new one must be due) is called Reflections on Reality, and it’s all of the above.
 
I’ve written on this topic many times before, so I’m sure to repeat myself. But Tallis’s essay, I felt, deserved both consideration and a response, partly because he starts with the one aspect of reality that we hardly ever ponder, which is doubting its existence.
 
Actually, not so much its existence, but whether our senses fool us, which they sometimes do, like when we dream (a point Tallis makes himself). And this brings me to the first point about reality that no one ever seems to discuss, and that is its dependence on consciousness, because when you’re unconscious, reality ceases to exist, for You. Now, you might argue that you’re unconscious when you dream, but I disagree; it’s just that your consciousness is misled. The point is that we sometimes remember our dreams, and I can’t see how that’s possible unless there is consciousness involved. If you think about it, everything you remember was laid down by a conscious thought or experience.
 
So, just to be clear, I’m not saying that the objective material world ceases to exist without consciousness – a philosophical position called idealism (advocated by Donald Hoffman) – but that the material objective world is ‘unknown’ and, to all intents and purposes, might as well not exist if it’s unperceived by conscious agents (like us). Try to imagine the Universe if no one observed it. It’s impossible, because the word, ‘imagine’, axiomatically requires a conscious agent.
 
Tallis proffers a quote from celebrated sci-fi author, Philip K Dick: 'Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away' (from The Shifting Realities of Philip K Dick, 1955). And this allows me to segue into the world of fiction, which Tallis doesn’t really discuss, but it’s another arena where we willingly ‘suspend disbelief' to temporarily and deliberately conflate reality with non-reality. This is something I have in common with Dick, because we have both created imaginary worlds that are more than distorted versions of the reality we experience every day; they’re entirely new worlds that no one has ever experienced in real life. But Dick’s aphorism expresses this succinctly. The so-called reality of these worlds, in these stories, only exist while we believe in them.
 
I’ve discussed elsewhere how the brain (not just human but animal brains, generally) creates a model of reality that is so ‘realistic’, we actually believe it exists outside our head.
 
I recently had a cataract operation, which was most illuminating when I took the bandage off, because my vision in that eye was so distorted, it made me feel sea sick. Everything had a lean to it and it really did feel like I was looking through a lens; I thought they had botched the operation. With both eyes open, it looked like objects were peeling apart. So I put a new eye patch on, and distracted myself for an hour by doing a Sudoku problem. When I had finished it, I took the patch off and my vision was restored. The brain had made the necessary adjustments to restore the illusion of reality as I normally interacted with it. And that’s the key point: the brain creates a model so accurately, integrating all our senses, but especially, sight, sound and touch, that we think the model is the reality. And all creatures have evolved that facility simply so they can survive; it’s a matter of life-and-death.
 
But having said all that, there are some aspects of reality that really do only exist in your mind, and not ‘out there’. Colour is the most obvious, but so is sound and smell, which all may be experienced differently by other species – how are we to know? Actually, we do know that some animals can hear sounds that we can’t and see colours that we don’t, and vice versa. And I contend that these sensory experiences are among the attributes that keep us distinct from AI.
 
Tallis makes a passing reference to Kant, who argued that space and time are also aspects of reality that are produced by the mind. I have always struggled to understand how Kant got that so wrong. Mind you, he lived more than a century before Einstein all-but proved that space and time are fundamental parameters of the Universe. Nevertheless, there are more than a few physicists who argue that the ‘flow of time’ is a purely psychological phenomenon. They may be right (but arguably for different reasons). If consciousness exists in a constant present (as expounded by Schrodinger) and everything else becomes the past as soon as it happens, then the flow of time is guaranteed for any entity with consciousness. However, many physicists (like Sabine Hossenfelder), if not most, argue that there is no ‘now’ – it’s an illusion.
 
Speaking of Schrodinger, he pointed out that there are fundamental differences between how we sense sight and sound, even though they are both waves. In the case of colour, we can blend them to get a new colour, and in fact, as we all know, all the colours we can see can be generated by just 3 colours, which is how the screens on all your devices work. However, that’s not the case with sound, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to distinguish all the different instruments in an orchestra. Just think: all the complexity is generated by a vibrating membrane (in the case of a speaker) and somehow our hearing separates it all. Of course, it can be done mathematically with a Fourier transform, but I don’t think that’s how our brains work, though I could be wrong.
 
And this leads me to discuss the role of science, and how it challenges our everyday experience of reality. Not surprisingly, Tallis also took his discussion in that direction. Quantum mechanics (QM) is the logical starting point, and Tallis references Bohr’s Copenhagen interpretation, ‘the view that the world has no definite state in the absence of observation.’ Now, I happen to think that there is a logical explanation for this, though I’m not sure anyone else agrees. If we go back to Schrodinger again, but this time his eponymous equation, it describes events before the ‘observation’ takes place, albeit with probabilities. What’s more, all the weird aspects of QM, like the Uncertainty Principle, superposition and entanglement, are all mathematically entailed in that equation. What’s missing is relativity theory, which has since been incorporated into QED or QFT.
 
But here’s the thing: once an observation or ‘measurement’ has taken place, Schrodinger’s equation no longer applies. In other words, you can’t use Schrodinger’s equation to describe something that has already happened. This is known as the ‘measurement problem’, because no one can explain it. But if QM only describes things that are yet to happen, then all the weird aspects aren’t so weird.
 
Tallis also mentions Einstein’s 'block universe', which infers past, present and future all exist simultaneously. In fact, that’s what Sabine Hossenfelder says in her book, Existential Physics:
 
The idea that the past and future exist in the same way as the present is compatible with all we currently know.
 
And:


Once you agree that anything exists now elsewhere, even though you see it only later, you are forced to accept that everything in the universe exists now. (Her emphasis.)
 
I’m not sure how she resolves this with cosmological history, but it does explain why she believes in superdeterminism (meaning the future is fixed), which axiomatically leads to her other strongly held belief that free will is an illusion; but so did Einstein, so she’s in good company.
 
In a passing remark, Tallis says, ‘science is entirely based on measurement’. I know from other essays that Tallis has written, that he believes the entire edifice of mathematics only exists because we can measure things, which we then applied to the natural world, which is why we have so-called ‘natural laws’. I’ve discussed his ideas on this elsewhere, but I think he has it back-to-front, whilst acknowledging that our ability to measure things, which is an extension of counting, is how humanity was introduced to mathematics. In fact, the ancient Greeks put geometry above arithmetic because it’s so physical. This is why there were no negative numbers in their mathematics, because the idea of a negative volume or area made no sense.
 
But, in the intervening 2 millennia, mathematics took on a life of its own, with such exotic entities like negative square roots and non-Euclidean geometry, which in turn suddenly found an unexpected home in QM and relativity theory respectively. All of a sudden, mathematics was informing us about reality before measurements were even made. Take Schrodinger’s wavefunction, which lies at the heart of his equation, and can’t be measured because it only exists in the future, assuming what I said above is correct.
 
But I think Tallis has a point, and I would argue that consciousness can’t be measured, which is why it might remain inexplicable to science, correlation with brain waves and their like notwithstanding.
 
So what is the mystery? Well, there’s more than one. For a start there is consciousness, without which reality would not be perceived or even be known, which seems to me to be pretty fundamental. Then there are the aspects of reality which have only recently been discovered, like the fact that time and space can have different ‘measurements’ dependent on the observer’s frame of reference. Then there is the increasing role of mathematics in our comprehension of reality at scales both cosmic and subatomic. In fact, given the role of numbers and mathematical relationships in determining fundamental constants and natural laws of the Universe, it would seem that mathematics is an inherent facet of reality.

 

Addendum:

As it happens, I wrote a letter to Philosophy Now on this topic, which they published, and also passed onto Raymond Tallis. As a consequence, we had a short correspondence - all very cordial and mutually respectful.

One of his responses can be found, along with my letter, under Letters, Issue 160. Scroll down to Lucky Guesses.
 

What is your philosophy of life and why?

This was a question I answered on Quora, and, without specifically intending to, I brought together 2 apparently unrelated topics. The reason I discuss language is because it’s so intrinsic to our identity, not only as a species, but as an individual within our species. I’ve written an earlier post on language (in response to a Philosophy Now question-of-the-month), which has a different focus, and I deliberately avoided referencing that.
 
A ‘philosophy of life’ can be represented in many ways, but my perspective is within the context of relationships, in all their variety and manifestations. It also includes a recurring theme of mine.

First of all, what does one mean by ‘philosophy of life? For some people, it means a religious or cultural way-of-life. For others it might mean a category of philosophy, like post-modernism or existentialism or logical positivism.
 
For me, it means a philosophy on how I should live, and on how I both look at and interact with the world. This is not only dependent on my intrinsic beliefs that I might have grown up with, but also on how I conduct myself professionally and socially. So it’s something that has evolved over time.
 
I think that almost all aspects of our lives are dependent on our interactions with others, which starts right from when we were born, and really only ends when we die. And the thing is that everything we do, including all our failures and successes occur in this context.
 
Just to underline the significance of this dependence, we all think in a language, and we all gain our language from our milieu at an age before we can rationally and critically think, especially compared to when we mature. In fact, language is analogous to software that gets downloaded from generation to generation, so that knowledge can also be passed on and accumulated over ages, which has given rise to civilizations and disciplines like science, mathematics and art.
 
This all sounds off-topic, but it’s core to who we are and it’s what distinguishes us from other creatures. Language is also key to our relationships with others, both socially and professionally. But I take it further, because I’m a storyteller and language is the medium I use to create a world inside your head, populated by characters who feel like real people and who interact in ways we find believable. More than any other activity, this illustrates how powerful language is.
 
But it’s the necessity of relationships in all their manifestations that determines how one lives one’s life. As a consequence, my philosophy of life centres around one core value and that is trust. Without trust, I believe I am of no value. But more than that, trust is the foundational value upon which a society either flourishes or devolves into a state of oppression with its antithesis, rebellion.
 

Oppenheimer and lessons for today

 I watched Chris Nolan’s 3hr movie, Oppenheimer, and then read the 600 page book it was based on, American Prometheus, by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin, which deservedly won a Pulitzer prize. Its subtitle is The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer, which really does sum up his life.
 
I think the movie should win a swag of Oscars, not just because of the leading actors, but the way the story was told. In the movie, the ‘triumph’ and the ‘tragedy’ are more-or-less told in parallel, using the clever device of colour for the ‘bomb’ story and black and white for the political story. From memory, the bomb is detonated at the 2hr mark and the remainder of the film focuses on what I’d call the ‘inquisition’, though ‘kangaroo court’ is possibly a more accurate description and is used at least once in the book by a contemporary commentator.
 
Despite its length, the book is a relatively easy read and is hard to put down, or at least it was for me – it really does read like a thriller in places.
 
It so happened that I followed it up with The Last Days of Socrates by Plato, and I couldn’t help but draw comparisons. Both were public figures who had political influence that wasn’t welcome or even tolerated in some circles.
 
I will talk briefly about Socrates, as I think its relevant, even though its 2400 years ago. Plato, of course, adopts Socrates’ perspective, and though I expect Plato was present at his trial, we don’t know how accurate a transcription it is. Nevertheless, the most interesting and informative part of the text is the section titled The Apology of Socrates (‘Socrates’ Defence’). Basically, Socrates argued that he had been the victim of what we would call a ‘smear campaign’ or even slander, and this is well and truly before social media, but perhaps they had something equivalent in Athens (4-300 BC). Socrates makes the point that he’s a private citizen, not a public figure, and says, …you can be quite sure, men of Athens, that if I’d set about a political career all those years ago, I’d long ago have come to a sticky end… Anyone who is really fighting for justice must live as a private citizen and not a public figure if he’s going to survive even a short time.
 
One of the reasons, if not the main reason, according to Plato, that Socrates accepted his fate was that he refused to change. Practicing philosophy in the way he did was, in effect, his essence.
 
The parallels with Oppenheimer, is that Oppenheimer publicly advocated policies that were not favourable among certain politicians and certainly not the military. But to appreciate this, one must see it in the political context of its time.
 
Firstly, one must understand that immediately after the second world war, most if not all the nations that had been involved, didn’t really have an appetite for another conflict, especially on that scale, let alone one involving nuclear weapons, which I believe, is how the cold war came to be.
 
If one looks at warfare through a historical lens, the side with a technological advantage invariably prevails. A good example is the Roman empire who could build roads, bridges and viaducts, all in the service of its armies.
 
So, there was a common view among the American military, as well as the politicians of the day, that, because they had the atomic bomb, they had a supreme technological superiority and all they had to do was keep the knowledge from the enemy.
 
Oppenheimer knew this was folly and was advocating an arms treaty with Russia decades before it became accepted. Not only Oppenheimer, but most scientists, knew that humanity would not survive a nuclear holocaust, but many politicians believed that the threat of a nuclear war was the only road to peace. For this reason, many viewed Oppenheimer as a very dangerous man. Oppenheimer opposed the hydrogen bomb because it was effectively a super-bomb that would make the atomic bomb look like a comparative non-event.
 
He also knew that the US Air Force had already circled which cities in Russia they would eliminate should another hot war start. Oppenheimer knew this was madness, and today there’s few people who would not agree with him. Hindsight is a remarkable facility.
 
On February 17 1953, Oppenheimer gave a speech in New York before an audience comprising a ‘closed meeting of the Council on Foreign Relations’, in which he attempted to relay the precarious state the world was in and the pivotal role that the US was playing, while all the time acknowledging that he was severely limited in what he could actually tell them. Here are some excerpts that give a flavour:

Looking a decade ahead, it is likely to be small comfort that the Soviet Union is four years behind us… the very least we can conclude is that our twenty-thousandth bomb… will not in any deep strategic sense offset their two-thousandth.
 
We have from the first, maintained that we should be free to use these weapons… [and] one ingredient of this plan is a rather rigid commitment to their use in a very massive, initial, unremitting strategic assault on the enemy.
 
Without putting it into actual words, Oppenheimer was spelling out America’s defence policy towards the Soviets at that time. What he couldn’t tell them was that this was the strategy of the Strategic Air Command – to obliterate scores of Russian cities in a genocidal air strike.
 
In his summing up, he said, We may anticipate a state of affairs in which the two Great Powers will each be in a position to put an end to civilization and life of the other, though not without risking its own.
 
He then gave this chilling analogy: We may be likened to two scorpions in a bottle, each capable of killing the other, but only at the risk of its own life.
 
This all happened against the backdrop and hysteria of McCarthyism, which Einstein compared to Nazi Germany. Oppenheimer, his wife and his brother all had links with the Communist party, though Oppenheimer distanced himself when he became aware of the barbaric excesses of Stalin’s Russia. The FBI had him under surveillance for much of his career, both during and after the war, and it was countless files of FBI wiretaps that was used in evidence against him, in his so-called hearing. They would have been inadmissible in a proper court of law, and in the hearing, his counsel was not allowed to access them because they were ‘classified’. There were 3 panel members and one of them, a Dr Evans, wrote a dissent, arguing that there was no new evidence, and that if Oppenheimer had been cleared in 1947, he was even less of a security risk in 1954.
 
After the ‘hearing’, media was divided, just like it would be today, and that’s its relevance to modern America. The schism was the left and right of politics and that schism is still there today, and possibly even deeper than it was then.
 
If one looks at the downfall of great people – I’m thinking Alan Turing and Galileo Galilei, not to mention Socrates – history judges them differently to how they were judged in their day, and that also goes for Oppenheimer. Hypatia is another who comes to mind, though she lived (and died) 400 AD. What all these have in common, other than being persecuted, is that they were ahead of their time. People will say the same about advocates for same-sex marriage, not to mention the Cassandras warning about climate change.

Addendum: I recently wrote a post on Quora that’s made me revisit this. Basically, I gave this as an example of when the world was on the brink of madness – specifically, the potential for nuclear Armageddon – and Oppenheimer was almost a lone voice in trying to warn people, while having neither the authority nor the legal right to do so.
 
It made me consider that we are now possibly on the brink of a different madness, that I referenced in my Quora post:
 
But the greatest harbinger of madness on the world stage is that the leading contender for the next POTUS is a twice-impeached, 4-times indicted ex-President. To quote Robert De Niro: “Democracy won’t survive the return of a wannabe dictator.” We are potentially about to enter an era where madness will reign in the most powerful nation in the world. It’s happened before, so we are well aware of the consequences. Trump may not lead us into a world war, but despots will thrive and alliances will deteriorate if not outright crumble.

Modes of thinking

 I’ve written a few posts on creative thinking as well as analytical and critical thinking. But, not that long ago, I read a not-so-recently published book (2015) by 2 psychologists (John Kounios and Mark Beeman) titled, The Eureka Factor; Creative Insights and the Brain. To quote from the back fly-leaf:
 
Dr John Kounios is Professor of Psychology at Drexel University and has published cognitive neuroscience research on insight, creativity, problem solving, memory, knowledge representation and Alzheimer’s disease.
 
Dr Mark Beeman is Professor of Psychology and Neuroscience at Northwestern University, and researches creative problem solving and creative cognition, language comprehension and how the right and left hemispheres process information.
 
They divide people into 2 broad groups: ‘Insightfuls’ and ‘analytical thinkers’. Personally, I think the coined term, ‘insightfuls’ is misleading or too narrow in its definition, and I prefer the term ‘creatives’. More on that below.
 
As the authors say, themselves, ‘People often use the terms “insight” and “creativity” interchangeably.’ So that’s obviously what they mean by the term. However, the dictionary definition of ‘insight’ is ‘an accurate and deep understanding’, which I’d argue can also be obtained by analytical thinking. Later in the book, they describe insights obtained by analytical thinking as ‘pseudo-insights’, and the difference can be ‘seen’ with neuro-imaging techniques.
 
All that aside, they do provide compelling arguments that there are 2 distinct modes of thinking that most of us experience. Very early in the book (in the preface, actually), they describe the ‘ah-ha’ experience that we’ve all had at some point, where we’re trying to solve a puzzle and then it comes to us unexpectedly, like a light-bulb going off in our head. They then relate something that I didn’t know, which is that neurological studies show that when we have this ‘insight’ there’s a spike in our brain waves and it comes from a location in the right hemisphere of the brain.
 
Many years ago (decades) I read a book called Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. I thought neuroscientists would disparage this as pop-science, but Kounios and Beeman seem to give it some credence. Later in the book, they describe this in more detail, where there are signs of activity in other parts of the brain, but the ah-ha experience has a unique EEG signature and it’s in the right hemisphere.
 
The authors distinguish this unexpected insightful experience from an insight that is a consequence of expertise. I made this point myself, in another post, where experts make intuitive shortcuts based on experience that the rest of us don’t have in our mental toolkits.
 
They also spend an entire chapter on examples involving a special type of insight, where someone spends a lot of time thinking about a problem or an issue, and then the solution comes to them unexpected. A lot of scientific breakthroughs follow this pattern, and the point is that the insight wouldn’t happen at all without all the rumination taking place beforehand, often over a period of weeks or months, sometimes years. I’ve experienced this myself, when writing a story, and I’ll return to that experience later.
 
A lot of what we’ve learned about the brain’s functions has come from studying people with damage to specific areas of the brain. You may have heard of a condition called ‘aphasia’, which is when someone develops a serious disability in language processing following damage to the left hemisphere (possibly from a stroke). What you probably don’t know (I didn’t) is that damage to the right hemisphere, while not directly affecting one’s ability with language can interfere with its more nuanced interpretations, like sarcasm or even getting a joke. I’ve long believed that when I’m writing fiction, I’m using the right hemisphere as much as the left, but it never occurred to me that readers (or viewers) need the right hemisphere in order to follow a story.
 
According to the authors, the difference between the left and right neo-cortex is one of connections. The left hemisphere has ‘local’ connections, whereas the right hemisphere has more widely spread connections. This seems to correspond to an ‘analytic’ ability in the left hemisphere, and a more ‘creative’ ability in the right hemisphere, where we make conceptual connections that are more wideranging. I’ve probably oversimplified that, but it was the gist I got from their exposition.
 
Like most books and videos on ‘creative thinking’ or ‘insights’ (as the authors prefer), they spend a lot of time giving hints and advice on how to improve your own creativity. It’s not until one is more than halfway through the book, in a chapter titled, The Insightful and the Analyst, that they get to the crux of the issue, and describe how there are effectively 2 different types who think differently, even in a ‘resting state’, and how there is a strong genetic component.
 
I’m not surprised by this, as I saw it in my own family, where the difference is very distinct. In another chapter, they describe the relationship between creativity and mental illness, but they don’t discuss how artists are often moody and neurotic, which is a personality trait. Openness is another personality trait associated with creative people. I would add another point, based on my own experience, if someone is creative and they are not creating, they can suffer depression. This is not discussed by the authors either.
 
Regarding the 2 types they refer to, they acknowledge there is a spectrum, and I can’t help but wonder where I sit on it. I spent a working lifetime in engineering, which is full of analytic types, though I didn’t work in a technical capacity. Instead, I worked with a lot of technical people of all disciplines: from software engineers to civil and structural engineers to architects, not to mention lawyers and accountants, because I worked on disputes as well.
 
The curious thing is that I was aware of 2 modes of thinking, where I was either looking at the ‘big-picture’ or looking at the detail. I worked as a planner, and one of my ‘tricks’ was the ability to distil a large and complex project into a one-page ‘Gantt’ chart (bar chart). For the individual disciplines, I’d provide a multipage detailed ‘program’ just for them.
 
Of course, I also write stories, where the 2 components are plot and character. Creating characters is purely a non-analytic process, which requires a lot of extemporising. I try my best not to interfere, and I do this by treating them as if they are real people, independent of me. Plotting, on the other hand, requires a big-picture approach, but I almost never know the ending until I get there. In the last story I wrote, I was in COVID lockdown when I knew the ending was close, so I wrote some ‘notes’ in an attempt to work out what happens. Then, sometime later (like a month), I had one sleepless night when it all came to me. Afterwards, I went back and looked at my notes, and they were all questions – I didn’t have a clue.

A philosophical school of thought with a 2500 year legacy

I’ve written about this before, but revisited it with a recent post I published on Quora in response to a question, where I didn’t provide the answer expected, but ended up giving a very brief history of philosophy as seen through the lens of science.
 
I’ve long contended that philosophy and science are joined at the hip, and one might extend the metaphor by saying the metaphysical bond is mathematics.
 
When I say a very brief history, what I mean is that I have selected a few specific figures, albeit historically prominent, who provide links in a 2500 year chain, while leaving out countless others. I explain how I see this as a ‘school of thought’, analogous to how some people might see a religion that also goes back centuries. The point is that we in the West have inherited this, and it’s determined the technological world that we currently live in, which would have been unimaginable even as recently as the renaissance or the industrial revolution, let alone in ancient Greece or Alexandria.
 
Which philosopher can you best relate yourself to?
 
It would take a certain hubris to claim that I relate to any philosopher whom I admire, but there are some whom I feel, not so much a kinship with, but an agreement in spirit and principle. Philosophers, like scientists and mathematicians, stand on the shoulders of those who went before.
 
I go back to Socrates because I think he was ahead of his time, and he effectively brought argument into philosophy, which is what separates it from dogma.
 
Plato was so influenced by Socrates that he gave us the ‘Socratic dialogue’ method of analysing an issue, whereby fictional characters (albeit with historical names) discuss hypotheticals in the form of arguments.
 
But Plato was also heavily influenced by Pythagorean philosophy, and even adopted its quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music for his famous Academy. This tradition was carried over to the famous school or Library of Alexandria, from which sprang such luminaries as Euclid, Eratosthenes, who famously ‘measured’ the circumference of the Earth (around 230BC) and Hypatia, the female mathematician, mentor to a Bishop and a Roman Prefect, as well as speaker in the Senate, who was killed for her sins by a Christian mob in 414AD.
 
Plato is most famously known for his cave allegory, whereby we observe shadows on a wall, without knowing that there is another reality beyond our kin, consequently called the Platonic realm. In later years, this was associated with the Christian ideal of ‘heaven’, but was otherwise considered an outdated notion.
 
Then, jumping forward a couple of centuries from Plato, we come to Kant, who inadvertently resurrected the idea with his concept of ‘transcendental idealism’. Kant famously postulated that there is a difference between what we observe and the ‘thing-in-itself’, which we may never know. I find this reminiscent of Plato’s cave analogy.
 
Even before Kant there was a scientific revolution led by Galileo, Kepler and Newton, who took Pythagorean ideals to a new level when they used geometry and a new mathematical method called calculus to describe the motions of the planets that had otherwise escaped a proper and consistent exposition.
 
Then came the golden age of physics that not only built on Newton, but also Faraday and Maxwell, whereby newly discovered mathematical tools like complex algebra and non-Euclidean geometry opened up a Pandora’s box called quantum mechanics and relativity theory, which have led the way for over a hundred years in our understanding of the infinitesimally small and the cosmologically large, respectively.
 
But here’s the thing: since the start of the last century, all our foundational theories have been led by mathematics rather than experimentation, though the latter is required to validate the former.
 
To quote Richard Feynman from a chapter in his book, The Character of Physical Law, titled, The Relation of Mathematics to Physics:


Physicists cannot make a conversation in any other language. If you want to learn about nature, to appreciate nature, it is necessary to understand the language that she speaks in. She offers her information only in one form.
 
And this leads me to conclude that Kant's ‘transcendental idealism’ is mathematics*, which has its roots going back to Plato and possibly Pythagoras before him.
 
In answer to the question, I don’t think there is any specific philosopher that I ‘best relate to’, but there is a school of thought going back 2500 years that I have an affinity for.
 
 
*Note: Kant didn’t know that most of mathematics is uncomputable and unknown.
 

Can relativity theory be reconciled with common sense?

 You might think I write enough posts on Einstein’s theories of relativity, including the last one, but this one is less esoteric. It arose from a question I answered on Quora. Like a lot of questions on Quora, it’s provocative and you wonder whether the questioner is serious or not.
 
Before I came up with the title, I rejected 2 others: Relativity theory for dummies (which seemed patronising) and Relativity explained without equations or twins (which is better). But I settled on the one above, because it contains a thought experiment, which does exactly that. It’s a thought experiment I’ve considered numerous times in the past, but never expressed in writing.
 
I feel that the post also deals with some misconceptions: that SR arose from the failure of the Michelson-Morley experiments to measure the aether, and that GR has no relationship to Newton’s theory of gravity.
 
If the theories of relativity are so "revolutionary," why are they so incompatible with the 'real' world? In others(sic), why are the theories based on multiple assumptions in mathematics rather than the physical world?
 
You got one thing right, which is ‘theories’ plural – there is the special theory (SR) and the general theory (GR). As for ‘multiple assumptions in mathematics’, there was really only one fundamental assumption and that determined the mathematical formulation of both theories, but SR in particular (GR followed 10 years later).
 
The fundamental assumption was that the speed of light, c, is the same for all observers irrespective of their frame of reference, so not dependent on how fast they’re travelling relative to someone else, or, more importantly, the source of the light. This is completely counter-intuitive but is true based on all observations, including from the far reaches of the Universe. Imagine if, as per our common sense view of the world, that light travelled slower from a source receding from us and faster from a source approaching us.
 
That means that observing a galaxy far far away, the spiral arm travelling away from us would become increasingly out-of-sync with the arm travelling towards us. It’s hard to come up with a more graphic illustration that SR is true. The alternative is that the galaxy arms are travelling through an aether that permeates all of space. This was the accepted view before Einstein’s ‘revolutionary’ idea.
 
True: Einstein’s idea was premised on mathematics (not observation), but the mathematics of Maxwell’s equations, which ‘predicts’ the constant speed of light and provides a value for it. As someone said (Heinrich Hertz): “we get more out of [these equations] than was originally put into them.”
 
But SR didn’t take into account gravity, which unlike the fictitious aether, does permeate the whole universe, so Einstein developed GR. This was a mathematical theory, so not based on empirical observations, but it had to satisfy 3 criteria, established by Einstein at the outset.
 
1)    It had to satisfy the conservation laws of energy, momentum and angular momentum
2)    It had to allow for the equivalence of gravitational and inertial mass.
3)    It had to reduce mathematically to Newton’s formula when relativistic effects were negligible.
 
Many people overlook the last one, when they claim that Einstein’s theory made Newton’s theory obsolete, when in fact, it extended it into realms it couldn’t compute. Likewise, Einstein’s theory also has limitations, yet to be resolved. Observations that confirmed the theory followed its mathematical formulation, which was probably a first in physics.

Note that the curvature of spacetime is a consequence of Einstein’s theory and not a presupposition, and was one of the earliest observational confirmations of said theory.
 
 
Source: The Road to Relativity; The History and Meaning of Einstein’s “The Foundation of General Relativity” (the original title of his paper) by Hanoch Gutfreund and Jurgen Renn.
 

Addendum: I elaborate on the relationship between Newton's and Einstein's theories on another post, in the context of How does science work?

The fabric of the Universe

Brian Greene wrote an excellent book with a similar title (The Fabric of the Cosmos) which I briefly touched on here. Basically, it’s space and time, and the discipline of physics can’t avoid it. In fact, if you add mass and charge, you’ve got the whole gamut that we’re aware of. I know there’s the standard model along with dark energy and dark matter, but as someone said, if you throw everything into a black hole, the only thing you know about it is its mass, charge and angular momentum. Which is why they say, ‘a black hole has no hair.’ That was before Stephen Hawking applied the laws of thermodynamics and quantum mechanics and came up with Hawking radiation, but I’ve gone off-track, so I’ll come back to the topic-at-hand.
 
I like to tell people that I read a lot of books by people a lot smarter than me, and one of those books that I keep returning to is The Constants of Nature by John D Barrow. He makes a very compelling case that the only Universe that could be both stable and predictable enough to support complex life would be one with 3 dimensions of space and 1 of time. A 2-dimensional universe means that any animal with a digestive tract (from mouth to anus) would fall apart. Only a 3-dimensional universe allows planets to maintain orbits for millions of years. As Barrow points out in his aforementioned tome, Einstein’s friend, Paul Ehrenfest (1890-1933) was able to demonstrate this mathematically. It’s the inverse square law of gravity that keeps planets in orbit and that’s a direct consequence of everything happening in 3 dimensions. Interestingly, Kant thought it was the other way around – that 3 dimensions were a consequence of Newton’s universal law of gravity being an inverse square law. Mind you, Kant thought that both space and time were a priori concepts that only exist in the mind:
 
But this space and this time, and with them all appearances, are not in themselves things; they are nothing but representations and cannot exist outside our minds.
 
And this gets to the nub of the topic alluded to in the title of this post: are space and time ‘things’ that are fundamental to everything else we observe?
 
I’ll start with space, because, believe it or not, there is an argument among physicists that space is not an entity per se, but just dimensions between bodies that we measure. I’m going to leave aside, for the time being, that said ‘measurements’ can vary from observer to observer, as per Einstein’s special theory of relativity (SR).
 
This argument arises because we know that the Universe is expanding (by measuring the Doppler-shift of stars); but does space itself expand or is it just objects moving apart? In another post, I referenced a paper by Tamara M. Davis and Charles H. Lineweaver from UNSW (Expanding Confusion: Common Misconceptions of Cosmological Horizons and the Superluminal Expansion of the Universe), which I think puts an end to this argument, when they explain the difference between an SR and GR Doppler shift interpretation of an expanding universe.
 
The general relativistic interpretation of the expansion interprets cosmological redshifts as an indication of velocity since the proper distance between comoving objects increases. However, the velocity is due to the rate of expansion of space, not movement through space, and therefore cannot be calculated with the special relativistic Doppler shift formula. (My emphasis)
 
I’m now going to use a sleight-of-hand and attempt a description of GR (general theory of relativity) without gravity, based on my conclusion from their exposition.
 
The Universe has a horizon that’s directly analogous to the horizon one observes at sea, because it ‘moves’ as the observer moves. In other words, other hypothetical ‘observers’ in other parts of the Universe would observe a different horizon to us, including hypothetical observers who are ‘over-the-horizon’ relative to us.
 
But the horizon of the Universe is a direct consequence of bodies (or space) moving faster-than-light (FTL) over the horizon, as expounded upon in detail in Davis’s and Lineweaver’s paper. But here’s the thing: if you were an observer on one of these bodies moving FTL relative to Earth, the speed of light would still be c. How is that possible? My answer is that the light travels at c relative to the ‘space’* (in which it’s observed), but the space itself can travel faster than light.
 
There are, of course, other horizons in the Universe, which are event horizons of black holes. Now, you have the same dilemma at these horizons as you do at the Universe’s horizon. According to an external observer, time appears to ‘stop’ at the event horizon, because the light emitted by an object can’t reach us. However, for an observer at the event horizon, the speed of light is still c, and if the black hole is big enough, it’s believed (obviously no one can know) that someone could cross the event horizon without knowing they had. But what if it’s spacetime that crosses the event horizon? Then both the external observer’s perception and the comoving observer’s perception would be no different if the latter was at the horizon of the entire universe.
 
But what happens to time? Well, if you measure time by the frequency of light being emitted from an object at any of these horizons, it gets Doppler-shifted to zero, so time ‘stops’ for the ‘local’ observer (on Earth) but not for the observer at the horizon.
 
So far, I’ve avoided talking about quantum mechanics (QM), but something curious happens when you apply QM to cosmology: time disappears. According to Paul Davies in The Goldilocks Enigma: ‘…vanishing of time for the entire universe becomes very explicit in quantum cosmology, where the time variable simply drops out of the quantum description.’ This is consistent with Freeman Dyson’s argument that QM can only describe the future. Thus, if you apply a description of the future to the entire cosmos, there would be no time.
 
 
* Note: you can still apply SR within that ‘space’.

 

Addendum: I've since learned that in 1958, David Finkelstein (a postdoc with the Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken, New Jersey) wrote an article in Physical Review that gave the same explanation for how time appears different to different observers of a black hole, as I do above. It immediately grabbed the attention (and approval) of Oppenheimer, Wheeler and Penrose (among others), who had struggled to resolve this paradox. (Ref. Black Holes And Time Warps; Einstein's Outrageous Legacy, Kip S. Thorne, 1994)
 

Consciousness, free will, determinism, chaos theory – all connected

 I’ve said many times that philosophy is all about argument. And if you’re serious about philosophy, you want to be challenged. And if you want to be challenged you should seek out people who are both smarter and more knowledgeable than you. And, in my case, Sabine Hossenfelder fits the bill.
 
When I read people like Sabine, and others whom I interact with on Quora, I’m aware of how limited my knowledge is. I don’t even have a university degree, though I’ve attempted a number of times. I’ve spent my whole life in the company of people smarter than me, including at school. Believe it or not, I still have occasional contact with them, through social media and school reunions. I grew up in a small rural town, where the people you went to school with feel like siblings.
 
Likewise, in my professional life, I have always encountered people cleverer than me – it provides perspective.
 
In her book, Existential Physics; A Scientist’s Guide to Life’s Biggest Questions, Sabine interviews people who are possibly even smarter than she is, and I sometimes found their conversations difficult to follow. To be fair to Sabine, she also sought out people who have different philosophical views to her, and also have the intellect to match her.
 
I’m telling you all this to put things in perspective. Sabine has her prejudices like everyone else, some of which she defends better than others. I concede that my views are probably more simplistic than hers, and I support my challenges with examples that are hopefully easy to follow. Our points of disagreement can be distilled down to a few pertinent topics, which are time, consciousness, free will and chaos. Not surprisingly, they are all related – what you believe about one, affects what you believe about the others.
 
Sabine is very strict about what constitutes a scientific theory. She argues that so-called theories like the multiverse have ‘no explanatory power’, because they can’t be verified or rejected by evidence, and she calls them ‘ascientific’. She’s critical of popularisers like Brian Cox who tell us that there could be an infinite number of ‘you(s)’ in an infinite multiverse. She distinguishes between beliefs and knowledge, which is a point I’ve made myself. Having said that, I’ve also argued that beliefs matter in science. She puts all interpretations of quantum mechanics (QM) in this category. She keeps emphasising that it doesn’t mean they are wrong, but they are ‘ascientific’. It’s part of the distinction that I make between philosophy and science, and why I perceive science as having a dialectical relationship with philosophy.
 
I’ll start with time, as Sabine does, because it affects everything else. In fact, the first chapter in her book is titled, Does The Past Still Exist? Basically, she argues for Einstein’s ‘block universe’ model of time, but it’s her conclusion that ‘now is an illusion’ that is probably the most contentious. This critique will cite a lot of her declarations, so I will start with her description of the block universe:
 
The idea that the past and future exist in the same way as the present is compatible with all we currently know.
 
This viewpoint arises from the fact that, according to relativity theory, simultaneity is completely observer-dependent. I’ve discussed this before, whereby I argue that for an observer who is moving relative to a source, or stationary relative to a moving source, like the observer who is standing on the platform of Einstein’s original thought experiment, while a train goes past, knows this because of the Doppler effect. In other words, an observer who doesn’t see a Doppler effect is in a privileged position, because they are in the same frame of reference as the source of the signal. This is why we know the Universe is expanding with respect to us, and why we can work out our movement with respect to the CMBR (cosmic microwave background radiation), hence to the overall universe (just think about that).
 
Sabine clinches her argument by drawing a spacetime diagram, where 2 independent observers moving away from each other, observe a pulsar with 2 different simultaneities. One, who is traveling towards the pulsar, sees the pulsar simultaneously with someone’s birth on Earth, while the one travelling away from the pulsar sees it simultaneously with the same person’s death. This is her slam-dunk argument that ‘now’ is an illusion, if it can produce such a dramatic contradiction.
 
However, I drew up my own spacetime diagram of the exact same scenario, where no one is travelling relative to anyone one else, yet create the same apparent contradiction.

 My diagram follows the convention in that the horizontal axis represents space (all 3 dimensions) and the vertical axis represents time. So the 4 dotted lines represent 4 observers who are ‘stationary’ but ‘travelling through time’ (vertically). As per convention, light and other signals are represented as diagonal lines of 45 degrees, as they are travelling through both space and time, and nothing can travel faster than them. So they also represent the ‘edge’ of their light cones.
 
So notice that observer A sees the birth of Albert when he sees the pulsar and observer B sees the death of Albert when he sees the pulsar, which is exactly the same as Sabine’s scenario, with no relativity theory required. Albert, by the way, for the sake of scalability, must have lived for thousands of years, so he might be a tree or a robot.
 
But I’ve also added 2 other observers, C and D, who see the pulsar before Albert is born and after Albert dies respectively. But, of course, there’s no contradiction, because it’s completely dependent on how far away they are from the sources of the signals (the pulsar and Earth).
 
This is Sabine’s perspective:
 
Once you agree that anything exists now elsewhere, even though you see it only later, you are forced to accept that everything in the universe exists now. (Her emphasis.)
 
I actually find this statement illogical. If you take it to its logical conclusion, then the Big Bang exists now and so does everything in the universe that’s yet to happen. If you look at the first quote I cited, she effectively argues that the past and future exist alongside the present.
 
One of the points she makes is that, for events with causal relationships, all observers see the events happening in the same sequence. The scenario where different observers see different sequences of events have no causal relationships. But this begs a question: what makes causal events exceptional? What’s more, this is fundamental, because the whole of physics is premised on the principle of causality. In addition, I fail to see how you can have causality without time. In fact, causality is governed by the constant speed of light – it’s literally what stops everything from happening at once.
 
Einstein also believed in the block universe, and like Sabine, he argued that, as a consequence, there is no free will. Sabine is adamant that both ‘now’ and ‘free will’ are illusions. She argues that the now we all experience is a consequence of memory. She quotes Carnap that our experience of ‘past, present and future can be described and explained by psychology’ – a point also made by Paul Davies. Basically, she argues that what separates our experience of now from the reality of no-now (my expression, not hers) is our memory.
 
Whereas, I think she has it back-to-front, because, as I’ve pointed out before, without memory, we wouldn’t know we are conscious. Our brains are effectively a storage device that allows us to have a continuity of self through time, otherwise we would not even be aware that we exist. Memory doesn’t create the sense of now; it records it just like a photograph does. The photograph is evidence that the present becomes the past as soon as it happens. And our thoughts become memories as soon as they happen, otherwise we wouldn’t know we think.
 
Sabine spends an entire chapter on free will, where she persistently iterates variations on the following mantra:
 
The future is fixed except for occasional quantum events that we cannot influence.
 
But she acknowledges that while the future is ‘fixed’, it’s not predictable. And this brings us to chaos theory. Sabine discusses chaos late in the book and not in relation to free will. She explicates what she calls the ‘real butterfly effect’.
 
The real butterfly effect… means that even arbitrarily precise initial data allow predictions for only a finite amount of time. A system with this behaviour would be deterministic and yet unpredictable.
 
Now, if deterministic means everything physically manifest has a causal relationship with something prior, then I agree with her. If she means that therefore ‘the future is fixed’, I’m not so sure, and I’ll explain why. By specifying ‘physically manifest’, I’m excluding thoughts and computer algorithms that can have an effect on something physical, whereas the cause is not so easily determined. For example, In the case of the algorithm, does it go back to the coder who wrote it?
 
My go-to example for chaos is tossing coins, because it’s so easy to demonstrate and it’s linked to probability theory, as well as being the very essence of a random event. One of the key, if not definitive, features of a chaotic phenomenon is that, if you were to rerun it, you’d get a different result, and that’s fundamental to probability theory – every coin toss is independent of any previous toss – they are causally independent. Unrepeatability is common among chaotic systems (like the weather). Even the Earth and Moon were created from a chaotic event.
 
I recently read another book called Quantum Physics Made Me Do It by Jeremie Harris, who argues that tossing a coin is not random – in fact, he’s very confident about it. He’s not alone. Mark John Fernee, a physicist with Qld Uni, in a personal exchange on Quora argued that, in principle, it should be possible to devise a robot to perform perfectly predictable tosses every time, like a tennis ball launcher. But, as another Quora contributor and physicist, Richard Muller, pointed out: it’s not dependent on the throw but the surface it lands on. Marcus du Sautoy makes the same point about throwing dice and provides evidence to support it.
 
Getting back to Sabine. She doesn’t discuss tossing coins, but she might think that the ‘imprecise initial data’ is the actual act of tossing, and after that the outcome is determined, even if can’t be predicted. However, the deterministic chain is broken as soon as it hits a surface.
 
Just before she gets to chaos theory, she talks about computability, with respect to Godel’s Theorem and a discussion she had with Roger Penrose (included in the book), where she says:
 
The current laws of nature are computable, except for that random element from quantum mechanics.
 
Now, I’m quoting this out of context, because she then argues that if they were uncomputable, they open the door to unpredictability.
 
My point is that the laws of nature are uncomputable because of chaos theory, and I cite Ian Stewart’s book, Does God Play Dice? In fact, Stewart even wonders if QM could be explained using chaos (I don’t think so). Chaos theory has mathematical roots, because not only are the ‘initial conditions’ of a chaotic event impossible to measure, they are impossible to compute – you have to calculate to infinite decimal places. And this is why I disagree with Sabine that the ‘future is fixed’.
 
It's impossible to discuss everything in a 223 page book on a blog post, but there is one other topic she raises where we disagree, and that’s the Mary’s Room thought experiment. As she explains it was proposed by philosopher, Frank Jackson, in 1982, but she also claims that he abandoned his own argument. After describing the experiment (refer this video, if you’re not familiar with it), she says:
 
The flaw in this argument is that it confuses knowledge about the perception of colour with the actual perception of it.
 
Whereas, I thought the scenario actually delineated the difference – that perception of colour is not the same as knowledge. A person who was severely colour-blind might never have experienced the colour red (the specified colour in the thought experiment) but they could be told what objects might be red. It’s well known that some animals are colour-blind compared to us and some animals specifically can’t discern red. Colour is totally a subjective experience. But I think the Mary’s room thought experiment distinguishes the difference between human perception and AI. An AI can be designed to delineate colours by wavelength, but it would not experience colour the way we do. I wrote a separate post on this.
 
Sabine gives the impression that she thinks consciousness is a non-issue. She talks about the brain like it’s a computer.
 
You feel you have free will, but… really, you’re running a sophisticated computation on your neural processor.
 
Now, many people, including most scientists, think that, because our brains are just like computers, then it’s only a matter of time before AI also shows signs of consciousness. Sabine doesn’t make this connection, even when she talks about AI. Nevertheless, she discusses one of the leading theories of neuroscience (IIT, Information Integration Theory), based on calculating the amount of information processed, which gives a number called phi (Φ). I came across this when I did an online course on consciousness through New Scientist, during COVID lockdown. According to the theory, this number provides a ‘measure of consciousness’, which suggests that it could also be used with AI, though Sabine doesn’t pursue that possibility.
 
Instead, Sabine cites an interview in New Scientist with Daniel Bor from the University of Cambridge: “Phi should decrease when you go to sleep or are sedated… but work in Bor’s laboratory has shown that it doesn’t.”
 
Sabine’s own view:
 
Personally, I am highly skeptical that any measure consisting of a single number will ever adequately represent something as complex as human consciousness.
 
Sabine discusses consciousness at length, especially following her interview with Penrose, and she gives one of the best arguments against panpsychism I’ve read. Her interview with Penrose, along with a discussion on Godel’s Theorem, which is another topic, discusses whether consciousness is computable or not. I don’t think it is and I don’t think it’s algorithmic.
 
She makes a very strong argument for reductionism: that the properties we observe of a system can be understood from studying the properties of its underlying parts. In other words, that emergent properties can be understood in terms of the properties that it emerges from. And this includes consciousness. I’m one of those who really thinks that consciousness is the exception. Thoughts can cause actions, which is known as ‘agency’.
 
I don’t claim to understand consciousness, but I’m not averse to the idea that it could exist outside the Universe – that it’s something we tap into. This is completely ascientific, to borrow from Sabine. As I said, our brains are storage devices and sometimes they let us down, and, without which, we wouldn’t even know we are conscious. I don’t believe in a soul. I think the continuity of the self is a function of memory – just read The Lost Mariner chapter in Oliver Sacks’ book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat. It’s about a man suffering from retrograde amnesia, so his life is stuck in the past because he’s unable to create new memories.
 
At the end of her book, Sabine surprises us by talking about religion, and how she agrees with Stephen Jay Gould ‘that religion and science are two “nonoverlapping magisteria!”. She makes the point that a lot of scientists have religious beliefs but won’t discuss them in public because it’s taboo.
 
I don’t doubt that Sabine has answers to all my challenges.
 
There is one more thing: Sabine talks about an epiphany, following her introduction to physics in middle school, which started in frustration.
 
Wasn’t there some minimal set of equations, I wanted to know, from which all the rest could be derived?
 
When the principle of least action was introduced, it was a revelation: there was indeed a procedure to arrive at all these equations! Why hadn’t anybody told me?
 
The principle of least action is one concept common to both the general theory of relativity and quantum mechanics. It’s arguably the most fundamental principle in physics. And yes, I posted on that too.

 

Immortality; from the Pharaohs to cryonics

 I thought the term was cryogenics, but a feature article in the Weekend Australian Magazine (27-28 May 2023) calls the facilities that perform this process, cryonics, and looking up my dictionary, there is a distinction. Cryogenics is about low temperature freezing in general, and cryonics deals with the deep-freezing of bodies specifically, with the intention of one day reviving them.
 
The article cites a few people, but the author, Ross Bilton, features an Australian, Peter Tsolakides, who is in my age group. From what the article tells me, he’s a software engineer who has seen many generations of computer code and has also been a ‘globe-trotting executive for ExxonMobil’.
 
He’s one of the drivers behind a cryonic facility in Australia – its first – located at Holbrook, which is roughly halfway between Melbourne and Sydney. In fact, I often stop at Holbrook for a break and meal on my interstate trips. According to my car’s odometer it is almost exactly half way between my home and my destination, which is a good hour short of Sydney, so it’s actually closer to Melbourne, but not by much.
 
I’m not sure when Tsolakides plans to enter the facility, but he’s forecasting his resurrection in around 250 years time, when he expects he may live for another thousand years. Yes, this is science fiction to most of us, but there are some science facts that provide some credence to this venture.
 
For a start, we already cryogenically freeze embryos and sperm, and we know it works for them. There is also the case of Ewa Wisnierska, 35, a German paraglider taking part in an international competition in Australia, when she was sucked into a storm and elevated to 9947 metres (jumbo jet territory, and higher than Everest). Needless to say, she lost consciousness and spent a frozen 45 mins before she came back to Earth. Quite a miracle and I’ve watched a doco on it. She made a full recovery and was back at her sport within a couple of weeks. And I know of other cases, where the brain of a living person has been frozen to keep them alive, as counter-intuitive as that may sound.
 
Believe it or not, scientists are divided on this, or at least cautious about dismissing it outright. Many take the position, ‘Never say never’. And I think that’s fair enough, because it really is impossible to predict the future when it comes to humanity. It’s not surprising that advocates, like Tsolakides, can see a future where this will become normal for most humans. People who decline immortality will be the exception and not the norm. And I can imagine, if this ‘procedure’ became successful and commonplace, who would say no?
 
Now, I write science fiction, and I have written a story where a group of people decided to create an immortal human race, who were part machine. It’s a reflection of my own prejudices that I portrayed this as a dystopia, but I could have done the opposite.
 
There may be an assumption that if you write science fiction then you are attempting to predict the future, but I make no such claim. My science fiction is complete fantasy, but, like all science fiction, it addresses issues relevant to the contemporary society in which it was created.
 
Getting back to the article in the Weekend Australian, there is an aspect of this that no one addressed – not directly, anyway. There’s no point in cheating death if you can’t cheat old age. In the case of old age, you are dealing with a fundamental law of the Universe, entropy, the second law of thermodynamics. No one asked the obvious question: how do you expect to live for 1,000 years without getting dementia?
 
I think some have thought about this, because, in the same article, they discuss the ultimate goal of downloading their memories and their thinking apparatus (for want of a better term) into a computer. I’ve written on this before, so I won’t go into details.
 
Curiously, I’m currently reading a book by Sabine Hossenfelder called Existential Physics; A Scientist’s Guide to Life’s Biggest Questions, which you would think could not possibly have anything to say on this topic. Nevertheless:
 
The information that makes you you can be encoded in many different physical forms. The possibility that you might one day upload yourself to a computer and continue living a virtual life is arguably beyond present-day technology. It might sound entirely crazy, but it’s compatible with all we currently know.
 
I promise to write another post on Sabine’s book, because she’s nothing if not thought-provoking.
 
So where do I stand? I don’t want immortality – I don’t even want a gravestone, and neither did my father. I have no dependents, so I won’t live on in anyone’s memory. The closest I’ll get to immortality are the words on this blog.

Philosophy’s 2 disparate strands: what can we know; how can we live

The question I’d like to ask, is there a philosophical view that encompasses both? Some may argue that Aristotle attempted that, but I’m going to take a different approach.
 
For a start, the first part can arguably be broken into 2 further strands: physics and metaphysics. And even this divide is contentious, with some arguing that metaphysics is an ‘abstract theory with no basis in reality’ (one dictionary definition).
 
I wrote an earlier post arguing that we are ‘metaphysical animals’ after discussing a book of the same name, though it was really a biography of 4 Oxford women in the 20th Century: Elizabeth Anscombe, Mary Midgley, Philippa Foot and Iris Murdoch. But I’ll start with this quote from said book.
 
Poetry, art, religion, history, literature and comedy are all metaphysical tools. They are how metaphysical animals explore, discover and describe what is real (and beautiful and good). (My emphasis.)
 
So, arguably, metaphysics could give us a connection between the 2 ‘strands’ in the title. Now here’s the thing: I contend that mathematics should be part of that list, hence part of metaphysics. And, of course, we all know that mathematics is essential to physics as an epistemology. So physics and metaphysics, in my philosophy, are linked in a rather intimate  way.
 
The curious thing about mathematics, or anything metaphysical for that matter, is that, without human consciousness, they don’t really exist, or are certainly not manifest. Everything on that list is a product of human consciousness, notwithstanding that there could be other conscious entities somewhere in the universe with the same capacity.
 
But again, I would argue that mathematics is an exception. I agree with a lot of mathematicians and physicists that while we create the symbols and language of mathematics, we don’t create the intrinsic relationships that said language describes. And furthermore, some of those relationships seem to govern the universe itself.
 
And completely relevant to the first part of this discussion, the limits of our knowledge of mathematics seems to determine the limits of our knowledge of the physical world.
 
I’ve written other posts on how to live, specifically, 3 rules for humans and How should I live? But I’m going to go via metaphysics again, specifically storytelling, because that’s something I do. Storytelling requires an inner and outer world, manifest as character and plot, which is analogous to free will and fate in the real world. Now, even these concepts are contentious, especially free will, because many scientists tell us it’s an illusion. Again, I’ve written about this many times, but it’s relevance to my approach to fiction is that I try and give my characters free will. An important part of my fiction is that the characters are independent of me. If my characters don’t take on a life of their own, then I know I’m wasting my time, and I’ll ditch that story.
 
Its relevance to ‘how to live’ is authenticity. Artists understand better than most the importance of authenticity in their work, which really means keeping themselves out of it. But authenticity has ramifications, as any existentialist will tell you. To live authentically requires an honesty to oneself that is integral to one’s being. And ‘being’ in this sense is about being human rather than its broader ontological meaning. In other words, it’s a fundamental aspect of our psychology, because it evolves and changes according to our environment and milieu. Also, in the world of fiction, it's a fundamental dynamic.
 
What's more, if you can maintain this authenticity (and it’s genuine), then you gain people’s trust, and that becomes your currency, whether in your professional life or your social life. However, there is nothing more fake than false authenticity; examples abound.
 
I’ll give the last word to Socrates; arguably the first existentialist.
 
To live with honour in this world, actually be what you try to appear to be.

Can philosophy be an antidote to dogma?

 This is similar to another post I wrote recently, both of which are answers to questions I found on Quora. The reason I’m posting this is because I think it’s better than the previous one. Not surprisingly, it also references Socrates and the role of argument in philosophical discourse.
 
What qualities are needed to be a good philosopher?
 
I expect you could ask 100 different philosophers and get 100 different answers. Someone (Gregory Scott), in answer to a similar question, claimed that everyone is a philosopher, but not necessarily a good one.
 
I will suggest 2 traits that I try to cultivate in myself: to be intellectually curious and to be analytical. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
 
For a start, there are many ‘branches’ or categories of philosophy: epistemology and ethics, being the best known and most commonly associated with philosophy. Some might include ontology as well, which has a close relationship with epistemology, like 2 sides of the same coin. There is also logic and aesthetics but then the discussion becomes interminable.
 
But perhaps the best way to answer this question is to look at philosophers you admire and ask yourself, what qualities do they possess that merit your admiration?
 
Before I answer that for myself, I’m going to provide some context. Sandy Grant (philosopher at the University of Cambridge) published an essay titled Dogmas (Philosophy Now, Issue 127, Aug/Sep 2018), whereby she points out the pitfalls of accepting points of view on ‘authority’ without affording them critical analysis. And I would argue that philosophy is an antidote to dogma going back to Socrates, who famously challenged the ‘dogmas’ of his day. Prior to Socrates, philosophy was very prescriptive where you followed someone’s sayings, be they from the Bible, or Confucius or the Upanishads. Socrates revolutionary idea was to introduce argument, and philosophy has been based on argument ever since.
 
Socrates is famously attributed with the saying, The unexamined life is not worth living, which he apparently said before he was forced to take his own life. But there is another saying attributed to Socrates, which is more germane, given the context of his death.
 
To live with honour in this world, actually be what you try to appear to be.
 
Socrates also acquitted himself well in battle, apparently, so he wasn’t afraid of dying for a cause and a principle. Therefore, I would include integrity as the ‘quality’ of a good person, let alone a philosopher.
 
We currently live in an age where the very idea of truth is questioned, whether it be in the realm of science or politics or media. Which is why I think that critical thinking is essential, whereby one looks at evidence and the expertise behind that evidence. I’ve spent a working lifetime in engineering, where, out of necessity, one looks to expertise that one doesn’t have oneself. Trust has gone AWOL in our current social media environment and the ability to analyse without emotion and ideology is paramount. To accept evidence when it goes against your belief system is the mark of a good philosopher. Evidence is the keystone to scientific endeavour and also in administering justice. But perhaps the greatest quality required of a philosopher is to admit, I don’t know, which is also famously attributed to Socrates.

From Plato to Kant to physics

 I recently wrote a post titled Kant and modern physics, plus I’d written a much more extensive essay on Kant previously, as well as an essay on Plato, whose famous Academy was arguably the origin of Western philosophy, science and mathematics.
 
This is in answer to a question on Quora. The first thing I did was turn the question inside out or upside down, as I explain in the opening paragraph. It was upvoted by Kip Wheeler, who describes himself as “Been teaching medieval stuff at Uni since 1993.” He provided his own answer to the same question, giving a contrary response to mine, so I thought his upvote very generous.
 
There are actually a lot of answers on Quora addressing this theme, and I only reference one of them. But, as far as I can tell, I’m the only one who links Plato to Kant to modern physics.
 
Why could Plato's theory of forms not help us to know things better?
 
I think this question is back-to-front. If you change ‘could’ to ‘would’ and eliminate ‘not’, the question makes more sense – at least, to me. Nevertheless, it ‘could… not help us to know things better’ if it’s misconstrued or if it’s merely considered a religious artefact with no relevance to contemporary epistemology.
 
There are some good answers to similar questions, with Paul Robinson’s answer to Is Plato’s “Theory of Ideas” True? being among the more erudite and scholarly. I won’t attempt to emulate him, but take a different tack using a different starting point, which is more widely known.
 
Robinson, among others, makes reference to Plato’s famous shadows on the wall of a cave allegory (or analogy in modern parlance), and that’s a good place to start. Basically, the shadows represent our perceptions of reality whilst ‘true’ reality remains unknown to us. Plato believed that there was a world of ‘forms’, which were perfect compared to the imperfect world we inhabit. This is similar to the Christian idea of Heaven as distinct from Earth, hence the religious connotation, which is still referenced today.
 
But there is another way to look at this, which is closer to Kant’s idea of the thing-in-itself. Basically, we may never know the true nature of something just based on our perceptions, and I’d contend that modern science, especially physics, has proved Kant correct, specifically in ways he couldn’t foresee.
 
That’s partly because we now have instruments and technologies that can change what we can perceive at all scales, from the cosmological to the infinitesimal. But there’s another development which has happened apace and contributed to both the technology and the perception in a self-reinforcing dialectic between theory and observation. I’m talking about physics, which is arguably the epitome of epistemological endeavour.
 
And the key to physics is mathematics, only there appears to be more mathematics than we need. Ever since the Scientific Revolution, mathematics has proven fundamental in our quest for the elusive thing-in-itself. And this has resulted in a resurgence in the idea of a Platonic realm, only now it’s exclusive to mathematics. I expect Plato would approve, since his famous Academy was based on Pythagoras’s quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music, all of which involve mathematics.

Finding purpose without a fortune teller

 I just started watching a show on Apple TV+ called The Big Door Prize, starring Irish actor, Chris O’Dowd, set in suburban America (Deerfield). It’s listed as a comedy, but it might be a black comedy or a satire; I haven’t watched it long enough to judge.
 
It has an interesting premise: the local store has a machine, which, for small change, will tell you what your ‘potential’ is. Not that surprisingly, people start queuing up to find their potential (or purpose). I say, ‘not surprising’, because people consult Tarot cards or the I Ching for the same reason, not to mention weekly astrological charts found in the local newspaper, magazine or whatever. And of course, if the ‘reading’ coincides with our specific desire or wish, we wholeheartedly agree, whereas, if it doesn’t, we dismiss it as rubbish.
 
I’ve written previously about the importance of finding purpose, and, in fact, it’s considered necessary for one’s psychological health. But this is a subtly different take on it, prompted by the aforementioned premise. I have the advantage of over half a century of hindsight because I think I found my purpose late, yet it was hiding in plain sight all along.
 
We sometimes think of our purpose as a calling or vocation. In my case, I believe it was to be a writer. Now, even though I’m not a successful writer by any stretch of the imagination, the fact that I do write is important to me. It gives me a sense of purpose that I don’t find in my job or my relationships, even though they are all important to me. I don’t often agree with Jordan Peterson, but he once made the comment that creative people who don’t create are like ‘broken sticks’. I totally identify with that.
 
I only have to look to my early childhood (pre-high school) when I started to write stories and draw my own superheroes. But as a teenager and a young adult (in my 20s), I found I couldn’t write to save myself, including essays (like I write on this blog), let alone attempts at fiction. But here’s the thing: when I did start writing fiction, I knew it was terrible – so terrible, I didn’t even tell anyone – yet I persevered because I ‘knew’ that I could. And I think that’s the key point: if you have a purpose, you can visualise it even when everything you’re doing tells you that you should give it up.
 
So, you don’t need a ‘machine’ or Tarot cards, just self-belief. Purpose comes to those who look for it, and know it when they see it, even in its emerging phase, when no one else can see it.
 
 
Now, I’m going to tell you a story about someone else, whom I knew for over 4 decades and who found their ‘purpose’ in spite of circumstances that might have prevented it, or at least, worked against it. She was a single Mum who raised 3 daughters and simultaneously found a role in theatre. The thing is that she never gained any substantial financial reward, yet she won awards, both as an actor and director. She even partook in a theatre festival in Monaco, even though it took a government grant to get her there. The thing is that she had very little in terms of material wealth but it never bothered her and she was generous to a fault. She was a trained nurse, but had no other qualifications – certainly none relevant to her theatrical career. She passed last year and she is sorely missed, not only by me, but by the many lives she touched. She was, by anyone’s judgement, a force of nature.
 
 
 
This is a review of a play, Tuesdays with Morrie, for which Liz Bradley won an award. I happened to attend the opening with her, so it has a special memory for me. Dylan Muir, especially mentioned as providing the vocal, is Liz’s daughter.

Why do philosophers think differently?

 This was a question on Quora, and this is my answer, which, hopefully, explains the shameless self-referencing to this blog.

 

Who says they do? I think this is one of those questions that should be reworded: what distinguishes a philosopher’s thinking from most other people’s? I’m not sure there is a definitive answer to this, because, like other individuals, every philosopher is unique. The major difference is that they spend more time writing down what they’re thinking than most people, and I’m a case in point.
 
Not that I’m a proper philosopher, in that it’s not my profession – I’m an amateur, a dilettante. I wrote a little aphorism at the head of my blog that might provide a clue.

Philosophy, at its best, challenges our long held views, such that we examine them more deeply than we might otherwise consider.

Philosophy, going back to Socrates, is all about argument. Basically, Socrates challenged the dogma of his day and it ultimately cost him his life. I write a philosophy blog and it’s full of arguments, not that I believe I can convince everyone to agree with my point of view. But basically, I hope to make people think outside their comfort zone, and that’s the best I can do.
 
Socrates is my role model, because he was the first (that we know of) who challenged the perceived wisdom provided by figures of authority. In Western traditions tracing the more than 2 millennia since Socrates, figures of authority were associated with the Church, in all its manifestations, where challenging them could result in death or torture or both.
 
That’s no longer the case - well, not quite true - try following that path if you’re a woman in Saudi Arabia or Iran. But, for most of us, living in a Western society, one can challenge anything at all, including whether the Earth is a sphere.
 
Back to the question, I don’t think it can be answered, even in the transcribed form that I substituted. Personally, I think philosophy in the modern world requires analysis and a healthy dose of humility. The one thing I’ve learned from reading and listening to many people much smarter than me is that the knowledge we actually know is but a blip and it always will be. Nowhere is this more evident than in mathematics. There are infinitely more incomputable numbers than computable numbers. So, if our knowledge of maths is just the tip of a universe-sized iceberg, what does that say about anything else we can possibly know.
 
Perhaps what separates a philosopher’s thinking from most other people’s is that they are acutely aware of how little we know. Come to think of it, Socrates famously made the same point.

The Library of Babel

 You may have heard of this mythic place. There was an article in the same Philosophy Now magazine I referenced in my last post, titled World Wide Web or Library of Babel? By Marco Nuzzaco. Apparently, Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) wrote a short story, The Library of Babel in 1941. A little bit of research reveals there are layers of abstraction in this imaginary place, extrapolated upon by another book, The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges’ Library of Babel, by Mathematical Professor, William Goldbloom Bloch, published in 2008 by Oxford University Press and receiving an ‘honourable mention’ in the 2009 PROSE Awards. I should point out that I haven’t read either of them, but the concept fascinates me, as I expound upon below.
 
The Philosophy Now article compares it with the Internet (as per the title), because the Internet is quickly becoming the most extensive collection of knowledge in the history of humanity. To quote the author, Nuzzarco:
 
The amount of information produced on the Internet in the span of 10 years from 2010 to 2020 is exponentially and incommensurably larger than all the information produced by humanity in the course of its previous history.
 
And yes, the irony is not lost on me that this blog is responsible for its own infinitesimal contribution. But another quote from the same article provides the context that I wish to explore.
 
The Library of Babel contains all the knowledge of the universe that we can possibly gain. It has always been there, and it always will be. In this sense, the knowledge of the library reflects the universe from a God’s eye perspective and the librarians’ relentless research is to decipher its secrets and its mysterious order and purpose – or maybe, as Borges wonders, the ultimate lack of any of these.
 
One can’t read this without contemplating the history of philosophy and science (at least, in the Western tradition) that has attempted to do exactly that. In fact, the whole enterprise has a distinctive Platonic flavour to it, because there is one sense in which the fictional Library of Babel is ‘real’, and it links back to my last post.
 
I haven’t read Borges’ or Bloch’s books, so I’m simply referring to the concept alluded to in that brief quote, that there is an abstract landscape or territory that humans have the unique capacity to explore. And anyone who has considered the philosophy of mathematics knows that it fulfills that criterion.
 
Mathematics has unlocked more secrets about the Universe than any other endeavour. There is a similarity here to Paul Davies’ metaphor of a ‘warehouse’ (which he expounds upon in this video) but I think a Library is an even more apposite allusion. We are like ‘librarians’ trying to decipher God’s view of the Universe that we inhabit, and to extend the metaphor, God left behind a code that only we can decipher (as far as we know) and that code is mathematics.
 
To quote Feynman (The Character of Physical Law, specifically in a chapter titled The Relation of Mathematics to Physics):
 
Physicists cannot make a conversation in any other language. If you want to learn about nature, to appreciate nature, it is necessary to understand the language that she speaks in. She offers her information only in one form.
 
And if we have the knowledge of Gods then we also have the power of Gods, and that is what we’re witnessing, right now, in our current age. We have the power to destroy the world on which we live, either in a nuclear conflagration or runaway climate change (we are literally changing the weather). But we can also use the same knowledge to make the world a more inhabitable place, but to do that we need to be less human-centric.
 
If there is a God, then (he/she) has left us in charge. I think I’ve written about that before. So yes, we are the ‘Librarians’ who have access to extraordinary knowledge and with that knowledge comes extraordinary responsibilities.

 

In the beginning there was logic

 I recently read an article in Philosophy Now (Issue 154, Feb/Mar 2023), jointly written by Owen Griffith and A.C. Paseau, titled One Logic, Or Many? Apparently, they’ve written a book on this topic (One True Logic, Oxford University Press, May 2022).
 
One of the things that struck me was that they differentiate between logic and reason, because ‘reason is something we do’. This is interesting because I’ve argued previously that logic should be a verb, but I concede they have a point. In the past I saw logic as something that’s performed, by animals and machines as well as humans. And one of the reasons I took this approach was to distinguish logic from mathematics. I contend that we use logic to access mathematics via proofs, which we then call theorems. But here’s the thing: Kurt Godel proved, in effect, that there will always be mathematical ‘truths’ that we can’t prove within any formal system of mathematics that is consistent. The word ‘consistent’ is important (as someone once pointed out to me) because, if it’s inconsistent, then all bets are off.
 
What this means is that there is potentially mathematics that can’t be accessed by logic, and that’s what we’ve found, in practice, as well as in principle. Matt Parker provides a very good overview in this YouTube video on what numbers we know and what we don’t know. And what we don’t know is infinitely greater than what we do know. Gregory Chaitin has managed to prove that there are infinitely greater incomputable numbers than computable numbers, arguing that Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem goes to the very foundation of mathematics.
 
This detour is slightly off-topic, but very relevant. There was a time when people believed that mathematics was just logic, because that’s how we learned it, and certainly there is a strong relationship. Without our prodigious powers of logic, mathematics would be an unexplored territory to us, and remain forever unknown. There are even scholars today who argue that mathematics that can’t be computed is not mathematics, which rules out infinity. That’s another discussion which I won’t get into, except to say that infinity is unavoidable in mathematics. Euclid (~300 BC) proved (using very simple logic) that you can have an infinite number of primes, and primes are the atoms of arithmetic, because all other numbers can be derived therefrom.
 
The authors pose the question in their title: is there a pluralism of logic? And compare a logic relativism with moral relativism, arguing that they both require an absolutism, because moral relativism is a form of morality and logic relativism is a form of logic, neither of which are relative in themselves. In other words, they always apply by self-definition, so contradict the principle that they endorse – they are outside any set of rules of morality or logic, respectively.
 
That’s their argument. My argument is that there are tenets that always apply, like you can’t have a contradiction. They make this point themselves, but one only has to look at mathematics again. If you could allow contradictions, an extraordinary number of accepted proofs in mathematics would no longer apply, including Euclid’s proof that there are an infinity of primes. The proof starts with the premise that you have the largest prime number and then proves that it isn’t.
 
I agree with their point that reason and logic are not synonymous, because we can use reason that’s not logical. We make assumptions that can’t be confirmed and draw conclusions that rely on heuristics or past experiences, out of necessity and expediency. I wrote another post that compared analytical thinking with intuition and I don’t want to repeat myself, but all of us take mental shortcuts based on experience, and we wouldn’t function efficiently if we didn’t.
 
One of the things that the authors don’t discuss (maybe they do in their book) is that the Universe obeys rules of logic. In fact, the more we learn about the machinations of the Universe, on all scales, the more we realise that its laws are fundamentally mathematical. Galileo expressed this succinctly in the 17th Century, and Richard Feynman reiterated the exact same sentiment in the last century.
 
Cliffard A Pickover wrote an excellent book, The Paradox of God And the Science of Omniscience, where he points out that even God’s omniscience has limits. To give a very trivial example, even God doesn’t know the last digit of pi, because it doesn’t exist. What this tells me is that even God has to obey the rules of logic. Now, I’ve come across someone (Sye Ten Bruggencate) who argued that the existence of logic proves the existence of God, but I think he has it back-to-front (if God can’t breach the rules of logic). In other words, if God invented logic, ‘He’ had no choice. And God can’t make a prime number nonprime or vice versa. There are things an omnipotent God can’t do and there are things an omniscient God can’t know. So, basically, even if there is a God, logic came first, hence the title of this essay.