Explaining Existence

“Not how the world is, is the mystical, but that it is.”

(“Nicht wie die Welt ist, ist das Mystische, sondern dass sie ist.”)

Ludwig Wittgenstein

 

Why is there something rather than nothing? How can we explain the fact of existence?

This most fundamental question may be worth pondering for various reasons. Such pondering may help sharpen our thinking about the nature of the world, our place within it, and the scope of our understanding. And it may also just lead us to some significant answers to the question itself.

Is Non-Existence Coherent?

I would argue that the key to (dis)solving this mystery lies in questioning the coherence of the idea that there could be nothing in the first place — the notion that non-existence could exist. For existing is, after all, exactly what non-existence, by definition, does not. Non-being, by definition, cannot be. Yet, in asking why there is not nothing, we are indeed, somehow, imagining that it could. Essentially, what we are asking is: why is there not “non-isness“? Why could non-being not have been? The answer, I submit, is that the being of non-being is a contradiction in terms.

If existence were not the case, this would imply non-existence being the case, which is an incoherent notion. More specifically, to say that non-being could be is to contradict the principle of non-contradiction, as one then asks for something, or rather “nothing”, both to be and not be at the same time.

As David Pearce put it:

“One can apparently state the epistemic possibility of nothing having existed rather than something. But it’s unclear how it could make cognitive sense to talk of the epistemic possibility of nothing-or-other having even been the case. For the notion of something-or-other being the case is about as conceptually primitive as one can get. For just what is the (supposedly non-self-refuting) alternative with which one would be contrasting the generic notion of existence – in the sense of something-or-other being the case – that we have at present? The notion doesn’t seem to make any sense. It’s self-stultifying.”

Why Does Anything Exist“, section nine.

Furthermore, even if we were to assume that non-existence could be the case, we would still end up with the conclusion that it actually cannot. For if non-existence were the case, then its being the case would, quite obviously, be a truth, which implies that this truth would at least (also) exist. And yet this truth is not nothing. In other words, it implies the existence of (more of) something. And such a supposedly empty state would in fact imply other properties as well, such as the property of being one (not two or more, as it contains no separation, nor zero, since it does exist by assumption), as well as the property of being free from contradictions (genuine contradictions could not possibly exist in any possible state of existence, much less one that is purportedly empty). Thus, even the notion of a state with no properties other than its mere being is incoherent.

Another way to realize that there could not possibly be nothing, even if we were to pretend that the notion is coherent, is to think in terms of necessary and contingent facts (following the reasoning of Timothy O’Connor found here). For the suggestion that there might have been nothing amounts to the claim that existence might merely be a contingent, not a necessary fact. Yet the fact that we are here proves that existence was, at the very least, a possibility. In other words, the reality of (at least) the possibility of existence is undeniable. And yet the reality of the possibility of existence is not nothing. It is, in fact, something. Thus, even if we assume that the fact of existence is merely contingent, we still end up with the conclusion that it is in fact necessary. The existence of the mere possibility of existence necessarily implies, indeed amounts to, existence in full, and hence the suggestion that existence may merely be contingent, and that there could instead have been absolutely nothing, is revealed to be impossible and indeed incoherent in this way as well.

This may be considered an answer to why there is something rather than nothing: the alternative is simply incoherent, and hence logically impossible. Only “something” could conceivably be the case. And thus, contra Wittgenstein, the real mystery to explain is indeed how the world is, not that it is; to explain which properties the world has, not that it has any. And part of this mystery is to explain why we ever considered the existence of non-existence — as opposed to a very different state of existence — a coherent possibility in the first place, and, by extension, why we ever considered the non-existence of non-existence any more mysterious than the non-existence of square circles.

(And if, and that arguably is a huge if, existence is identical with what we call “physical existence”, then the argument above shows that a physical world must exist, and that its absence is incoherent. Again, this is provided that we assume existence to be identical with “the physical”, which is just an assumption, although I believe one can make a decent case that we have no strong reasons to believe in such a thing as non-physical existence, and hence no strong reasons to doubt this assumption. And if one then further believes that “the physical” is identical with “the mental” — in other words, if one holds a monist ontology that considers both physical and mental descriptions of the world equally valid, which I also consider a highly defensible position — then the argument above shows the necessity of the existence of this monist reality. And all that would then be left to explain, if this assumption happened to be true, is “just” what particular properties and relations that exist within this monist reality.)

No Purpose or Reason Behind Existence, Only Within

The all-inclusive nature of existence implies that, just as there cannot be a mechanism or principle that lies behind or beyond existence, there could not be a reason or purpose behind it either, since behind and beyond existence lies only that which does not exist. And hence there could not possibly be an ultimate purpose, in this sense at least, behind our being here.

Yet this by no means implies, contrary to what may be naturally supposed, that reasons and purposes, of the most real and significant kinds, do not exist within existence. Indeed, it is obvious that they do. For instance, the ability to pursue purposes and act on reasons has clearly emerged over the course of evolution. Beyond that, it is also clear, at least to me, that some states of the world — especially states of extreme suffering — are truly more disvaluable than others, and hence, I would argue, that we have truly normative reasons to act so as to avoid the realization of such disvaluable states. Indeed, I would argue that this endeavor is our highest and ultimate purpose.

Darwinian Intuitions and the Moral Status of Death

“Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution”, wrote evolutionary biologist Theodosius Dobzhansky. And given that our moral psychology is, at least in large part, the product of our biology, one can reasonably make a similar claim about our moral intuitions: that we should seek to understand these intuitions in light of the evolutionary history of our species. This also seems important for our thinking about normative ethics, since such an understanding seems likely to help inform our ethical judgments, by helping us better understand the origin of our intuitive moral judgments, and how they might be biased in various ways.

An Example: “Julie and Mark”

A commonly cited example that seems to demonstrate how evolution has firmly instilled certain moral intuitions into us is the following thought experiment, first appearing in a paper by Jonathan Haidt:

Julie and Mark are brother and sister. They are traveling together in France on summer vacation from college. One night they are staying alone in a cabin near the beach. They decide that it would be interesting and fun if they tried making love. At the very least it would be a new experience for each of them. Julie was already taking birth control pills, but Mark uses a condom too, just to be safe. They both enjoy making love, but they decide not to do it again. They keep that night as a special secret, which makes them feel even closer to each other. What do you think about that? Was it OK for them to make love?

According to Haidt: “Most people who hear the above story immediately say that it was wrong for the siblings to make love […]”. Yet most people also have a hard time explaining this wrongness, given that the risks of inbreeding are rendered moot in the thought experiment. But they still insist it is wrong. An obvious interpretation to make, then, is that evolution has hammered the lesson “sex between close relatives is wrong” into the core of our moral judgments. And given the maladaptive outcomes of human inbreeding, such an intuition would indeed make a lot of evolutionary sense. Indeed, in that context, given the high risk of harm, it even makes ethical sense. Yet in a modern context in which birth control has been invented and is employed, the intuition suddenly seems on less firm ground, at least ethically.

(It should be noted that the deeper point of Haidt’s paper cited above is to argue that “[…] moral reasoning is usually a post hoc construction, generated after a judgment has been reached.” And while it seems difficult to deny that there is a significant grain of truth to this, Haidt’s thesis has also been met with criticism.)

Moral Intuitions About Death: Biologically Contingent

With this idea in the back of our heads — that evolution has most likely shaped our moral intuitions significantly, and that we should perhaps not be that surprised if these intuitions are often difficult to defend within the realm of normative ethics — let us now proceed to look at the concrete issue of death. Yet before we look at the notional “human view of death”, it is perhaps worth first surveying some other species whose members are unlikely to view death in remotely the same way as we do, to see just how biologically contingent our view of death probably is.

For example, individuals belonging to species that practice sexual cannibalism — i.e. where the female eats the male prior to, during, or after copulation — seem most unlikely to view dying in this manner in remotely the same way as we humans would. Indeed, they might even find pleasure in it, both male and female (although in many cases, the male probably does not, especially when he is eaten prior to copulation, since it is not in his reproductive interest, which likely renders it yet another instance of the horrors of nature).

The same can likely be said of species that practice so-called matriphagy, i.e. where the offspring eat their own mother, sometimes while she is still alive. This behavior is also, at least in many cases, evolutionarily adaptive, and hence seems unlikely to be viewed as harmful by the mother (or at least the analogue of “viewed as harmful” found in the minds of these creatures). There may, of course, be many exceptions — cases in which the mother does indeed find herself harmed by, and disapproving of, the act. Yet it nonetheless seems clear that the beings who have evolved to practice this behavior do not view such a death in remotely the same way as a human mother would if her children suddenly started eating her alive.

The final example I wish to consider here is the practice of so-called filial cannibalism: when parents eat their own offspring. This practice is much more common, in terms of the number of species that practice it, compared to the other forms of cannibalism mentioned above, and also a clearer case of convergent evolution, as the species that practice it range from insects to mammals, including some cats, primates, birds, amphibians, fish (where it is especially prevalent), snails, and spiders. Again, we should expect individuals belonging to these species to view deaths of this kind very differently from the way we humans would view such, by any human standard, bizarre deaths. This is not to say that the younglings who are eaten do not suffer a great deal in these cases. They likely often do, as being eaten is often not in their reproductive interests (in terms of propagating their genes), although it may be in the case of some species: if it increases the reproductive success of their parents and/or siblings to a sufficient degree.

The deeper point, again, is that beings who belong to these species are unlikely to feel remotely the same way about these deaths as we humans would if such deaths were to occur within the human realm — i.e. if human parents ate their own children. And more generally: that the evolutionary history of a species greatly influences how it feels about deaths of various kinds, as well as how it views death in general.

Naturally, Most Beings Care Little About Most Deaths

It seems plausible to say that, in most animal species, individuals do not care the least about the death of unrelated individuals within their own species. And we should not be too starry-eyed about humans in this regard either, as it is not clear that we humans, historically, have cared much for people whom we did not view as belonging to our in-group, as the cruelties of history, as well as modern-day tribalism, testify. Only in recent times, it seems, have we in some parts of the world made all of humanity our in-group. Not all sentient beings, sadly, but not merely our own family or ethnic group either, fortunately.

So, both looking at other species, as well as across human history, we see that there appears to be a wide variety of views and intuitions about different kinds of deaths, and how “problematic” or harmful they are. Yet one regard in which there is much less disagreement is when it comes to “the human view of death”. Or more precisely: the natural moral intuitions humans have with respect to the death of someone in the in-group. And I would suspect this particular view to strongly influence — and indeed be the main template for — any human attempt to carve out a well-reasoned and general view of the moral status of death (of any morally relevant being). If this is true, it would seem relevant to zoom in on how we humans naturally view such an in-group death, and why.

The Human View of an In-group Death

So what is the human view of the death of someone belonging to our own group? In short: that it is tragic and something worth avoiding at great costs. And if we take our evolutionary glasses on, it seems easy to make sense of why we would be naturally inclined to think this: for most of our evolutionary history, we humans have lived in groups in which individuals collaborated in ways that benefitted the entire group.

In other words, the ability of any given human individual to survive and reproduce has depended significantly on the efforts of fellow group members, which means that the death of such a fellow group member would be very costly, in biological terms, to other individuals in that group. Something that is worth investing a lot to prevent for these other individuals. Something evolution would not allow them to be indifferent about in the least, much less happy about.

This may help resolve some puzzles. For example, many of us claim to hold a purely sentiocentric ethical view according to which consciousness is the sole currency of moral value: the presence and absence of consciousness, as well as its character, is what matters. Yet most people who claim to hold such a view, including myself, nonetheless tend to view dreamless sleep and death very differently, although both ultimately amount to an absence of conscious experience just the same. If the duration of the conscious experience of someone we care about is reduced by an early death, we consider this tragic. Yet if the duration of their conscious experience is instead reduced by dreamless sleep, we do not, for the most part, consider this tragic at all. On the contrary, we might even be quite pleased about it. We wish sound, deep sleep for our friends and family, and often view such sleep as something that is well-deserved and of great value.

On the view that the presence and absence of consciousness, as well as the quality of this consciousness, is all that matters, this evaluation makes little sense (provided we keep other things equal in our thought experiment: the quality of the conscious life is, when it is present, the same whether its duration is reduced by sleep or early death). Yet from an evolutionary perspective, it makes perfect sense why we would not only evaluate these two things differently, but indeed in completely opposite ways. For if a fellow group member is sleeping, then this is good for the rest of the group, as sleep is generally an investment that improves a person’s contribution to the group. Yet if the person is dead, they will no longer be able to contribute to the group. And if they are family, they will no longer be able to propagate the genes of the family. From a biological perspective, this is very sad.

(The hypothesis sketched out above — that our finding the death of an in-group member sad and worth avoiding at great costs is in large part due to their contribution to the success of our group, and ultimately our genes — would seem to yield a prediction: we should find the death of a young person who is able to contribute a lot to the group significantly more sad and worth avoiding compared to the death of an old person who is not able to contribute. And this is even more true if the person is also a relative, since the young person would have the potential to spread family genes, whereas a sufficiently old person would not.)

Implications

So what follows in light of these considerations about our “natural” view of the death of an in-group member? I would be hesitant to draw strong conclusions from such considerations alone. Yet it seems to me that they do, at the very least, give us reason to be skeptical with respect to our immediate moral intuitions about death (indeed, I would argue that we should be skeptical of our immediate moral intuitions in general). With respect to the great asymmetry in our evaluation of the ethical status of dreamless sleep versus death, two main responses seem available if one is seeking to make a pure sentiocentric position consistent (to take that fairly popular ethical view as an example).

Either one can view conscious life reduced by sleep as being significantly more bad, intrinsically, than what we intuitively evaluate it to be (classical utilitarians may choose to adopt this view, which could, in practice, imply that one should work on a cure for sleep, or at least to reduce sleep in a way that keeps quality of life intact). Or, one can view conscious life reduced by an early death as being significantly less bad, again intrinsically, than our moral intuitions hold. (One can, of course, also opt for a middleroad that maintains that we both intuitively underestimate the intrinsic badness of sleep while overestimating the intrinsic badness of death, and that we should bring our respective evaluations of these two together to meet somewhere in the middle.)

I favor the latter view: that we strongly overestimate the intrinsic badness of death, which is, of course, an extremely unpalatable view to our natural intuitions, including my own. Yet it must also be emphasized that the word “intrinsically” is extremely important here. For I would indeed argue that death is bad, and that we should generally view it as such. But I believe this badness is extrinsic rather than intrinsic: because death generally has bad consequences for sentient beings, including that the process of dying itself tends to involve a lot of suffering (where I would view this suffering as intrinsically bad, yet not the end of the life per se). And furthermore, I would argue that we should consider death a bad and harmful thing (as I indeed do) not just because this belief is accurate, but also because not doing so has bad consequences as well.

An Ethic of Survival

With respect to ethics and death, I recently encountered an interesting perspective in an exchange with Robert Daoust. He suggested, as I understood him, that the fundamental debate in ethics is ultimately one between an ethic of survival on the one hand, and an ethic of concern for sentience on the other. And he further noted that, even when we sincerely believe that we subscribe to the latter, we often in fact do support the survivalist ethic, for strong evolutionary reasons. A view according to which, even if life is significantly dominated by suffering, survival should still be our highest goal.

I find this view of Daoust’s interesting, and I certainly recognize strong survivalist intuitions in myself, even as I claim to hold, and publicly defend, values focused primarily on the reduction of suffering. And one can reasonably wonder what the considerations surveyed above, as well as similar considerations about the priorities and motives that evolution has naturally instilled in us, imply for our evaluation of such a (perhaps tacitly shared) survivalist ethic?

I would tentatively suggest that they imply we should view this survivalist ethic with skepticism. We should expect evolution to have given us a strong urge for survival at virtually any cost, and to view survival, if not of our own individual bodies then at least of our own group and bloodline, as being intrinsically important; arguably even the most important thing of all. Yet I would argue that this is an implausible ethical view. Specifically, to accept continued survival at virtually any cost, including the cost of increasing the net amount of extreme suffering in the world, is, I would argue, highly implausible. Beyond that, one can argue that we, for evolutionary reasons, also wildly overestimate the ethical badness of an empty world, and grossly misjudge the value of the absence of sentience. Indeed, on a pure sentiocentric view, such an absence is just as good as deep, dreamless sleep. And what is so bad about that?

A Brief Note on Eternalism and Impacting the Future

Something I find puzzling is that many people in intellectual circles seem to embrace the so-called eternalist view of time, which holds that the past, present, and future all equally exist already, yet at the same time, in terms of practical ethics, these same people focus exclusively on impacting the future. These two positions do not seem compatible, and it is interesting that no one seems to take note of this, and that no attempt seems to be made at reconciling them, or otherwise examining this issue. 

For why, given an eternalist view of time, should one focus on impacting the future rather than the past? After all, the eternalist view of time amounts precisely to the rejection of the common sense view that the past is fixed while the future is not, which is the common sense view of time that seems to underpin our common sense focus on trying to impact the future rather than the past. So how can one reject the common sense view of time that seems to underlie our common sense practical focus, yet then still maintain this focus? If the past and the future equally exist already, why focus more on trying to impact one rather than the other?

The only attempted reply I have heard to this question so far, which came from Brian Tomasik, is that if, hypothetically, the present were different, then the future would be different, and hence it makes sense to focus on such changes that would render the future different. The problem, however, is that the same argument applies to the past: if, hypothetically, the present were different, then, for the equations of physics to be consistent, the past would also have to be different. Tomasik seemed to agree with this point. So I fail to see how this is an argument for focusing on impacting the future rather than the past given an eternalist view of time.

Possible Responses

There are various ways to respond to this conundrum. One can, for instance, try to argue that there is no conflict between eternalism and focusing only on impacting the future (which seems the prevailing assumption, but I have yet to see it defended). Another path one could take is to argue that we in fact should focus on impacting the past just as much as the future (something I find highly dubious). Alternatively, one could argue that it is just as senseless to try to change the future as it is to change the past (something few would be willing to accept in practice). Lastly, one could take the tension between these two widely esteemed views to imply that there may be something wrong with the eternalist view of time, and at the very least that we should lower our credence in eternalism, given its ostensible incompatibility with other, seemingly reasonable beliefs.

My Preferred Path: Questioning Eternalism

I would be curious to see attempts along any of the four paths mentioned above. I myself happen to lean toward the last one. I think many people display overconfidence with respect to the truth of eternalism. The fact that the equations of the theory of relativity, as they stand, do not demand an ontologically existing “now does not imply that no such thing exists (where this now, it must be noted, is not defined by “clocks all show the same”, as such a now clearly is impossible; yet there is no contradiction whatsoever in the existence of a unique, ontologically real “present” in which initially synchronized clocks show different times). In other words, although the equations of relativity do not demand the existence of such a now, they do not rule it out either. Yet it seems a widely entertained fallacy that they do, and people thus seem to accept that eternalist view as though it were a matter of logical certainty, when it is not. I think this is bad philosophy. And I think it is important to point this out, since false certainties can be dangerous in unexpected ways (for example, if the above-mentioned fallacy led us to falsely conclude that trying to impact the future is senseless).

Beyond that, as I have noted elsewhere, one can also question to what extent it makes sense to say — as eternalists often do, and as the name eternalism itself implies — that all moments exist “always”? After all, doesn’t “always” refer to something occurring over time? The meaning of claims of the sort that “every moment exists always” is, I believe, less obvious than proponents of eternalism appear to think, and seems in need of unpacking.

A General Note on Our Worldview

I think the tension explored here speaks to a more general point about our worldview, namely that we often do not derive the more practical views we hold (such as the view that we can influence the future but not the past), from our fundamental ontological theories of how the world works. Instead, such views are often derived mostly from tacit common sense notions and intuitions (which is not to say that they should necessarily be rejected, and certainly not on this ground alone). This means that sometimes — quite often, in fact — the views we hold on various subjects, such as the philosophy of time and practical ethics, are scarcely compatible. The project of bringing the various beliefs we hold across these different areas in concert is, I believe, an important and potentially fruitful one, for our theoretical views in themselves, as well as for our pratical efforts to act reasonably in the world.

The Endeavor of Reason

“[…] some hope a divine leader with prophetic voice
Will rise amid the gazing silent ranks.
An idle thought! There’s none to lead but reason,
To point the morning and the evening ways.”

— Abu al-ʿAlaʾ al-Maʿarri

 

What is reason?

One could perhaps say that answering this question itself falls within the purview of reason. But I would simply define reason as the capacity of our minds to decide or assess what makes the most sense, or seems most reasonable, all things considered.

This seems well in line with other definitions of reason. For instance, Google defines reason as “the power of the mind to think, understand, and form judgements logically”, and Merriam-Webster gives the following definitions:

(1) the power of comprehending, inferring, or thinking[,] especially in orderly rational ways […] (2) proper exercise of the mind […]

These definitions all seem to raise the further question of what terms like “logically”, “orderly rational ways”, and “proper” then mean in this context.

Indeed, one may accuse all these definitions of being circular, as they merely seem to deflect the burden of defining reason by referring to some other notion that ultimately just appears synonymous with, and hence does not reductively define, reason. This would also seem to apply to the definition I gave above: “the ability to decide or assess what seems most reasonable all things considered”. For what does it mean for something to “seem most reasonable”?

Yet the open-endedness of this definition does not, I submit, render it useless or empty by any means, any more than defining science in open-ended terms such as “the attempt to discover what is true about the world” renders this definition useless or empty.

Reason: The Core Value of Universities and the Enlightenment

At the level of ideals, working out what seems most reasonable all things considered is arguably the core goal of both the Enlightenment and of universities. For instance, ideally, universities are not committed to a particular ethical view (say, utilitarianism or deontology), nor to a particular view of what is true about the world (say, string theory or loop quantum gravity, or indeed physicalism in general).

Rather, universities seem to have a more fundamental and less preconceived commitment, at least in the ideal, which is to find out which particular views, if any, that seem the most plausible in the first place. This means that all views can be questioned, and that one has to provide reasons if one wants one’s view to be considered plausible. 

And it is important to note in this context that “plausible” is a broader term than “probable”, in that the latter pertains only to matters of truth, whereas the former covers this and more. That is, plausibility can also be assigned to views, for instance ethical views, that we do not view as strictly true, yet which we find plausible nonetheless (as in: they seem agreeable or reasonable to us).

For this very reason, it would also be problematic to view the fundamental role of universities to (only) be the uncovering of what is true, as such a commitment may assume too much in many important and disputed academic discussions, such as those about ethics and epistemology, where the question of whether there indeed are truths in the first place, and in what sense, is among the central questions that are to be examined by reason. Yet in this case too, the core commitment remains: a commitment to being reasonable. To try to assess and follow what seems most reasonable all things considered.

This is arguably also the core value of the Enlightenment. At least that seems to be what Immanuel Kant argued for in his essay “What Is Enlightenment“, in which he further argued that free inquiry — i.e. the freedom to publicly exercise our capacity for reason — is the only prerequisite for enlightenment:

This enlightenment requires nothing but freedom—and the most innocent of all that may be called “freedom”: freedom to make public use of one’s reason in all matters.

And the view that reason should be our core commitment and guide of course dates much further back historically than the Enlightenment. Among the earliest and most prominent advocates of this view was Aristotle, who viewed a life lived in accordance with reason as the highest good.

Yet who is to say that what we find most plausible or reasonable is something we will necessarily be able to converge upon? This question itself can be considered an open one for reasoned inquiry to examine and settle. Kant, for instance, believed that we would all be able to agree if we reasoned correctly, and hence that reason is universal and accessible to all of us.

And interestingly, if one wants to make a universally compelling case against this view of Kant’s, it seems that one has to assume at least some degree of the universality that Kant claimed to exist. And hence it seems difficult, not to say impossible, to make such a case, and to deny that at least some aspects of reason are universal.

Being Reasonable: The Only Reasonable Starting Point?

One can even argue that it is impossible to make a case against reason in general. For as Steven Pinker notes:

As soon as we are having this conversation, as long as we are trying to persuade one another of why you should do something or should believe something, you are already committed to reason. We are not engaged in a fist fight, we are not bribing each other to believe something. We are trying to provide reasons. We are trying to persuade, to convince. As long as you are doing that in the first place — you are not hitting someone with a chair, or putting a gun to their head, or bribing them to believe something — you have lost any argument you have against reason; you have already signed on to reason, whether you like it or not. So the fact that we are having this conversation shows that we are committed to reason. That is the starting point.

Indeed, it seems that any effort to make a reasonable case against reason would have to rest on the very thing it attempts to question, namely our capacity to decide or assess what seems most reasonable all things considered. Thus, almost by definition, it seems impossible to identify a reasonable alternative to the endeavor of reason.

Some might argue that reason itself is unjustified, and that we have to have faith in reason, which then supposedly implies that a dedication to reason is ultimately no more reasonable or solid than is faith in anything whatsoever. Yet this is not the case.

For to say that reason needs justification is not to question reason, but rather to presuppose it, since the arena in which we are expected to provide reasons for what we believe is the arena of reason itself. Thus, if we accept that justifications for any given belief is required, then we have already signed on to reason, whereby we have also rejected faith — the idea that justification for some given belief is not required. Again, in trying to provide a justification for reason, or, for that matter, in trying to provide a justification for not accepting reason, one is already committed to the endeavor of reason: the endeavor of deciding or assessing what seems most reasonable, i.e. most justified, all things considered.

And what reasonable alternative could there possibly be to this endeavor? Which other endeavor could a reasoning agent reasonably choose to pursue? None, it seems to me. Universally, all reasoning agents seem bound to conclude that they have this imperative of reason: that they ought to do what seems most reasonable all things considered. That reason, in this sense, is the highest calling of such agents. Anything else would be contrary to what their own reasoning tells them, and hence unreasonable — by their own accounts.

It Seems Reasonable: The Bedrock Foundation of Reasonable Beliefs

The idea that reason demands justification for any given belief may seem problematic, as it gives rise to the so-called Münchhausen trilemma: what can ultimately justify our beliefs — a circular chain of justifications, an infinite chain, or a finite chain (or web) with brute facts at bottom? Supposedly, none of these options are appealing. Yet I disagree.

For I see nothing problematic about having a brute observation, or reason, at bottom of our chain of justification, which I would indeed argue is exactly what constitutes, and all that ever could constitute, the rock bottom justification for any reasonable belief. Specifically, that it just seems reasonable.

Many discussions go wrong here by conflating 1) ungrounded assumptions and 2) brute observations, which are by no means the same. For there is clearly a difference between believing that a car just drove by you based on the brute observation, i.e. a conscious sensation of, that a car just drove by you, and then merely assuming, without grounding in any reason or observation, that a car just drove by you.

Or consider another example: the fundamental constants in our physical equations. We ultimately have no deeper justification for the values of these constants than brute observation, and yet this clearly does not render our knowledge of these values merely assumed, much less arbitrarily or unjustifiably chosen. This is not to say that our observations of these values are infallible; future measurements may well yield slightly different or more precise values. Yet they are not arbitrary or unjustified.

The idea that brute observation cannot constitute a reasonable justification for a belief is, along with the idea that brute assumptions and brute observations are the same, a deeply misguided one, in my view. And this is not only true, I contend, of factual matters, but of all matters of reason, including ethics and epistemology, whether we deem these fields strictly factual or not. For instance, my own ethical view (which I have argued is a universal one), according to which suffering is disvaluable and ought to be reduced, does not, on my account, rest on a mere assumption. Rather, it rests on a brute observation of the undeniable intrinsic disvalue of the conscious states we call suffering. I have no deeper justification than this, nor is a deeper one required or even possible.

As I have argued elsewhere, such a foundationalist account is, I submit, the solution to the Münschhausen trilemma.

Deniers of Reason

If reason is the only reasonable starting point, why, then, do so many seem to challenge and reject it? There are a few things to say in response to this. First, those who criticize and argue against reason are not really, as I have argued above, criticizing reason, at least not in the general sense I have defined it here (since to criticize reason is to engage in it). Rather, they are, at most, criticizing a particular conception of reason, and that can of course be perfectly reasonable (I myself would criticize prevalent conceptions of reason as being much too narrow).

Second, there are indeed those who do not criticize reason, and who indeed do reject it, at least in some respects. These are people who refuse to join the conversation Steven Pinker referred to above; people who refuse to provide reasons, and who instead engage in forceful methods, such as silencing or extorting others, violently or otherwise. Examples include people who believe in some political ideology or religion, and who choose to suppress, or indeed kill, those who express views that challenge their own. Yet such actions do not pose a reasonable or compelling challenge to reason, nor can they be considered a reasonable alternative to the endeavor of reason.

As for why people choose to engage in such actions and refuse to engage in reason, one can also say a few things. First of all, the ability to engage in reason seems to require a great deal of learning and discipline, and not all of us are fortunate enough to have received the schooling and discipline required. And even then, even when we do have these things, engaging in reason is still an active choice that we can fail to make.

That is, doing what we find most reasonable is not an automatic, reflexive process, but rather a deliberate volitional one. It is clearly possible, for example, to act against one’s own better judgment. To go with seductive impulse and temptation — e.g. for sex, a cigarette, or social status — rather than what seems most reasonable, even to ourselves in the moment of weakness.

Reason Broadly and Developmentally Construed

The conception of reason I have outlined here is, it should be noted, not a narrow one. It is not committed to any particular ontological position, nor is it purely cerebral, as in restricted to merely weighing verbal or mathematical arguments. Instead, it is open to questioning everything, and takes input from all sources.

Nor would I be tempted to argue that we humans have some single, immutable faculty of reason that is infallible. Quite the contrary. Our assessments of what seems most reasonable in various domains rests on a wide variety of faculties and experiences, virtually none of which are purely innate. Indeed, these faculties, as well as our range of experience, can be continually expanded and developed as we learn more, both individually and collectively.

In this way, reason, as I conceive of it, is not only extremely broad but also extremely open-ended. It is not static, but rather self-regulating and self-updating, as when we realize that our thinking is tendentious and biased in many ways, and that our motives might not be what we (would like to) think they are. In this way, our capacity for reasoning has taught itself that it should be self-skeptical.

Yet this by no means gives way to pure skepticism. After all, our discovery of these tendencies is itself a testament to the power of our capacity to reason. Rather than completely undermine our trust in this capacity, discoveries of this kind simultaneously show both the enormous weakness and strength of our minds: how wrong we can be when we are not careful to try to be reasonable, and how much better informed we can become if we are. Such facts do not comprise a case against employing our capacity to reason, but rather a case for even more, even more careful employments of this capacity of ours.

Conclusion: A Call for Reason

As noted above, the endeavor of reason is not one that we pursue automatically. It takes a deliberate choice. In order to be able to assess and decide what seems most reasonable all things considered, one must make an active effort to consider all (relevant) things in the first place. One must set out to learn as much as one can about the nature of the world, and consider the implications carefully.

What I have argued here is that there is no reasonable alternative to doing this; not that there is no possible alternative. For one can surely suspend reason and embrace blind faith, as many religious people do, or embrace unreasoned, incoherent, and self-refuting claims about reality, as many postmodernists do. Or one can go with whatever seems most pleasurable in the moment rather than what seems most reasonable all things considered, as we all do all too often. Yet one cannot reasonably choose such a suspension of reason. Indeed, merely not actively denying reason is not enough. The only reasonable choice, it seems, is to consciously choose to pursue the endeavor of reason.

In sum, I would join Aristotle in viewing reason, broadly construed, as our highest calling. That following what seems most reasonable all things considered is the best, most sensible choice before us. And hence that this is a choice we should all actively make.

 

 

The (Non-)Problem of Induction

David Hume claimed that it is:

[…] impossible for us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we should extend that experience beyond those particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We suppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which lie beyond the reach of our discovery.

And this then gives rise to the problem of induction: how can we defend assuming the so-called uniformity of nature that we take to exist when we generalize our limited experience to that which lies “beyond the reach of our discovery”? For instance, how can we justify our belief that the world of tomorrow will, at least in many ways, resemble the world of yesterday? Indeed, how can we justify believing that there will be a tomorrow at all?

A thing worth highlighting in response to this problem is that, even if we were to assume that we have no justification for believing in such uniformity of nature, this would not imply, as may perhaps seem natural to suppose, that we thereby have justification for believing the opposite: that there is no uniformity of nature. After all, to say that the patterns we have observed so far do not predict anything about states and events elsewhere would also amount to a claim about that which lies “beyond the reach of our discovery”, and so this claim seems to face the same problem.

The claims 1) “there is a certain uniformity of nature” and 2) “there is no uniformity of nature” are both hypotheses about the world. And if we look at the limited part of the world about which we do have some knowledge, it is clear that 1) is true about it: patterns at one point in (known parts of) time and space do indeed predict a lot about patterns observed elsewhere.

Does this then mean that the same will hold true of the part of the world that lies beyond the reach of our discovery? One can reasonably argue that we do not have complete certainty that it will (indeed, one can reasonably argue that we should not have complete certainty about any claim our fallible mind happens to entertain). Yet if we reason as scientists — probabilistically, endeavoring to build the picture of the world that seems most plausible in light of all the available evidence — then it does indeed seem justifiable to say that hypothesis 1) seems much more likely to be true of that which lies “beyond the reach of our discovery” than does hypothesis 2) [not least because to say that hypothesis 2) holds true of it would amount to assuming an extraordinary uniqueness of the observed compared to the unobserved, whereas believing hypothesis 1) merely amounts to not assuming such extraordinary uniqueness].

And if we think in this way — in terms of competing hypotheses — then Hume’s problem of induction suddenly seems rather vacuous. “You cannot prove that any given hypothesis of this kind is correct.” This seems true (although the fact that we have not found such a proof yet does not imply that one cannot be found), but also quite irrelevant, since a deductive proof is not required in order for us to draw reasonable inferences. To say that we have no purely deductive argument for a given conclusion is not the same as saying that we have no justification for believing it (and if one thinks that it is, then one is also committed to the belief that we have no justification for believing, based on previous experience, that the problem of induction also exists in this very moment; more on this below).

Applying Hume’s Claim to Itself

According to Hume’s quote above, the belief that we can make generalizations based on particular instances can never be “satisfied by our reason”. The problem, however, is that, according to our modern understanding of the world in physical terms, all we ever can generalize from, including when we make deductive inferences, is particular instances — particular spatiotemporally located states and processes found in our brains (equivalently, one could also say that all we can ever generalize from, as knowing subjects, are particular states of our own minds).

Thus, Hume’s statement that we can never prove such generalizations must also apply to itself, as it is itself a general claim based on a particular instance of reasoning taking place in Hume’s head in a particular place and time (indeed, Hume’s claim would appear to pertain to all generalizations).

So what justification could Hume possibly provide for this general claim of his? According to the claim itself, no proof can be given for it. Indeed, if Hume could provide a proof for his claim that it is impossible to find a proof for the validity of generalizations based on particular instances, then he would have falsified his own claim, as such a proof is the very thing that the claim holds not to exist. And such an alleged proof would thereby also undermine itself, as what it supposedly shows is its own non-existence.

This demonstrates that Hume’s claim is unprovable. That is, based on this particular instance of reasoning, we can draw the general conclusion that we will never be able to provide a proof for Hume’s claim. And thereby we have in fact proven Hume’s claim wrong, as we have thus provided a proof for a general claim that also pertains to that which lies beyond the reach of our discovery. Nowhere, neither in the realm of the discovered nor the undiscovered, can a proof for Hume’s claim be found.

So we clearly can prove some general claims about that which lies beyond the reach of our experience based on particular instances (of processes in our brains, say), and hence the claim that we cannot is simply wrong.

 

Yet one may object that this conclusion does not contradict what Hume in fact meant when he claimed that we cannot prove the validity of generalizations based on particular instances, since what he meant was rather that we cannot prove the validity of inductive generalizations such as “we have observed X so far, hence X will also be the case in the next instance/in general” — i.e. generalizations whose generality seems impossible to prove.

The problem, however, is that we can also turn this claim on itself, and indeed turn the problem of induction altogether on itself, as we did in a parenthetical statement above: the mere fact that we have not been able to prove the validity of any inductive claims of this sort so far does not imply that such a proof can never be found. In particular, the claim that we cannot prove the validity of any such inductive claim that seems impossible to prove is itself an inductive claim whose generality seems impossible to prove (i.e. it seems to rest on the argument: “we have not been able to prove the validity of any inductive claim of this nature so far, and hence we cannot[/we will never be able to] prove the validity of such a claim”).

And if we accept that this claim, the very claim that gives rise to the problem of induction, is itself a plausible claim that we have good reason to accept in general (or at least just good reason to believe that it will apply in the next moment), then we indeed do believe that we can have good reason to draw (at least some plausible) non-deductive generalizations based on particular instances, which is the very thing Hume’s argument is often believed to cast doubt upon. In other words, in order to even believe that there is a problem of induction in the first place, one must already assume that which this problem is supposed to question and be a problem for.

Indeed, one can make an argument along these lines that it is in fact impossible to give a coherent argument against (the overwhelming plausibility of at least some degree of) the uniformity of nature. For in order to even state an argument or doubt against it, one is bound to rely thoroughly on the very thing one is trying to question. For instance, that words will still mean the same in the next moment as they did in the previous one; that the argument one thought of in the previous moment still applies in the next one; that the problem one was trying to address in the previous moment still exists in the next; etc.

Thus, it actually seems impossible to reasonably, indeed even coherently, doubt that the world has at least some degree of uniformity, which itself seems to constitute a good argument and reason for believing in such uniformity. After all, that something cannot reasonably be doubted, or indeed doubted at all, usually seems a more than satisfying standard for believing it.

So to reiterate: If one thinks we have good reason to take the problem of induction seriously, or indeed just to believe that this problem still exists in this moment (since it has in previous ones), then one also thinks that we do have good reason to make (at least some plausible) non-deductive generalizations about that which lies “beyond the reach of our discovery” based on particular instances. In other words, if one takes the problem of induction seriously, then one does not take the problem of induction seriously at all.

 

How to then draw the most plausible inferences about that which “lies beyond the reach of our discovery” is, of course, far from trivial. Yet we should be clear that this is a separate matter entirely from whether we can draw such plausible inferences at all. And as I have attempted to argue here, we have absolutely no reason to think that we cannot, and good reason to think that we can.

“The Physical” and Consciousness: One World Conforming to Different Descriptions

My aim in this essay is to briefly explain a crucial aspect of David Pearce‘s physicalist idealist worldview. In particular, I seek to explain how a view can be both “idealist” and “physicalist”, yet still be a “property monist” view.

Pearce himself describes his view in the following way:

“Physicalistic idealism” is the non-materialist physicalist claim that reality is fundamentally experiential and that the natural world is exhaustively described by the equations of physics and their solutions […]

So Pearce’s view is a monist, idealist view: reality is fundamentally experiential. And this reality also conforms to description in physical terms. Pearce is careful, however, to distinguish this view from panpsychism, which Pearce, in contrast to his own idealist view, considers a property dualist view:

“Panpsychism” is the doctrine that the world’s fundamental physical stuff also has primitive experiential properties. Unlike the physicalistic idealism explored here, panpsychism doesn’t claim that the world’s fundamental physical stuff is experiential. Panpsychism is best treated as a form of property-dualism.

How, one may wonder, is Pearce’s view different from panpsychism, and from property dualist views more generally? This is something I myself have struggled a lot to understand, and inquired him about repeatedly. And my understanding is the following: according to Pearce, there is only consciousness, and its dynamics conform to physical description. Property dualist views, in contrast, view the world as having two properties: the stuff of the world has insentient physical properties to which separate, experiential properties are somehow attached.

Pearce’s view makes no such division. Instead, on Pearce’s view, description in physical terms merely constitutes a particular (phenomenal) mode of description that (phenomenal) reality conforms to. So to the extent there is a dualism here, it is epistemological, not ontological.

The Many Properties of Your Right Ear

For an analogy that might help explain this point better, consider your right ear. What properties does it have? Setting aside the question concerning its intrinsic nature, it is clear that you can model it in various ways. One way is to touch it with your fingers, whereby you model it via your faculties of tactile sensation (or in neuroanatomical terms: with neurons in your parietal lobe). You may also represent your ear via auditory sensations, for example by hitting it and noticing what kind of sound it makes (a sensation mediated by the temporal lobe). Another way, perhaps the clearest and most practical way for beings like us, is to model it in terms of visual experience: to look at your right ear in the mirror, or perhaps simply imagine it, and thereby have a visual sensation that represents it (mediated by the occipital lobe).

[For most of us, these different forms of modeling are almost impossible to keep separate, as our touching our ears automatically induces a visual model of them as well, and vice versa: a visual model of an ear will often be accompanied by a sense of what it would be like to touch it. Yet one can in fact come a surprisingly long way toward being able to “unbind” these sensations with a bit of practice. This meditation is a good exercise in detaching one’s tactile sense of one’s hands from one’s visual model of them. This one goes even further, as it climaxes with a near-total dissolution of our automatic binding of different modes of experience into an ordered whole.]

Now, we may ask: which of these modes of modeling constitute the modeling we call “physical”? And the answer is arguably all of them, as they all relate to the manifestly external (“physical”) world. This is unlike, say, things that are manifestly internal, such as emotions and thoughts, which we do not tend to consider “physical” in this same way, although all our sensations are, of course, equally internal to our mind-brain.

“The physical” is in many ways a poorly defined folk term, and physics itself is not exempt from this ambiguity. For instance, what phenomenal mode does the field of physics draw upon? Well, it is certainly more than just the phenomenology of equations (to the extent this can be considered a separate mode of experience). It also, in close connection with how most of us think about equations, draws heavily on visuospatial modes of experience (I once carefully went through a physics textbook that covered virtually all of undergraduate level physics with the explicit purpose of checking whether it all conformed to such description, and I found that it did). And we can, of course, also describe your right ear in “physics” terms, for instance by measuring and representing its temperature, its spatial coordinates, its topology, etc. This would give us even more models of your right ear.

 

The deeper point here is that the same thing can conform to description in different terms, and the existence of such a multitude of valid descriptions does not imply that the thing described itself has a multitude of intrinsic properties. In fact, none of the modes of modeling an ear mentioned above say anything about the intrinsic properties of the ear; they only relate to its reflection, in the broadest sense.

And this is where some people will object: why believe in any intrinsic properties? Indeed, why believe in anything but the physical, “reflective”, (purportedly) non-phenomenal properties described above?

To me, as well as to David Pearce, this latter claim is self-undermining and senseless; like a person reading from a book who claims that the paper of the book they are reading from does not exist, only the text does. All these modes of modeling mentioned above, including all that we deem knowledge of “the physical” are phenomenal. The science we call “physics” is itself, to the extent it is known by anyone, found in consciousness. It is a particular mode of phenomenal modeling of the world, and thus to deny the existence of the phenomenal is also to deny the existence of our knowledge of “physics”.

Indeed, our knowledge of physics and “the physical” attests to this fact as clearly as it attests to anything: consciousness exists. It is a separate question, then, exactly how the varieties of conscious experience relate to descriptions of the world in physical terms, as well as what the intrinsic nature of the stuff of the world is, to the extent it has any. Yet by all appearances, it seems that minds such as our own conform to physical description in terms of what we recognize as brains, and as with the ear, such a physical description can take many forms: a visual representation of a mind-brain, what it is like to touch a mind-brain, the number of neurons it has, its temperature, etc.

These are different, yet valid ways of describing aspects of our mind-brains. Yet like the descriptions of different aspects of an ear mentioned above, these “physical” descriptions, while all perfectly valid, still do not tell us anything about their intrinsic nature. And according to David Pearce, the intrinsic nature of that which we (validly) describe in physical terms as “your brain” is your conscious mind itself. The apparent multitude of aspects of that which we recognize as “brains” and “ears” are just different modes of conscious modeling of an intrinsically monist, i.e. experiential, reality.

Resources for Sustainable Activism

“Altruism is a marathon, not a sprint”

— Attributed to Robert Wiblin.

 

Avoiding burnout should be a high priority for activists, both for their own sake and for the sake of those they advocate for. The following is a short list of resources that I have found useful in this regard myself, and which I have often shared with friends who share my predicament.

 

Melanie Joy:

Sustainable Activism:

 

How Vegans Can Create Healthy Relationships and Communicate Effectively:

 

Jonathan Leighton:

Thriving in the Age of Factory Farming

Guided Meditation for Activists:

 

Brian Tomasik:

Is Utilitarianism Too Demanding?

Michael Bitton:

Investing in Yourself

 

 

A Contra AI FOOM Reading List

It seems to me that there is a great asymmetry in the attention devoted to arguments in favor of the plausibility of artificial intelligence FOOM/hard take-off scenarios compared to the attention paid to counter-arguments. This is not so strange given that there are widely publicized full-length books emphasizing the arguments in favor, such as Nick Bostrom’s Superintelligence and James Barrat’s Our Final Invention, while there seems to be no such book emphasizing the opposite. And people who are skeptical of hard take-off scenarios, and who think other things are more important to focus on, will of course tend to write books on those other, in their view more important things. Consequently, they devote only an essay or a few blogposts to present their arguments; not full-length books. The purpose of this reading list is to try to correct this asymmetry a bit by pointing people toward some of these blogposts and essays.

I think it is important to get these arguments out there, as it seems to me that we otherwise risk having a too one-sided view of this issue, and not least to overlook other things that may be more important to focus on.

I should note that I do not necessarily agree with all claims and arguments made in these various resources myself, yet I do think all the articles make at least some good points. I should also note that not all the following authors rule out the possibility of a hard take-off, as opposed to merely considering other scenarios more likely.

Robin Hanson:

The Hanson-Yudkowsky AI-Foom Debate (co-authored with Eliezer Yudkowsky)

Yudkowsky vs Hanson — Singularity Debate (Youtube video)

AI Go Foom

Emulations Go Foom

Distrusting Drama

What Core Argument?

Is The City-ularity Near?

The Betterness Explosion

Debating Yudkowsky

When Is “Soon”?

A History Of Foom

Foom Debate, Again

I Still Don’t Get Foom

Irreducible Detail

This Time Isn’t Different

How Different AGI Software?

Hanson on intelligence explosion, from Age of Em

Brains Simpler Than Brain Cells?

Foom Justifies AI Risk Efforts Now

David Pearce:

The Biointelligence Explosion (Extended Abstract)

Humans and Intelligent Machines: Co-Evolution, Fusion or Replacement?

Ramez Naam:

Top Five Reasons ‘The Singularity’ Is A Misnomer

The Singularity is Further Than it Appears

Why AIs Won’t Ascend in the Blink of an Eye – Some Math

Theodore Modis:

Why the Singularity Cannot Happen

Brian Tomasik:

Artificial Intelligence and Its Implications for Future Suffering

Monica Anderson:

Problem Solved: Unfriendly AI

Reduction Considered Harmful

Rodney Brooks:

The Seven Deadly Sins of Predicting the Future of AI

AI Impacts:

Likelihood of discontinuous progress around the development of AGI

Sebastian Benthall:

Don’t Fear the Reaper: Refuting Bostrom’s Superintelligence Argument

Paul Christiano:

Takeoff speeds

Scott Aaronson:

The Singularity Is Far

Jeff Hawkins:

The Terminator Is Not Coming. The Future Will Thank Us.

Ben Goertzel:

The Singularity Institute’s Scary Idea (and Why I Don’t Buy It)

Superintelligence: fears, promises, and potentials

Steven Pinker:

We’re told to fear robots. But why do we think they’ll turn on us?

Maciej Cegłowski:

Superintelligence: The Idea That Eats Smart People

Timothy B. Lee:

Will artificial intelligence destroy humanity? Here are 5 reasons not to worry.

Neil Lawrence:

Future of AI 6. Discussion of ‘Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies’

François Chollet:

The impossibility of intelligence explosion

Kevin Kelly:

The Myth of a Superhuman AI

Paul Allen:

The Singularity Isn’t Near

Alexander Kruel:

AI Risk Critiques: Index (links to many articles)

Alessio Plebe & Pietro Perconti:

The slowdown hypothesis (extended abstract)

Tim Tyler:

The Intelligence Explosion Is Happening Now

The Singularity Is Nonsense

Against the Singularity

My own book on the subject:

Reflections on Intelligence

Short summary and review of my book by Kaj Sotala:

Disjunctive AI scenarios: Individual or collective takeoff?

Various:

Tech Luminaries Address Singularity

Perspectives on intelligence explosion

Not directly about the subject, but still relevant to read in my opinion:

The Knowledge Illusion: Why We Never Think Alone

The Ascent of Man

The Evolution of Everything

Intellectuals and Society

The future of growth: near-zero growth rates

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