The gist of my argument is that there is no way to define a concept of a "real world" that resembles the world we inhabit (and are comfortable calling the real world) while simultaneously excluding the possibility of "unreal worlds." This leaves us with two possible conclusions: (1) if we do actually inhabit an "unreal" world, then unreal worlds are what reality actually is; or (2) we inhabit an unreal world and real worlds are nothing at all like the type of world we live in.
When talking about the world we seem to live in, I lean toward option 1 because I think it allows us to do some work ontologically. That is to say, I think we can feel justified in calling real many things that might not seem to be real depending on your point of view (subatomic particles, ideas, time, etc.). When talking about my truly fundamental beliefs, however, I subscribe to a system that you might say is a combination of options 1 and 2. But that's a whole 'nother bag of beans (worms? shrimp? cats?--a quick googling doesn't settle this). Anyway, without further ado, here's my damn essay. Oh, also, spoiler alert for the final Harry Potter. But come on, I haven't even read the book and I know what happens.
Near the end of the final book in
J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry
has a seemingly impossible conversation with his mentor Albus Dumbledore. The
seeming impossibility of this conversation is predicated on both characters
apparently being dead at the time. As the conversation draws to a close and
Harry realizes that he might not actually be dead, he asks Dumbledore, “Is this
real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” The ever clever Dumbledore
answers, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth
should that mean that it is not real?”
This brief exchange alludes to a
problem that philosophers have wrestled with at least since Descartes and to a
plot device employed in many works of fiction, from Borges’ short story The Circular Ruins on through to
contemporary films such as The Matrix
and Inception. The problem is this:
what is the difference between the real world and one only inside our head, or
one that is illusory or fictitious? To get to the heart of the matter, the
question is often posed thusly: how do you know that you are not dreaming or
being dreamt? If we could answer this question succinctly, then we would have a
clear conception of what the real world is and whether or not we are in it.
I think it might be useful,
however, to tackle this question from the opposite direction. So the question
might instead be posed: how do you know that you are dreaming? That is to say, if we assume that you are dreaming,
what could happen in the dream world that would allow you to correctly conclude
that you are, in fact, dreaming? There is an easy but unsatisfactory answer
that immediately comes to mind—you could wake up. Unfortunately, all this tells
you is that you were dreaming; it
gives you no information about what’s happening to you in the moment.
In fact, waking up doesn’t even
tell you that you’re not dreaming, because it is not entirely uncommon to have
a “dream within a dream” à la Inception.
That phrase may be something of a misnomer, though, for what it describes seems
no different than moving from one dream to another, an experience with which
many of us are also familiar. It is more accurate to say, then, that dreaming
can be followed by the apparent experience of waking up, regardless of whether
or not we actually do wake up.
Rather than focusing on waking up,
it might be useful to examine elements of dreams that strike us as particularly
dream-like. But if we’re dispensing with waking up, we can generalize dreaming
to include other types of unreal experiences, such as being simulated,
fictional, dreamt, or imagined. The common thread that binds these experiences
is an apparent disconnect between our subjective awareness and what the real
world truly is. It may seem something of a leap to lump in these other
concepts, however, because all of us have had the subjective experience of dreaming
but few of us would claim to have ever been a fictional character. In comparing
these disparate types of unreality, then, we must consider not what it feels
like to be that way but what elements are common to our conception of unreal
worlds.
I posit that there are four features
we might say are characteristic of various forms of unreality. These are abrupt
changes, rule violations, missing information, and absurd scenarios. To get an
idea of what I mean by these terms, a few examples might be necessary.
We’ve already seen examples of
abrupt changes just a few paragraphs up. If you move from one dream to another,
then the steady flow of reality has been altered, continuity broken. You may
have been dreaming of playing in the World Series and then suddenly shifted to
a dream of your wedding day. More generally, abrupt changes abound in our
unreal creations. In chapter 6 the main character may decide to take a trip
across the country, and in chapter 7 the main character may arrive without the
intervening journey having been written by the author.
Rule violations would seem to be
the most obvious feature of unreality. Natural laws apparently govern what we
are comfortable calling the real world, so an unreal world should not feel
bound to obey said laws. Stories taking place in a fantasy or science fiction
setting are often rife with events that could not happen according to the laws
as we know them. Dreams very often involve impossible happenings, such as
reunions with long-dead relations or the ability to fly by flapping your arms.
The only limit to what may happen in an unreal world is our imagination, and I
can imagine a being possessing a far greater imagination than I have.
Our next unreal attribute is a
little harder to pin down. Missing information is the fact that unreal worlds
are often insufficiently detailed. An author may write a mundane, temporally
continuous story where nothing out of the ordinary happens, but it is very
unlikely that the author will describe, unless motivated to do so by story
concerns, how that character’s internal organs function, or what’s happening on
the other side of the world. This might not seem troubling; after all, I am not
constantly aware of everything happening inside my body. But if a fictional
character can have a subjective experience produced by the work of fiction that
character inhabits, does that character have internal organs not written about?
Worse still, if a fictional character is in a room described as merely “plain”
or “having four walls,” how rich are the perceptions of that character
regarding the room? This is missing information.
Finally, unreal worlds are very
often absurd. What constitutes absurdity can certainly be a matter of opinion,
especially because I am distinguishing this from scenarios that explicitly
contravene physical laws. So for our purposes, absurd scenarios are ones that
are prohibited by no natural laws but that we are confident would never happen
in reality due to their implausibility. I may dream that I am trapped in an
elevator playing Monopoly with all of my ex-girlfriends; this is a deeply
unlikely scenario, but no law ever conceived of by Newton says it cannot
happen. Absurdist fiction follows similar lines. Look to any TV sitcom such as Seinfeld for examples of situations that
may not be physically impossible, but certainly aren’t likely.
With the features of unreality
defined, are we now equipped to correctly conclude, if we’re dreaming, that we
are? Unfortunately, we are not. If these four elements are common to unreality,
then I can identify three possible scenarios we associate with the real world
that could explain these elements.
The first is this: in what we are
comfortable calling the real world, our scope is limited. Humans are finite,
non-omniscient beings. We gather up our experiences of the world through our
senses and derive much more, but not everything, from our capacity to reason
and imagine. I mentioned earlier that the impossibility of unreal worlds can be
thought of as a product of our seemingly unlimited imagination. And it may be
true that our imagination is infinite. But even if it is, infinity is not
everything. For example, it can be shown that there is an infinite quantity of
rational numbers between 0 and 1 (1/2, 1/3, 1/4 … 1/10,327,452, etc.), and yet
none of those numbers is the number 2 (or any other number greater than 1, of
which there are an infinite number). So even granting an unlimited imagination,
a human’s experience of the world is not all of the world.
Thus we are very often apt to encounter
events we have failed to anticipate, events which may seem to violate the laws
of the universe or be absurd. Consider the first Native Americans to witness
European colonists sailing in giant wooden ships, riding horses, and firing
guns. No experience had by a Native American up to that point could have
prepared them for such an encounter, and yet it happened and was real. Or
consider what it might have been like if an asteroid comparable to the one that
killed the dinosaurs had struck the Earth during the course of human history but
before the advent of telescopes. The world would have changed abruptly, and the
change brought about would have been absurd and seemingly in violation of the
natural laws taken for granted. The real world is certainly not a place that
can suddenly be engulfed in flames, tidal waves, and blackened skies, we would
have thought. But we would have been wrong.
From this we can see that our
expectation of what is absurd or impossible is a consequence of the limited
scope through which we view the world. It is highly dependent on what we have
experienced or imagined so far.
The second scenario in which the
defining qualities of the unreal world become insufficient is one in which our
senses deceive us. All of us are aware that we can be fooled by optical
illusions or that we can hallucinate. We think of such instances as being
exceptional, but increasingly research in neuroscience points to our being
fooled as the norm. This fact can account for
abrupt changes and missing information, to say nothing of hallucinations
in which absurd or impossible events occur. A real example of an abrupt change
in the world is that which occurs during a bout of dreamless sleep. It is night
outside, and then suddenly it is light and eight hours have passed. We excuse
the continuity break only because it happens every day. A further illustration
is highway hypnosis, in which we can be in one place at one time and then
another place at another time with no conscious awareness of what occurred in
between.
Missing information manifests in
our shoddy attention to the world around us. Cognitive scientists have great
fun demonstrating our inattentional blindness by having us watch videos in
which we can miss wardrobe changes, people swapping, or gorillas. All
of this demonstrates that we can completely fail to be aware of the real world
out there and yet have no sense that we do not inhabit a richly detailed world.
This conception, however, is
predicated on there being a real world which we can somehow know despite what
our senses tell us. Much of this view arises out of modern science, which has
allowed us to build up a representation of the world that is free of illusions and
hallucinations but also only marginally connected to what we observe
empirically. So while we may see color and shape and contrast, what we know
from physics tells us that light is just a wavelength of electromagnetic
radiation governed by Maxwell’s equations.
But this modern notion is
ultimately borne out of experiments performed and reason applied to the
observed results of those experiments. In other words, observation has taught
us that observation is flawed. But our observations of the real world and our
observations about our observations are flawed in the same way: we do not
connect directly to the world but build up an image that is filtered through
our senses and constructed by our brain. More abstractly, there is a real
world, and there is our experience of that world; they are not the same thing.
Here it would be wise to remember Morpheus from The Matrix, who tells Neo, “If you're talking about what you can
feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then 'real' is simply
electrical signals interpreted by your brain.”
Finally, all manner of unreal
occurrences can be accounted for if we live in a world governed by supernatural
entities. This is the famous evil demon present in Descartes’ Meditations. But it is also a world
governed by any kind of god whatsoever. If we live in a world in which miracles
can occur, then we live in a world in which the laws of physics can be flouted,
abrupt changes can occur, and absurd events can transpire. Rather than evidence
of being dreaming or fictitious, miracles would be evidence in favor of a
particular supernatural entity.
Moreover, if something exists that
is supernatural, the implication is that two kinds of world exist: the natural
and the supernatural. Superficially, miracles connote a world that very much
seems to resemble an unreal world. If we are dreaming, dreamt, fictitious,
imagined, or simulated, then there is some person or entity which is
responsible for and has created the unreal world of which we are a part. We
could call such an entity a god.
Some might object here by arguing
that this is not what fictional universes are generally like. If an author
writes a fantasy novel, there may be gods in that novel, but the author is not
usually one of them. And yet it is not inconceivable that such a story could be
written. It would be no trouble at all for me to write a story about characters
in a world created by the god Ori Vandewalle, who sets forth such and such laws
and demands such and such prayers. In a slightly less vain direction, science
fiction author Greg Egan has written a trilogy of books, beginning with The Clockwork Rocket, that takes place
in an alternate universe with laws of physics different from our own. If we are
positing the reality of fictional characters, he has a created a new universe
subordinate to and different from our own.
So then we have failed to identify
criteria sufficient for determining that we are dreaming. But this failure is
not a result of dreaming being too slippery a phenomenon to get a handle of;
rather, the conclusion is that the type of awareness that comes from existing
in an unreal world is indiscernible from the type of awareness that comes from
existing in a real world. That is to say, there is no difference between real
and unreal. An “unreal world” is one in which a creator in the “real world”
imposes an incomplete, incongruent, potentially impossible image on the
inhabitants of the unreal world, an image which may not be empirically similar
to the real world. Our real world, on the other hand, is one in which we
construct an image of the world from the information that falls into us, and the
image we form may be incomplete, incongruent, potentially impossible, and
ultimately controlled by a supernatural entity.
We cannot know if we are awake because there is no difference between being awake and dreaming. Or rather, if we are forever dreaming, or being dreamt, or fictional or simulated or imagined, then that’s what it is to be real. We might call this Dumbledorean Realism. Yes, it may all be in our heads, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. To say otherwise, to say that being a fictional character is not what it is to be real, is to say that a true real world is one in which unreal elements cannot impose themselves—a world that could not have been made by a creator, where subjective experiences map directly onto the world perfectly, and where all inhabitants are omniscient and could only fail to anticipate that which could not happen anyway.
My answer to this one is the same as my answer to predestination - absent absolute knowledge, it doesn't matter. We have to proceed as if the world is real and we have free will.
ReplyDeleteI agree (at least on the real world part). What's significant for me here is that reality as we know it seems to fail our tests for reality, which means we might need to loosen our standards of what we're willing to call real.
ReplyDeleteI dunno. What's in it for me?
ReplyDeleteWell, there's a philosophy angle to this and a more practical angle.
ReplyDeleteHere's one consequence for philosophy which I've been thinking about recently because of my philosophy of math course. Some people believe numbers are real objects that actually exist rather than just being words or ideas we've come up with. One of the criticisms of this view is that numbers don't appear to be located anywhere, so how can they exist? But, using some of the concepts in this essay as well as a few things I haven't fully articulated yet, I think it's possible to show that we're not thoroughly justified in locating objects we are comfortable calling real. If that's the case, then not being spatiotemporal objects isn't a mark against numbers.
The practical angle isn't all that different, really. You'll sometimes encounter people who says things like, "Love isn't real. Love is just some chemicals in your brain." Now, one counter to that claim is that love just being chemicals doesn't make it not love. But another counter is that love doesn't have to be a physical thing to be real. It's not real in the usual way, but I don't think the usual things are real in the usual way, either.
I can't speak to the philosophical angle, but suppose the implications matter to science. Maybe.
ReplyDeleteOn the practical level, of course love is real - I've felt it and read the Descartes quote. It doesn't change my answer that we have to buy into the consensus reality to function usefully in it. They sold my brother on predestination -and the disgusting implication that some people are 'Elect'- at seminary - and it still doesn't matter, if true, because God Almighty hasn't appeared to him and Laid It All Out.