Sunday, 7 May 2023

David Lewis on Knowledge, Justification, and the Lottery Paradox

The American philosopher David Kellogg Lewis (1942–2001) approached the lottery paradox from a philosophical angle. That is, he didn’t approach it in the same way as many mathematicians, scientists and logicians had previously done. Lewis, instead, focussed on knowledge and justification and their relation to the paradox… Yet knowledge and justification aren’t natural kinds. So this means that they can never have — or be given — determinate and entirely uncontroversial conditions of identity.

(i) Introduction
(ii) The Lottery Paradox
(iii) Knowledge Without Justification
(iv) We Don’t Even Know How We Know
(v) Foundationalism or Coherentism?

Since this essay is about David Lewis’s take on knowledge and justification as they relate to the lottery paradox, let’s start off with a relevant passage from the American philosopher (who died in 2001):

“The greater the number of losing tickers, the better is your justification for believing you will lose. Yet there is no number great enough to transform your fallible opinion into knowledge — after all, you just might win. No justification is good enough — or none short of a watertight deductive argument.”

[The quotes from David Lewis in this essay all come from his 1996 paper ‘Elusive Knowledge’.]

The passage above expresses a strong disjuncture between knowledge and justification.

However, firstly it needs to be noted that David Lewis used the terms “knowledge” and “justification” in extremely specific ways. That is, ways which are strongly beholden to many — though certainly not all — philosophical traditions. The most important tradition — relevant to this issue — is the one which had it that “knowledge is justified true belief”, which is a position which Lewis himself rejected. However, Lewis clearly bounced off this tradition. Indeed, his own position is an attempt to show that knowledge and justification can indeed run along separate lines.

Relevantly, and perhaps at odds with Lewis’s own position (as well as the knowledge-is-justified-true-belief position he rejected), it can be argued that knowledge and justification aren’t natural kinds which have — or can even be given — determinate and entirely uncontroversial conditions of identity.

[See note (1) on the British philosopher Michael Williams at the end of this essay.]

All this means that not all laypersons — not even many laypersons — use the words “knowledge” and “justification” in the same — technical — way in which Lewis did. And that’s simply because these are philosophical uses of such words.

Another thing which needs to be made clear (though it’s related to the points above) is that Lewis approached the lottery paradox from a philosophical angle. (This may well be a statement of the obvious.) That is, he didn’t approach the paradox in the same way as mathematicians, scientists and logicians had done before his 1996 paper.

For example, the lottery paradox was first considered by Henry E. Kyburg Jr. (The first published statement of the paradox can be found in Kyburg’s Probability and the Logic of Rational Belief of 1961.) Kyburg considered the paradox from a mainly mathematical angle. That is, he focussed on probability (as part of probability theory) and such like. He did, however, tie all that mathematics to human rationality and irrationality.

David Lewis, on the other hand, focussed on knowledge and justification and their relation to the lottery paradox.

Still, let’s now see how Lewis himself used the words “knowledge” and “justification”.

The Lottery Paradox

Say that there are a billion tickets in a lottery and they’ve all been sold to a billion different people. John buys a ticket in this lottery. It’s logically possible that he could win the jackpot. However, John may well be profoundly justified in believing that he will loose. That said, he still wouldn’t have knowledge that he will loose. That’s because — again — he may, after all, win.

In that case, why doesn’t John simply concede that he will probably loose, rather than that he will loose?

This introduction of probability, however, still involves the notion of justification.

If it’s highly probable that John will loose, then surely he’s justified in his belief that he will loose. However, that high probably doesn’t make his claim (belief) that he will loose become an expression of knowledge.

David Lewis argued that it’s not just a case that the (level of) justification in this particular case isn’t good enough to (as it were) turn justification into knowledge. He argued that it’s the case that no (to his own words) “justification would be good enough”. Again, there’s no miraculous point in which justification suddenly (or otherwise) turns into knowledge.

Thus, and as stated in the introduction, knowledge and justification are torn asunder… Or, at least according to Lewis, knowledge and justification are torn asunder.

More technically, knowledge is not (as Lewis put it)adequately justified belief”. Basically, then, knowledge and justification are two different kinds.

So instead of believing that adequate justification will give us knowledge, perhaps John should — at least in some cases defined by context - simply throw justification overboard entirely. Or, as Lewis put it, “justification is not always necessary”. [Lewis had much to say about context. See also ‘Contextualism’.]

[Here again, my own personal position is that knowledge and justification aren’t natural kinds which have — or can even be given — determinate and entirely uncontroversial conditions of identity. Thus, I have a problem we seeing justification and knowledge in such absolutist and categorical terms. This (as it were) deflationary position within — or perhaps toward — epistemology can, perhaps, be ignored for the purposes of this essay… Or can it?]

In any case, Lewis provided us with his own examples of knowledge which don’t require justification.

Knowledge Without Justification

David Lewis asked his readers the following question:

“What (non-circular) argument supports our reliance on perception, on memory, and on testimony?”

Lewis’s point is that John’s uses of perception in the past are believed to justify his uses of perception in the present. Yet this is a circular position. That is, John is using past instances of perception to justify his uses of perception in the present.

But what if John hadn’t even justified his past uses of perception?

That would mean that his present uses wouldn’t be justified either.

Of course, it might well have been the case that John’s past uses of perception were indeed justified. However, do his past (or previous) justifications of his perceptions mean that he doesn’t need to justify his present perceptions? What’s more, what if those past (or previous) uses of perception were themselves dependent upon justifications which were even further back in his own history?

If that were the case, then John would have a regress on his hands. (A regress that, perhaps, could go all the way back to an initial reliance on perception which was not justified.)

Almost exactly the same remarks hold for John’s reliance on memory.

Past uses of memory — though only looking at them in the present —seem to John to have been correct representations of past (for want of a better word) realities. (Past uses of memory also helped John cope with what were deemed to be the realities of previous times.) However, how does John know today that those past uses of memory were in fact correct representations of past realities? Is it because he believes (today) the same about past… past uses of memory?

Lewis then offered his readers another interesting example of unjustified knowledge… Of course, the phrase “unjustified knowledge” may seem — at least to some readers — like an oxymoron.

We Don’t Even Know How We Know

Lewis argued that we know certain things even though

“we don’t even know how we know”.

So it could be the case that John doesn’t actually have “supporting arguments” to justify a particular present belief (or claim). In this case, that’s because he’s forgotten the previous justifications or supporting arguments. This also means that at one time John did have supporting arguments for that belief (or claim). However, he’s now forgotten them.

To put all that another way.

This particular belief (or claim) was justified at one time in the past. However, it isn’t (re)justified today. More relevantly, if this belief (or claim) was justified at one time in the past (that’s if it was adequately justified), then, Lewis argued, it needn’t be justified again today.

Not continually rejustifying all our beliefs (or claims) is a question of time constraints, context, and/or of epistemic common sense. In other words, if John were really required to re-justify all his beliefs (or claims) again and again, then he wouldn’t have time to acquire new beliefs (or bits of knowledge) — or even to so much as function in the world.

For example, John firmly believes that Adolf Hitler was the dictator of Germany from 1933 to 1945. Indeed, he believes that this belief (or claim) is an example of knowledge (i.e., if only on his part). However, John hasn’t justified this particular belief (or claim) for some considerable time (say, for over a decade). What’s more, other beliefs of his are dependent upon — or related to — this particular belief about Hitler. That is, John has derived other beliefs (or bits of knowledge) from this initial belief (or bit of knowledge). However, if he needed to continually re-justify this belief about Hitler, then perhaps he wouldn’t get around to justifying the beliefs that are dependent upon — or derived from — that belief (which was, after all, justified at one point in time).

All this is related to Ludwig Wittgenstein’s doubts about doubt (more correctly, doubts about global scepticism). Wittgenstein’s case against scepticism is simple.

We can’t doubt anything without exempting at least some things from doubt. [See note (2).]

So perhaps this is also either an argument for some kind of foundationalism, or, alternatively, for some kind of coherentism.

Foundationalism or Coherentism?

The argument above may be foundationalist — if only in a loose sense! — in that John must rely on certain beliefs not being continually re-justified in order to make way for — or even make possible — new beliefs. That said, his initial set of beliefs were in fact fully justified… at one point.

This means that John’s initial set of beliefs certainly won’t come under the epistemological rubric of self-evident (or unjustified) foundations.

On the other hand, the arguments above can also be deemed coherentist in that John’s new beliefs also depend upon — or derived from — an initial sets of his beliefs, which might, in turn, have depended on new beliefs (at the time) and on other sets of (even) older beliefs.

This is a coherentist picture in that it stresses the inter-relations between John’s beliefs within a set of his overall beliefs. That set itself includes subsets of beliefs and individual beliefs. What’s more, in this (epistemic) whole there are no genuinely foundational beliefs which take the weight of all the other beliefs (as it were) above them. In other words, this is (or it simply may be) a fully coherent system of mutually-supporting beliefs.

****************************************

Notes:

(1) Michael Williams’s position is primarily aimed at what he calls “epistemological realism”. He has it that the epistemological realist believes that there’s a single true analysis of both justification and knowledge.

Williams compares this kind of realism with the scientific analysis and classification of heat.

When the physicist or chemist explores the nature of heat, he looks for

“some underlying property, or structure of more elementary components, common to [all] hot things”.

Therefore, scientific realists (though not necessarily scientists themselves!) see heat as a natural kind. In other words, for the scientific realist,

“deep structural features of the elementary components of things determine the boundaries of natural, as opposed to merely nominal or conventional, kinds”.

The epistemological realist attempts to do the same kind of thing with knowledge and justification. Thus, he believes that “there must be underlying epistemological structures or principles”.

Now take the specific case of justified true belief (which, as we’ve seen, David Lewis reacted against).

For a long time, many epistemologists argued that knowledge is justified true belief . Then along came Edmund Gettier’s demonstration that this analysis of knowledge (to use Williams’s word) “fails to state a sufficient condition for knowledge”.

So is that partly — or even largely — because knowledge is not a natural kind, thing or even property that can even be given a correct analysis in all situations? (This, as Williams also states, isn’t also to argue that there is no such the thing as knowledge.)

Again, Williams makes a connection with the analysis of heat in science. He writes:

[W]e might be inclined to suppose that just as in physics we study the nature of heat, so in philosophy we study the nature of [knowledge and justification]. But once plausible deflationary views are on the table, the analogy between [knowledge and justification] and things like heat can no longer be treated as unproblematic.”

Basically, then, epistemological realists — and many others — reify knowledge and justification. That is, they turn knowledge and justification (even when rejecting the knowledge-is-justified-true-belief thesis) into two essentially Platonic things.

(2) As Ludwig Wittgenstein put it in the posthumous book On Certainty:

“The questions that we raise and our doubts depend on the fact that some propositions are exempt from doubt, are as it were like hinges on which those [doubts] turn.
“That is to say, it belongs to the logic of our scientific investigations that certain things are in deed not doubted. []
“My life consists in my being content to accept many things.”

For example, you may doubt the geologist’s honesty or why he’s saying what he’s saying. Thus, these doubts must be (as the philosopher David Lewis himself put it in his paper ‘Elusive Knowledge’) “properly ignored”.

What’s at the heart of these exemptions is the context in which the doubt takes place.

As Wittgenstein (again) put it:

“Without that context, the doubt itself makes no sense: ‘The game of doubting itself presupposes certainty’; ‘A doubt without an end is not even a doubt.’”

If one doubts everything, then there’s no sense in doubting anything. Thus, doubt occurs within the context of unjustified belief.

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Tuesday, 2 May 2023

Are We All “Sheeple” Who Can’t Escape Our Conceptual Schemes or Epistemes?

The philosopher Michel Foucault argued that (most? all?) people don’t realise that the epistemes they exist within determine their experiences, “discourse”, beliefs and even behaviour. (According to Foucault, epistemes constitute “the historical a priori.)… So how did Foucault and similar theorists (e.g., Marx, etc.) escape from the conceptual schemes and/or epistemes they found themselves within? Indeed, did they really escape? More relevantly, do conceptual schemes and epistemes exist in the first place?

(i) Introduction: Conceptual Schemes
(ii) Michel Foucault on Epistemes
(iii) How Did Foucault Escape From His Episteme?
(iv) Hilary Putnam on Conceptual Schemes

Firstly, the title above may be a little misleading to some readers. That’s mainly because the essay itself doesn’t discuss specific political positions or specific political/social groups. In other words, there’s no claim here that a particular set of people are (or are not) sheeple because they believe x or y. Instead, this essay is (to quote Donald Davidson) “on the very idea of a conceptual scheme”.

This explanation is given because it sometimes seems as if many politicised young people (mainly males under the age of 22 and teenagers) are accusing everyone else — i.e., outside their own political flocks — of being “sheeple” (see here).

So why is that?

It’s surely because such young people deem sheeple to be the mindless (as it were) members of various conceptual schemes and/or epistemes (i.e., as these schemes and/or epistemes are embedded in specific nations/states and societies)… Not that that these two particular technical terms (i.e., “conceptual schemes” and “epistemes”) are ever actually used by most of those who refer to other people as sheeple.

Donald Davidson

More relevantly, in this essay the term “conceptual scheme” is used in pretty much the same (largely non-political) way in which the American philosopher Donald Davidson (1917–2003) used it.

Davidson (in his paper ‘On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme’) wrote that conceptual schemes are “ways of organizing experience”, as well as “systems of categories that give form to the data of sensation”. More generally, they are “points of view from which individuals, cultures, or periods survey the passing scene”.

Yet despite just telling us what conceptual schemes are, Davidson didn’t actually believe that such things exist! [See my own essay, ‘There Are No Conceptual Schemes’.]

A more standard definition of a conceptual scheme is the following:

“The general system of concepts which shape or organize our thoughts and perceptions. The outstanding elements of our everyday conceptual scheme include spatial and temporal relations between events and enduring objects, causal relations, other persons, meaning-bearing utterances of others, and so on. To see the world as containing such things is to share this much of our conceptual scheme.”

Despite this definition, this essay is largely about Foucauldian conceptual schemes. It also notes Davidson’s earlier (critical) definitions of the notion.

More broadly, it can be argued that the belief in (or acceptance of) the very idea of a conceptual scheme (or at least the strong political and sociological stress on such a thing) led to a belief in linguistic relativity (or the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis). Indeed, it also — at least partly — led to various varieties of moral and political relativism generally. (Note, again, Davidson’s idea that conceptual schemes are “points of view from which individuals, cultures, or periods survey the passing scene”.)

All that said, conceptual schemes can either be seen as vague abstract entities, or, indeed, as real concrete entities.

This means that some of the conceptual schemes referred to in the following don’t strictly abide by any of Davidson’s own definitions and analyses. However, that doesn’t matter because his broad account will still give readers a way (or means) to discuss whether the entities provisionally deemed to be conceptual schemes — i.e., by other people — really do have such a determining and powerful impact on the minds of all those people who’re supposed to be under their spell. (Hence, the rhetorical use of the word “sheeple” in the title.)

It will now be seen that an episteme (at least as described by Michel Foucault) has various similarities with the notion of a conceptual scheme.

Michel Foucault on Epistemes

Michel Foucault

The French philosopher Michel Foucault (1927–1984) used the term épistémè in his book The Order of Things. He defined the word in the following way:

[T]he historical a priori which i[n] a given period, delimits the totality of experience [of] a field of knowledge, defined the mode of being of the objects that appear in that field, provides man’s everyday perception with theoretical powers, and defines the conditions in which he can sustain a discourse about things that [are] recognised to be true.”

And elsewhere in the same book, Foucault also wrote:

“In any given culture and at any given moment, there is always only one episteme that defines the conditions of possibility of all knowledge, whether expressed in a theory or silently invested in a practice.”

It seems clear that Foucault had a view of epistemes which made them deterministic in nature. (He did qualify, in various places, this charge of conceptual and cognitive — hence also political — determinism.) That is, Foucault believed that (most? all?) people don’t consciously adopt their epistemes. What’s more, they don’t realise (or know) that their epistemes determine their experiences, “discourse”, beliefs and even behaviour. Thus, according to Foucault, epistemes are (among other things) “the historical a priori. That means that (if this term is taken in its almost Kantian sense) each episteme literally comes before experience (at least for a particular historical or social group) and therefore it forms and shapes all experience.

Kant was just mentioned in parenthesis a moment ago. Foucault himself used the phrase “historical a priori” (as already quoted) in homage to the 18th century German philosopher.

So let’s take Kant’s arguments for his own (as it were) conceptual scheme as true, at the same time as noting that it’s very different to a Foucauldian episteme.

It can be said that literally no one can escape from Kant’s mental and/or cognitive a priori categories and concepts. Indeed, in the language of 21st century neuroscience and cognitive science, that’s because whatever it is that’s responsible for our Kantian categories and concepts, it must be physically hardwired — i.e., from birth — into the brains of all human beings.

Thus, in the Kantian story, we must see objects as objects. We must see things in terms of cause and effect. And we must see things in terms of internal time and external space. Etc.

Thus, in a strict sense, some of the examples offered below can’t be a priori in this strict Kantian sense. (This is true, for example, of class consciousness.) The closest which some conceptual schemes (if that’s a suitable term at all) come to the Kantian a priori include Chomsky’s universal grammar, the deep structures of Lacan and Lévi-Strauss, Freud’s subconscious, etc. However, even deep structures were seen to be limited to specific cultures at specific times. (There were also, admittedly, deemed to be “universal” and “timeless” threads to such structures.) And each Freudian subconscious is specific to each individual person. (Here again, there are said to be universal and timeless threads to the human subconscious.)

To return to Foucault.

A Foucauldian episteme is far more broad (as well sociological, political and historical) than Kantian a priori concepts and categories. Indeed, Kant’s categories and concepts (if taken to be real things) apply to all human beings at all times (i.e., they can’t constitute Foucault’s historical a priori). That said, some of Foucault’s statements about epistemes do have Kantian resonances.

For example, according to Foucault, an episteme defines “the mode [] of the objects that appear”. It also “determines the totality of experience”. And so on. However, Foucault appeared to have overstepped the Kantian mark when he argued that an episteme determines certain epistemic constraints on our “discourse about truth”.

[Note here that the Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget argued — see here — that Foucault’s use of the term épistémè was similar to Thomas Kuhn’s notion of a paradigm. Perhaps, too, R.G. Collingwood’s notion of historical “absolute presuppositions” chimes in with Foucault’s historical take on epistemes.]

So what about Foucault’s very own escape from what he called the “contemporary episteme”?

How Did Foucault Escape From His Episteme?

“The [flock] of independent minds.” In that link, Noam Chomsky quotes this line (i.e., it’s not his own). Of course, it’s also a perfect description of many of Chomsky’s own followers. That is, Chomsky has a very independent mind. However, many of his followers most certainly do not. And perhaps that’s primarily because they are just that — his (loyal) followers. All this was also true of Foucault and many of his followers. Interestingly, Foucault and Chomsky both debated and clashed on various occasions (see here).

In 1971, Michel Foucault wrote the following:

[] I am trying to grasp the implicit systems which determine our most familiar behaviour without our know it [] to show the constraints they impose upon us. I am therefore trying to place myself at a distance from them and to show how one could escape.”

Note also here the Marxist’s escape from false consciousness or Karl Marx’s own escape from the “bourgeois ideology” of both his own family and his overall background. (Interestingly, Foucault once wrote the following: “Marxism exists in nineteenth-century thought like a fish in water: that is, it is unable to breathe anywhere else.”)

In any case, perhaps some people don’t actually want to escape (or transcend) their conceptual scheme or episteme. That may be because they might have reflected on the concepts, beliefs, norms, etc. of their conceptual scheme, and not found them wanting. However, Foucault seemed to have assumed that because people were (as it were) happy with their episteme (or conceptual scheme), then they mustn’t in fact have recognised that they’re living, working and thinking within one.

So how did Foucault himself escape from his own episteme?

Perhaps this isn’t a philosophical question. Perhaps it’s a question about Foucault himself. That is, this may not be about how Foucault philosophically and/or intellectually transcended his own episteme (note the quote earlier). Instead, it may about why he believed he had done so.

In the past there have been many people with such special powers. Such people argued there were no alternative ways of escape other than their own. What’s more, if someone believed that he has escaped via another route, then he or she mustn’t have really escaped at all. Indeed, it wouldn’t be a genuine episteme (or the subconscious, or class consciousness) otherwise. Thus, it’s no use stressing conceptual schemes or epistemes if people can escape from them willy-nilly.

All this, of course, raises a self-referential question. Namely:

How did such philosophers and theorists (such as Foucault, Marx, Freud, etc.) themselves escape from their conceptual schemes or epistemes?

Did they do so by choosing the true path of escape?

This means that if the rest of us don’t choose the true path (specified by Foucault or, say, Marxists), then we can’t (by definition) have escaped.

That said, perhaps some of these philosophers and theorists happily acknowledged that at least a small number of people can be conscious of their own conceptual scheme. However, unless they’re conscious of it in the true way, then they can’t (really) escape (or transcend) it at all.

This means that it’s not enough to have knowledge, insight and intelligence about our own conceptual scheme: we must have true (i.e., Foucauldian or Marxist) knowledge, insight and intelligence about it. On the other hand, even if a follower of Foucault (or Marx) were an intellectual imbecile and had only being a loyal reader of Foucault’s (Marx’s) works for one single month, then he could still escape his conceptual scheme simply by fully embracing Foucault’s (or Marx’s) analyses, ideas and theories. (Personally, I experienced such a thing many times in my late teens and early twenties.)

As with this essay itself, the American philosopher Hilary Putnam (1926–2016) came at the issue of a conceptual scheme from an angle very different to both Donald Davidson and Michel Foucault.

Hilary Putnam on Conceptual Schemes

Hilary Putnam

Hilary Putnam argued that the very fact of recognising (let alone criticising or rejecting) a conceptual scheme surely means that it has, at least to some extent, been (to use Putnam’s word) “transcended”.

In more detail.

According to Putnam (in his paper ‘Why Reason Can’t Be Naturalised’), the fact that persons can criticise a (or their own) conceptual scheme casts doubt on any notion of such an (abstract) self-contained and self-enclosed structure.

Putnam himself mentioned Michel Foucault. [See also Putnam’s ‘Beyond Historicism’ in his Philosophical Papers.]

According to Putnam, Foucault and other conceptual-scheme determinists (words Putnam didn’t use) claim that we “mechanically apply cultural norms”. In actual fact, however, Putnam argued that many people “interpret” and “criticise” them. (Well, Foucault himself certainly did.)

Putnam’s critique of such determinism — he referred specifically to rationality — can be expressed in this way:

a conceptual scheme
 ↓
determines
 ↓
rationality
 ↓
and rationality
 ↓
transcends (through criticism, self-reflection, etc.)
 ↓
that conceptual scheme

Putnam’s internal realism can also be applied to the notion of a conceptual scheme — and the parallel stress on language — in the following way:

position A (which Putnam says is “language-determined”)
 ↓
gives rises to
 ↓
position B (which is also
language determined)
 ↓
Thus, “we make new versions [of language] out of old ones”.

However, one might have asked Putnam this question:

If a conceptual scheme — or a given language — is so easy to transcend, then why talk in terms of a conceptual scheme at all?

(This seemed to have been at least part of the gist of Davidson’s argument.)

It can be doubted that Putnam did argue that it’s easy to transcend a conceptual scheme. It may take a lot of hard work. Alternatively, such transcendence may be — at least partly — fortuitous.

The point is, however, that not all the conceptual schemes (or epistemes) are equivalent to, say, the a priori categories and concepts of Kant (or, say, to Chomsky’s language faculty). In non-Kantian terms, then, conceptual schemes can be — or actually are — contingent. Indeed, Foucault himself argued that epistemes are contingent in that they might have been otherwise. However, once an episteme becomes a (as it were) reality, then it non-contingently determines experience, “discourse”, and knowledge.

(Remember here that Foucault argued the following three things: (1) “In any given culture and at any given moment, there is always only one episteme.” (2) That an episteme determines the “conditions of possibility of all knowledge”. (3) That a conceptual scheme “delimits the totality of experience [of] a field of knowledge”.)

Of course, there are lots of contingent psychological, social and political phenomena which are, nonetheless, long-lasting and very hard to escape. However, this doesn’t make them any less contingent.

On the other hand , many things which were once deemed to be necessary or a priori turned out to be no such thing at all. And, of course, some philosophers have questioned the very existence of any form of a priori or necessity.

Thus, Foucault’s own notion of a historical a priori must itself become — and indeed has become — a victim of history and of philosophical criticism.

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Wednesday, 26 April 2023

David Chalmers’ Reality+… and The Matrix

The main character in The Matrix (Neo) experienced a reality which was entirely an illusion. Yet, on David Chalmers’ take, his reality+ idea is mainly about what does — and what will — happen when individuals, groups and entire societies consciously (or willingly) create virtual realities. Thus, in that strong sense, Chalmers isn’t offering us his own 2023 (or 2022) version of The Matrix and other sceptical scenarios. Instead, his reality+ idea is largely about “extending our sense of the real”.

(i) Introduction
(ii) The Matrix
(iii) Simulations are Real Fakes
(iv) Proof?
(v) Illusions All the Way Down?

Philosopher David Chalmers’ own take on virtual reality isn’t like The Matrix scenario or René Descartes’ evil demon thought experiment. Indeed, his own term “reality+” actually captures that difference.

Basically, in his book Reality+: Virtual Worlds and the Problems of Philosophy, Chalmers discusses the many implications of our living with (as well as living in) nonvirtual worlds… + virtual worlds.

The Matrix

As many commentators have already pointed out, The Matrix can be viewed as a new-fangled take on Descartes’ evil demon story (or thought experiment). Of course, this isn’t to say that The Matrix is identical to Descartes’ evil demon — just with added contemporary knobs on.

It’s also worth saying that The Matrix owes just as much to the many and various brain-in-a-vat scenarios which have been offered to the public over the last five decades.

For example, way back in 1968 (some 31 years before The Matrix), the philosophers James Cornman and Keith Lehrer suggested that what they called the “braino machine” could do the following things:

[It could] operate by influencing the brain of a subject who wears a special cap, called a ‘braino cap.’ When the braino cap is placed on a subject’s head, the operator of the braino can affect his brain so as to produce any hallucination in the subject that the operator wishes. The braino is a hallucination-producing machine. The hallucinations produced by it may be as complete, systematic, and coherent as the operator of the braino desires to make them.”

The scenario above is now very familiar to many people.

Ironically, the philosopher Hilary Putnam argued — over many years — that

“the supposition that we are actually brains in a vat, although it violates no physical law, and is perfectly consistent with everything we have experienced, cannot possibly be true”.

Why is that?

Well, “[i]t cannot possibly be true, because it is, in a certain way, self-refuting”.

Of course, there’s a vast literature on this brain-in-a-vat story which can’t be tackled in this essay! (See here.)

So if we return to Descartes’ evil demon.

David Chalmers himself writes:

“I first argue that we can’t know we’re not in a simulation like the Matrix. This is a modern-day version of Rene Descartes’s idea that we might be in the grip of an evil demon producing sensations of an external world.”

More relevantly:

“We can never prove we’re not in a computer simulation because any evidence of ordinary reality could be simulated.”

So The Matrix is — at least partly — about what philosophers call global scepticism

However. The Matrix story may not actually be an artistic take on global scepticism at all.

That’s because global scepticism has it that we can’t know anything at all. The Matrix, on the other hand, is only about our perceptions of the world and the possibility that we can’t know if they’re all illusions. This may mean that Matrix-scepticism is only global when it comes to our perceptions. Indeed, this may actually make it a case of local scepticism

Yet surely scepticism about all our perceptions (if broadly construed) will pass over to scepticism about… everything.

After all, it may not only be that what we see, hear, smell and touch is illusionary: what we think and believe may be illusionary too. Indeed, what we perceive has often been closely tied — by many philosophers and scientists — to what we both believe and think. Thus, on this picture, perceptions are parts of a package deal which also includes thoughts, beliefs and memories. [See note 1.)

Of course, not all viewers of The Matrix need to be aware of all this philosophical stuff. (I suspect that most viewers haven’t been.) That is, they may not have even thought about scepticism in this explicitly philosophical sense. That said, perhaps this simply means that most viewers have never used the words “scepticism”, “global scepticism”, “evil demon”, etc. when thinking (or talking) about The Matrix

But who cares about that (almost) irrelevant fact about word usage?

So The Matrix can be used for one’s own ends, as indeed David Chalmers and many others have done over the last 24 years. (The Matrix was released in 1999.)

Now - what is real?

Simulations are Real Fakes

The philosopher Jean Baudrillard. The entire cast of The Matrix was asked to read Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation

David Chalmers writes:

“Simulations are not illusions. Virtual worlds are real. Virtual objects are real.”

In fact, the rebel leader Morpheus (played by Laurence Fishburne) makes these points in The Matrix:

“How do you define ‘real’? 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.”

In a strong and very simple sense, a visual simulation, and even an entire package of simulations occurring together to create a virtual reality, can’t be an illusion in and of itself. After all, what you see, hear, touch, etc. is still real.

This means that it must be what people make of a simulation which may (or which will) involve illusion.

For example, if you believe that the unicorn in front of you is real and not a simulation (or an hallucination), then you’ve swallowed that particular illusion. On the other hand, since most people know when they’re witnessing a virtual reality, then the word “illusion” simply isn’t appropriate.

What’s more, such supposed illusions even have (or simply may have) a physical basis in that the software for the images is instantiated in physical hardware. In addition, whatever is going on in the human sensory system and brain when such things are stimulated (i.e., not simulated) must also be physical.

In any case, David Chalmers extrapolates from these points about (as it were) real fakes by stating the following:

“The central thesis of the book is virtual reality is genuine reality. This applies both to full-scale simulated universes, such as the Matrix, and to the more realistic virtual worlds of the coming metaverse.”

Chalmers adds:

“But I argue that even if we’re in a simulation like the Matrix, the world around us is perfectly real. There are still tables and chairs, planets and people.”

Indeed, on a more psychological, sociological and even political level, the following passage expresses how Chalmers sees things when they’re placed in a much broader context:

“These worlds needn’t be illusions, hallucinations, or fictions. Our time in them needn’t be escapism. People already lead complex and meaningful lives in virtual worlds such as Second Life, and VR will make this commonplace.”

That quoted, these wider psychological, sociological and political contexts won’t be tackled here. (Chalmers himself does tackle them in his book Reality+: Virtual Worlds and the Problems of Philosophy.)

Proof?

Let me reuse a passage from David Chalmers which was quoted at the beginning of this essay:

“We can never prove we’re not in a computer simulation because any evidence of ordinary reality could be simulated.”

Some readers may wonder how we should take the word “prove” here.

As ever, most times the word “prove” (or “proof”) is used in its loose — or everyday — sense. And, at other times, it’s used in its strict mathematical and logical senses. (Perhaps most uses of the word “prove” fall somewhere in between these demarcations.)

In any case, it can be doubted that there could ever be a strict proof that a Matrix-like simulation… is a simulation. (In accordance with the last section, this is better than saying that the simulation is “unreal”.)

For example and crudely, if I were to discover a hidden Wi-Fi connection which connected a computer to my brain, then that still wouldn’t be a proof that my perceptions are simulations. This would simply be (empirical) evidence (i.e., not proof) that my perceptions may be (or even are) simulations.

[The Matrix scenario is, of course, much more complicated than my own simply story.]

So finding evidence of computer-to-brain Wi-Fi connection still wouldn’t be a philosophical or logical proof of my living in a simulation. That’s mainly because my (seemingly) evidential and empirical discoveries could also be simulations. Thus, I could be experiencing a simulation which seems to show me that all my experiences are simulations.

Put simply, then, whatever evidence (at least sensory or observational evidence) I find could also be a simulation. Indeed, we can ratchet this sceptical scenario up and say that sentient machines (or evil demons) are making me believe and think that I’m finding evidence that I’m being stimulated to believe certain things about both myself and my environment. What’s more, my discovering that that my very thought (i.e., that all my perceptions are simulations) could itself be the result of a simulation or a manipulation of my brain. And so on and so on.

Illusions All the Way Down?

Professor Cornel West (who played Councillor West of Zion in The Matrix Reloaded) expressed the overall gist of The Matrix — and perhaps life generally! — in this way:

“It’s illusions all the way down.”

There’s a problem with West’s claim that it’s illusions all the way down.

This claim is like saying that everyone in a class, or even in the entire world, is brave. Thus, if everyone is brave, then no one is brave. Similarly, if everything is an illusion, then there’s nothing to compare any single illusion to — except other illusions. That is, in The Matrix — and in other (globally) sceptical scenarios — there are no non-illusions to compare each and every illusion to. So if literally everything (we’d need to state what’s meant by “everything”) is an illusion, then nothing is an illusion. [See note 2.]

All this is a similar to Ludwig Wittgenstein’s doubts about doubt. Or, more accurately, it can be compared to Wittgenstein’s doubts about global doubt.

In simple terms, Wittgenstein argued that if literally everything is doubted, then nothing can be doubted. He wrote:

“The questions that we raise and our doubts depend on the fact that some propositions are exempt from doubt, are as it were like hinges on which those [doubts] turn. []
“My life consists in my being content to accept many things.”

To paraphrase Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein argued that the very act of doubting anything requires us to leave at least some things free from doubt. Indeed, if this suspension-of-doubt isn’t carried out, then the language game of doubting can’t even begin. (See Wittgenstein’s On Certainty.)

In any case, the it’s-illusions-all-the-way-down hypothesis (or possibility) is actually written into this example of global scepticism. That’s primarily because there’s no way of finding out if it is actually illusions all the way down. Again, the possibility (or reality) of never being able to find out that it’s illusions all the way down is deliberately — and obviously — written into this sceptical story…

To repeat. If everything is an illusion, then we have no purchase on that very fact (or possibility). That’s because up until realising that everything is an illusion (that’s if this realisation doesn’t itself contain a contradiction), everything we’d previously experienced (or even believed we knew) had been an illusion too.

Of course, if a globally-sceptical scenario is deliberately designed to preclude all possibilities of discovering that “reality is an illusion”, then that doesn’t also mean that it can’t be discovered that the sceptical scenario itself is (as it were) an illusion. It simply means that the sceptical philosopher (or film director/writer) wanted to create a scenario that was without any holes. However, that needn't also mean that his scenario is without holes.

Despite all that, and in the case of The Matrix at least, the main protagonist (Neo, who was played by Keanu Reeves) was offered a red pill — which was, indeed, a way out of the prison of illusions!

However, even in this singular case of escape from the prison of illusions, the red pill had to be offered to Neo by someone else — by the rebel leader Morpheus. Yet when it came to Neo himself, and had he been left entirely to his own (epistemic) devices, then he would (or could) never have discovered that it’s illusions all the way down.

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Notes

(1) It’s worth noting here that all this doesn’t really have anything to do with what’s usually called external world scepticism. This idea is primarily generated by the fact — or claim — that material knowledge can only be attained through our perception of the world. What’s more, our (to use the British Empiricists’ term) sense impressions do not — Bishop Berkeley argued that they cannot — correspond with any physical state of affairs.

(2) “Everything”? “Nothing?” Some philosophers have emphasised the importance of limited — or contextual — quantification. That is, quantification over specific domains. The philosopher and logician Graham Priest, on the other hand, believes that “it’s okay to use a quantifier with the widest possible scope”. That is, it’s fine to quantify over literally everything.

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