by John Norman
Consider typical criteria for evaluating hypotheses, such as precision, clarity, simplicity, testability, fruitfulness, scope, and conservatism. The scientific hypothesis is obviously precise, almost to the second. Obviously the skeptic’s suggestion is deplorably vague. Billions of years? How many billions? Nonsense! The scientific hypothesis, on the other hand, is marvelously clear. Who can not understand it, particularly if they can tell time? The scientific hypothesis, too, is simple, and easy, and straight-forward. It accounts for everything, and with a minimum of explanatory entities. It is testable, too, for one may count backward, and determine that the world was there four minutes ago. As for the rest, it started up then, and did not exist before, so there is nothing to test before the beginning. Hypothesis confirmed! The hypothesis also is fruitful and has scope. It is surely fruitful for its theoretical tentacles embrace and illuminate all fields, and it surely has scope, for it covers everything. More scope than that you cannot get. And if the skeptic is not satisfied here, do not his own views make similar universal claims? And conservatism, or the imperative to respect cognitive coherence, to fit in with other views, to cause as little cognitive dislocation, and revision and readjustment, as possible is clearly a strong suit of the scientific view. It is the scientific view; thus other views which might not cohere with it are, prima facie, to be rejected. And needless to say, the skeptic’s views are not “conservative.” Their adoption would jeopardize a world view, and lead to intellectual anarchy, if not chaos.
By now the position of skeptic is clearly in a shambles.
But, failing to make his point by an appeal to science, objectivity, fact, rationality, logic, and such, he is likely to resort desperately to pragmatic or humanistic considerations which, strictly, are irrelevant to the matter, indeed, which constitute nothing more than an embarrassing appeal to argumentum ad consequentiam.
The following sorts of appeals are typical.
Would not the scientific hypothesis require recourse not simply to a transempirical, causative factor, but to an intellectually offensively arbitrary transempirical, causative factor? Not officially, but one could always speculate on such matters. In any event, would not the skeptic’s suggestion also require something like that, as well? It seems the major differences would just be a choice of times. The skeptic’s hypothesis also admits, of course, in another variant, the possibility of a causeless, eternal ground, for a causeless, eternal world. The scientific hypothesis could opt for the same view, actually. In a sense the four-minute world is also eternal, since it has existed for all time, as it had to, since there was no time before it. It could, of course, have just have popped into being, for no particular reason at all, as might have the skeptic’s eccentric world, rather in the sense of a quantum fluctuation. If the world is the result of something like a quantum fluctuation why not a recent fluctuation rather than a remote fluctuation?
Would not the scientific hypothesis undermine revelation, subvert orthodoxy, cast doubt on the contents of highly regarded books, and so on? One supposes it might, but then science has often showed little regard for the claims of tradition, being determined to courageously follow the tracks of truth whithersoever they might lead. On the other hand, the revelation, orthodoxy, treasured books, and such, are still there, in the scientific worldview. It would be pretty much the same as it is now. To be sure, the world might be better off to have been spared various slaughterings, famines, plagues, and so on. Might it not be morally and psychologically preferable that such things, such books, and such, be understood as valuable, instructive fictions?
The skeptic might object that the scientific hypothesis wipes out glorious achievements, hard-won triumphs, noble deeds, and such. There is something to that objection, but one must remember that the scientific hypothesis would wipe out much grief, sorrow, tragedy, dishonesty, cruelty, hypocrisy, and failure, as well. It means, in effect, we could start anew, and make certain the new world is better wrought than the fictive worlds seem to have been.
Perhaps the skeptic might inquire as to whether the scientific hypothesis is just, or fair? This question, actually, does not come up, because before the world there was nothing, and thus nothing to be just or fair about. One cannot wipe out, so to speak, what never existed in the first place. Too, of course, we can do our best now to create a just, fair world, one freed of the burdens and heritages, the evils and weights, the dispositions and pressures, the miseries and pathologies, of a supposed actual past.
But the skeptic does not surrender easily, even when shattered, even when his position is incontrovertibly reduced to alarmed, shuddering atoms of gibbering rubble.
Might not, whines he, the scientific hypothesis promote a sense of insecurity. Might it not induce anxiety? Might not the wheel of the world slip off the axis of existence as easily as it once apparently found itself spinning upon it, say, about four minutes ago?
Of course, we snort! That is the nature of the world! What is wrong with you? Are you craven cowards? Who would wish, honestly, to inhabit a world which did not dangle precariously betwixt oblivions? Consider the pleasures of thriving in a world racing blindfolded amongst abysses! Who, if rational, would not welcome the carnivorous nature of reality? Who, if given the opportunity, would not choose to live thrillingly on the perilous edge of disaster and extinction? Besides, if the world popped out of existence, it might just as easily pop back in. Take comfort in that, if you wish. Cosmological popping theory, of course, is still in its infancy. We have not yet had much time to develop it, only about four minutes.
But the skeptic is indomitable in his madness.
Would not the scientific world, he asks, reflect discredit on a transempirical, causative factor, one which might produce such a world?
Certainly not, we respond scornfully.
First, speaking of discredit, would not the skeptic’s hypothesized world, if it existed, with its alleged terrors, tragedies, and cruelties, reflect discredit on a transempirical causative factor, if anything could? Certainly the scientific hypothesis wipes out most of that horror, indeed, epochs and eons of it. If one were looking for pragmatic justifications here, rather than truth, would this not be a point in favor of the scientific world? Secondly, expressions such as ‘discredit’ might well be out of place in these matters. Moral predicates are applicable only to moral agents, in moral situations. Solar systems and stars, rivers and germs, rocks, dust, and rain, are neither moral nor immoral. And for all we know, a transempirical causative factor, if it exists, even if it is intelligible to us at all, may be akin to such things, natural things which are and do, of their own internal necessities or vagaries, things to which moral predicates are simply inapplicable. Chide the stone and hurricane if you will, but they do not even know you exist.
You speak, exclaims the skeptic, as though the world were a joke.
I do not think we so speak, but perhaps the world is a joke. If so, is that not a point in favor of the world?
In the scientific hypothesis what happens to history?
Everything, and nothing.
Do human beings not need a past?
On the scientific hypothesis, they have a past. It began something like four minutes ago.
When Armadillos Fly
Vat technology, as one may learn from the standard accounts, began in a modest, unassuming way, in the 20th century, as I recall, in what was then known as Russia with a variety of experiments involving decapitated dogs. It is not known whence these dogs were obtained, but there is some speculation that they were the otherwise-useless residues of various experiments designed and conducted by a brilliant psychologist and animal lover, a Dr. Ivan Petrovich Pavlov. His experiments involved, amongst various things, research into conditioned reflexes. For example, he accustomed various, trusting dogs, who did not see through his machinations, to slaver at the mere sound of a bell, the bell having been previously associated with the delivery of food. At the sound of t
he bell, so to speak, they were ready to eat. In less controlled circumstances these results, interestingly, had already been established, though obviously informally, on numerous ranches in the Western portions of the North American continent. Pavlov, as you may know, then proceeded, perhaps after a mental breakdown or having been deserted by an exasperated or alarmed spouse, to mix electric shocks with the ringing of the bell. Predictably this troubled his experimental subjects, which then, it seems, went insane. Pavlov, it seems, was the first scientist to establish these results under rigorous conditions of experimentation. On the other hand, the principles involved, those of mixed signals, and such, inducing confusion, guilt, misery, neurosis, and insanity were already well established in several societies, cultures, and civilizations. For example, confused, guilt-ridden individuals, subjected to insidious crossconditionings, then look for relief and guidance, usually, interestingly, to their own Pavlovs, so to speak, who have devised their tortures, from which they, the Pavlovs, so to speak, profit, and by means of which they earn their livelihood. To use an analogy, it is rather like pounding a fellow on the head and then selling him aspirin. Or a better analogy might be, to castigate a fellow for breathing, or getting hungry, or urinating, and then, for a fee, compassionately forgive him for his lapses in this regard. But then, of course, encourage him to do this no more, and, indeed, forbid him to do so, and scold him if he does, and so on. Perhaps, most accurately, one insists on imposing unachievable goals on one’s targets, or dupes, or hosts, the failure to achieve which, of course, induces grief, guilt, a sense of failure, of unworthiness, and such, which symptoms are painful, and which accordingly put the erring, defective, inferior, guilt-ridden failures more and more at the mercy of the their cunning goal-setters. To resort to a simpler analogy previously noted, one supplies aspirin, but this is followed by another blow on the victim’s head, the ache of which is to be relieved by further doses of aspirin, and so on. In this way much aspirin is sold.
Callously one finds little comfort in the fact that many of the aspirin salesmen, apparent victims of their own therapeutical regimens, not unoften spend a certain amount of time striking themselves on the head with their own hammers.
At least that seems fair.
One is reminded of the fellow who struck his head frequently against brick walls because it felt so good when he stopped.
But perhaps such peculiar practices, sociological aberrations, and such, are essential to maintain in existence peculiar, sociologically aberrant societies, odd cultures, weird civilizations, and such.
It is hard to say.
One does not know.
Could it be that the very cornerstone of society, its prop and guarantee, is insanity? Could it be that at the foundation of society must lie madness? Doubtless at the foundation of some societies.
It does seem a high price to pay, surely.
But to return to the Russian experiments to which we have hitherto alluded. The dogs’ heads, missing their bodies, were allegedly kept alive for some time, at least long enough to permit photography, for example, of twisting and grimacing, and otherwise objecting insofar as lay in their power, when, for example, bitter fluids were dropped on their tongues. It is not known if similar experiments, with the advance of science in mind, were conducted with political prisoners. In any event, no pertinent photography is available, at least currently, germane to that possibility.
The next major breakthroughs relevant to these lines of research occurred in various Western laboratories and involved the brains of monkeys. The entire heads of monkeys were not used, possibly because the Western experimenters were more squeamish than their Eastern forebears. Who would not cringe before the reproachful glance of a decapitated Rhesus monkey? So mere brains were used, submerged, nourished, monitored, and so on. Brain activity was evident, but it was not clear, naturally, what the little primates were thinking about, or dreaming about. And perhaps that is just as well. Possibly leafy bowers, paradisiacal troves of bananas, possibly psychologists who had somehow missed their footing in tall trees. It is hard to say.
But from such simple beginnings eventually emerged our modern, advanced, sophisticated versions of vat technology.
Who could have envisioned at the time of envious troglodytes leaping off cliffs and flapping their arms the eventual triumphs of starship engineering?
Organ-transplant technology put in its oar, as well, in the beginning.
As is well known, as far back as the 20th century, the healthy organs of various individuals, perhaps accident victims, or such, were harvested, stored, and later transplanted into the bodies of grateful recipients. In this way many lives were saved. To be sure, a certain amount of what came to be known as Burking also took place. The etiology of the term seems founded on the name of a William Burke, once of Edinburgh, who used to supply unmarked, intact bodies to medical schools for dissection. These were quality bodies, not the deteriorated corpses dug up and supplied by your everyday grave robber. Burke was hung in 1829, by a court insensitive to the principles of utilitarianism.
It was only natural that the brain, often considered the organ of thought, should soon figure prominently in transplantation technology. A bullet through the heart, for example, leaves the brain in an excellent, if troubled, condition for several seconds, a period sufficient for a competent team of paramedics to reestablish a blood supply. Instantaneous cryogenic preservation was later commonly used, this permitting the brain to be reanimated at the convenience and discretion of the appropriate authorities. As expected, many individuals, dissatisfied with their own brains, applied for new and hopefully better brains. Many were the husbands, too, who at their wives’ urging submitted to such a procedure.
I think the converging in the offing can now be clearly discerned, that betwixt transplantation and vat technology.
As the demand for new brains burgeoned it was no more than an economic commonplace that a concomitant preservation and storage technology, eventually at affordable prices, would arise to meet the demand.
These brain shifts, exchanges, replacements, returns, trials, and so on, did promote a number of identity crises, a seeking for criteria of sameness, and such, and, indeed, so much so that for the first time in human history philosophers, who had hitherto idly occupied themselves with such issues, came to occupy not only a respected but a lucrative place in society.
The next obvious step was to establish contact with the stored brains, and press them for their views on these matters. For example, would the brain of A object to being implanted in the body of B, and so on. Dialogue was essential. Thus arose a new field in law, that of brain rights.
In the beginning this communication was primitive, often amounting to little more than a Yes, a No, a Hell No, and so on. But soon dialogue with the disembodied brains became more sophisticated, and brains that began by playing poker and checkers moved ahead to bridge, to chess, and pinochle.
One supposes it was only inevitable that the brain-rights movement would lead to a concern with the experiences of the disembodied brains. Were they content? Were they happy? What did they do for recreation? How about entertainment? What would they like to do? What sort of music would they like to think they were hearing? What would they like to think they were eating? Would they like to think they were watching sunsets? That could be arranged. Would they like to think they were reading a good book? OK. How about TV? Why not? Even folks in dental offices and, sometimes, post offices were granted as much. It seemed cruel to think of them floating idly about, hour after hour, in their nutrient solutions without much to do.
Since it was well known, and had been known for a long time, that experience was a function of brain stimulation, it was soon realized that the precise source of the stimulation would be immaterial to the experience, qua experience, it being immaterial whether it was contingent on an outside environment or merely the result of technological contrivance, perhaps computer generate
d and controlled. Identical stimulations, however brought about, produced identical experiences.
Naturally it took time to work these things out. Many brains were at first disconcerted by glitches in the stimulation, as, for example, when doughnuts turned into freight cars, ocean liners docked at Omaha, and armadillos, not merely pigs, were noted flying. On the other hand, after a time, the software was so much improved that from the brain’s point of view it had no way of telling the simulacrum from the authentic article. The fellow monitoring the apparatus, of course, given his external perspective, was well aware of what was happening, but only if, as a fact, he himself was not merely another brain in another vat being stimulated to have the experiences of monitoring and stimulating another brain in a vat, and so on. Eventually, of course, the entire population might in theory have been brains in vats being maintained and stimulated by programmed machinery set up long ago to ease the burdens of technicians and supervisors. But there is no reason to entertain so bizarre a possibility. Too many of our experiences go counter to such a hypothesis, for example, our learning to speak from ostensive definitions, our interactions with an obviously real environment, our relationships with our parents, siblings, friends, and so on. What about the time I skinned my knee when I fell off the tricycle? What about the time Hiram bloodied my nose in the school yard, the time I won the spelling bee, and so on? And there was high school and college, and Mabel, to whom I am engaged. We should be married next August. There is only one thing that troubles me.
Yesterday I am sure I saw an armadillo. That is not much in itself, of course, particularly here in Texas, but something about it struck me as unusual.
It was flying.