The Internet: Humanity's Collective Consciousness

My wife asked an interesting question last night: Given all the information readily available on the Internet, why go to school to learn anything? Granted, it’s difficult to acquire hands-on skills via the Internet, but in terms of the information that is available, why memorize anything when almost any information is so readily accessed? My wife asked this question in a negative sense, meaning she disapproved of the way (American) society is shaping up and being educated when compared to what we went through as children. [Oh, god, we’ve reached that age.]

I distinctly remember what a big deal it was when my junior high school got Commodore 64’s. At the time, the Internet was still just a gleam in Al Gore’s eyes. As I finally got around to finishing my B.S. in 2011, I recall students in college math and physics class being allowed to use their phones or other devices during tests. Although I did not cave into that temptation, I suppose such is the way we integrate ourselves with technology. Yes, it is easy to view the Internet’s influence as negative when we had it so ‘hard’ when my wife and I were growing up. Really, though, that negativity stems from a sense of foul play, of the game changing and no longer being fair to the older generations. This by itself doesn’t make the Internet unworthy of the degree to which it is currently used. I see nothing inherently wrong with the Internet such as it is, as a repository for information we would otherwise be holding in our own brains. That’s pretty much how I view the Internet as a whole, like a brain, only it’s everyone’s brain. (Well, everyone who has a connection.)

Think of all the kinds of information we upload. Reliable information, unreliable information, real-time information, memories, procedures, our likes, our dislikes, and we answer self-assessment quizzes. We can train, do commerce, and socialize through the Internet; there is a lot we do through the Internet that we used to do without it. The difference is that now, we can do many things faster and our reach can be global (which has had the unexpected consequence of proliferating subcultures). So why so much adversity to technology, especially from older people?

One obvious answer is that people get set in their ways and believe what was an already adequate way of doing things (for them) does not need to change. Getting set in one’s ways prohibiting learning, which is too bad since learning helps maintain cognition. A second answer might be that people generally fail to see the Big Picture. In this context I’m talking about people seeing the Internet for what it really is; our collective consciousness. We access the same things – types of information – from the Internet in a manner similar to how we use our own brains, the difference being that the source of information is kept external to ourselves and is more reliable in its presentation (not more reliable in accuracy, though, and we cannot recall feelings or emotions from the Internet. Not yet, anyway). Ultimately, the Internet is neither good nor bad; it just is what it is. I believe aversion for the Internet stems from something a bit more subtle; the vulnerability of the Internet to those who rely too heavily upon it or wish to abuse it.

I don’t necessarily see anything wrong with students using the Internet to do their physics or math tests but doing so does make those students vulnerable should the Internet ever go away. Whereas I was able to do my physics or math work by pulling information out of my head, other students are relying on the assumption that the Internet will always be there for them when they need information. If the point of terrorism is to disrupt lives, I don’t understand why terrorists do not try to destroy the infrastructure that supports the Internet or do not try to disrupt its operation more often. Have you been around people who are otherwise always connected when the Internet is disrupted for more than an hour? It’s a little bit frightening. That’s because they are left alone with their own brain when the Internet, The Brain as I like to call it now, is so much more entertaining seeing how their desire to always be connected has deprived them of actively participating in life and gaining experiences. (Being constantly connected also prevents contemplative or reflective thought among a species that already engages in it so infrequently.)

Indeed, why bother to learn anything when you can just access The Brain? Because if the The Brain were to ever go away, humanity’s technological progress would be thrown back at least two hundred years, and I do not believe most people today could survive a day in even the most advanced country in 1814, or a Third World country today. Of course, that’s what Western countries would become if The Brain died; there’d be societal collapse, seeing how people would no longer have bank accounts and therefore could not buy food and don’t know how to garden and can no longer access that information on a device they overpaid for…you get the picture. Relying on The Brain too much leaves one vulnerable. Is that what we want in a world where it seems that despite all the information in The Brain, people still don’t seem to know anything?

As consciousness is an emergent property of our brains and our brains are made up of discreet cells vulnerable to failure, so too may the cells (people) of The Brain fail. We should be required to memorize information and be able to apply skills for if we cannot, then what are we? Merely individual cells that aren’t terribly important to consciousness.

Solipsism: Finally Defeated

[Part Three of my recent investigation into metaphysics and consciousness in an attempt to defeat solipsism. As I’ve said before, it is important that solipsism to be defeated before any other philosophy can begin. While I’ve defeated solipsism on practical grounds in an earlier blog, and practical grounds figure into what I am about to present, the previous victory is admittedly hallow. So I began writing and writing until I came up with an argument that convincingly defeats solipsism. Given the answer I present here, I can look back and see just how much I – and others – have over-thought this problem, mainly because I – and others – initially refuse to accept the premise of solipsism. Solipsism cannot be defeated from the outside; it can only be defeated from within. Can solipsism be defeated? Yes. How? By accepting it. Please read on]

Solipsism is the name given to the idea that one’s own existence – particularly one’s own mental existence – is the only existence there is. Solipsism posits that there are no other minds besides one’s own and that the world of extended objects does not exist either. Although solipsism sounds nonsensical to the uninitiated, I and many others consider solipsism the greatest of all philosophical problems. There really does not seem to be a way to be certain that a world outside of one’s own mind exists.

To tackle this dilemma, it is necessary to accept the premise of solipsism rather than dismissing it simply because a world of extended objects appears obvious. [This assumes a previous acceptance of the idea that I am something that has experiences. And why not? It’s undeniable.] Upon accepting the premise, I – and maybe you if you exist – am inclined to ask some investigative questions, “Why this world and not another? Why would I imagine the world such as it is if I can imagine a better existence for myself? If I am all there is, what could possibly motivate me to perceive anything else?” Given my circumstances, it does not seem logical that my mental creation of the world would be coming from within myself if I have the capability of creating any world I want, assuming I even have such a need. If the world is my mental creation but I cannot create the world I want when I want, there has to be some explanation why not. And so I consider possibilities.

I can only think of one. Could it be that subconsciously I understand I am not ready for such an undertaking? If psychoanalysts, as a figments of my imagination, are correct about how the mind (my mind) works then certainly I have unconscious thoughts. But if I consciously wish that I did not have subconscious thoughts, why are they still there? (Well, I’d have to assume they are there; I can’t be sure if they are unconscious thoughts.) Perhaps subconscious thoughts are a reflex like breathing or my heart beating, but I have some conscious control over those reflexes even if I cannot stop such reflexes altogether. But what control do I have over subconscious thoughts? None and I cannot wish them away if they are there. But I do not consciously accept this explanation; I refuse to accept it on the grounds that I consciously assume that a desire for my life to be better is stronger than (and thus able to override) whatever subconscious thoughts that make or keep my world such as it is.

This Argument from Subconsciousness fails to explain why the world is the way it is if the world is a figment of my imagination. Problematically, I can think of no competing hypothesis other than the one I just presented as to how the world can appear as it is if it is created out of my own mind. Every other explanation I can think of as to why the world is the way it is even if it is all in my mind brings some other entity or element into the equation that must be outside of myself affecting my thoughts. The only way I can bring another entity or element into the equation that allows for control over my thoughts while still remaining a solipsist can only end in a self-manifested case of schizophrenia; that is, I – as more than one mental being – am controlling my own thoughts for undisclosed reasons. But then any such other mental being I am is stuck manifesting a world with their thoughts that I assume would be less than their ideal state, meaning, their situation is simply and likewise a variety of the Argument from Subconsciousness. Thus, this explanation is prone to the same flaw.

At this point I know that the world I perceive cannot be a construct of my own mind simply because of my limited ability to shape the world according to my conscious desires. I could be tempted to raise an objection to that statement and consider that the world I perceive can in fact be shaped according to my conscious desires, if only to a limited agree (that is, to a similar degree I have conscious control over breathing or my heart beating). My response to such an objection would be that I agree, but only in a manner of speaking: If I want more money, I can always work more or change careers or network with the right people, but changing the world in this sense is beholden to the laws of physics my mind accepts as real. On the other hand, if one is arguing for the ability to literally reshaping the world, defying the laws of physics to bring about changes, I would ask why are there limits to what my mind can do if it is my mind making the changes. I would much prefer to have an unlimited capability to reshape the world with my mind if I did in fact have such powers. Again, it’s the Argument from Subconsciousness which I’ve already argued is not a plausible scenario.

To be clear, what I’ve argued up to this point is not that my mind doesn’t create the world I perceive, rather I have argued that my perception of a world of extended objects must be driven by forces external to my mind since I have no reason to believe my mind, which can only be beholden to my will if I alone exist, would create the world such as I perceive it. I can certainly question where the sensory data is coming from that drives my particular perception of reality but it seems nonsensical to think that sensory data could be coming from myself considering my lack of ability to manipulate it. If it were the case that the data were coming from myself, I cannot imagine how or why that would be possible. It is much easier to imagine that a world of extended objects, with all its various qualities, encroach upon my sensory apparatuses (even if there is a sole sensory apparatus; the mind) to create experiences in my mind. While there remains the possibility that those qualities may be forced upon my mind, they are forced upon me from outside my mind’s ‘boundary.’ This doesn’t necessitate the existence of other minds per se, just that something besides my mind exists. That said, if I know something besides my own mind exists, I am no longer solipsistic and the existence of other minds at least appears plausible.

However, if there are in fact no minds other than my own, I can only conclude that I am God. Strangely, not a single figment of my imagination considers me to be so.

Update: 9/1/13

In promoting my blog on Youtube, one gentleman – a fan of philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein – strongly objected to my argument against solipsism, saying first that I was ignorant of the subject and second that just because I cannot provide an explanation for how or why my mind is the only existent thing, doesn’t mean there is a how or why; it just MAY BE or IS the case that my mind is all there is (a very Taoist argument, I must say). 

Since I am unaffected by his attempted ad hominid  attack, which was brought on by a minor slip in language on my part, I’ll get right to his second point. On one hand I agree with my detractor when it comes to the ‘why’ of possible solipsism. Asking ‘why’ something is the case implies a reason why I may be solipsistic (even if I don’t want to be) and reasons imply intelligence. The universe, were it intelligent, might ask itself why it is all there is. But the universe is not an intelligent being, insofar as we are familiar with the term, and thus to imagine the universe asking itself ‘why’ it exists is not a legitimate question. Now, just because I appear to be an intelligent being to myself or at least a sentient being does not mean I am either such thing. So asking myself ‘why’ my mind is all there is certainly may be a nonsensical question. 

On the other hand, asking ‘how’ I may be solipsistic is a perfectly legitimate question. ‘How’ is precisely what science pursues. Even Analytic Philosophy pursues ‘how’ things are (if not the ‘why’), demonstrating how conclusions are drawn from premises. But my detractor believes asking ‘how’ is a nonsensical activity also – at some point, he writes, you just have to accept the description removed from the cause (quoting Wittgenstein). So it seems this detractor believes that some things or events do not have causes or believes in a first cause for which there is no ‘how’ or explanation. The problem with believing that there once was a point for which no ‘how’ exists is indefensible; one cannot argue that everything has a cause – a ‘how’ – except for the first thing. Atheists certainly don’t let theists get away with that tired inconsistency of logic and I’m not allowing it here as an objection to my argument against solipsism. Worse, my detractor’s counter-argument is even weaker if he tries to say some things have causes and others don’t, implying he has arbitrary guidelines for what constitutes a cause and what doesn’t (or his definition of ‘cause’ is derived from Wittgenstein’s philosophy of language, which has its critics). I may not know the ‘how’ of my solipsism but the ‘how’ nonetheless exists as a concept within myself if my mind is all there is. Even if, supposing I am not an intelligent being or at least a sentient being, there is a still a ‘how;’ how is it that my mind is all there is?

So my detractor may be correct that my original investigative questions, “Why this world and not another? Why would I imagine the world such as it is if I can imagine a better existence for myself? If I am all there is, what could possibly motivate me to perceive anything else?” are off the mark. But if I replace ‘why’ with ‘how,’ where the ‘how’ is an explanation intelligible to myself since my mind is everything there is – thoughts, objects, other people, etc. – taking up solipsism is once again shown to be so convoluted that it shouldn’t be assumed that my mind is all there is.

 

The Dream of Reality

[Author’s note: Continuing with my exploration of metaphysics and consciousness, I am going to use the word ‘I’ in lieu of the word ‘we’ since I do not actually know the experiences of others much less be completely convinced of the existence of other minds despite how obvious it may seem. That said, I begin this blog with a key question that you may ask yourself, assuming you exist…]

Does it make sense that I can question reality when I am awake but not when I am asleep? When I dream, I often do not recognize that the storytelling is not linear or that the world is not obeying the laws of physics, but by the same token, does it make sense that in the ‘real’ world people should be so irrational? (Or that I should ever behave irrationally?) Moreover, does it make sense that so many aspects of nature be counter-intuitive, particularly when it comes to the observations made of the quantum world? Could I have ever arrived at the way in which quantum mechanics works by the use of reason without experimentation? [While, ahem, ‘others’ have arrived at some conclusions through mathematics, their mathematics did not predict something like wave-particle duality. And, mathematics indicates that the laws of physics breakdown beyond the event horizon of a black hole, but what does that actually mean?]

To reiterate the primary question: Does it make sense that I can question reality when I am awake but not when I am asleep? Of course, I am generalizing; most of the time I do not question the reality of a dream in much the same way I usually do not question the reality of the waking world when I am awake (assuming I am awake). However, there are instances in each situation when I do, and when I do, that is where the differences between the two realities lies. What happens when I am dreaming and I question whether or not what I am experiencing is real? I am able to take immediate control of the reality I am questioning in some fashion; I may wake myself up or literally change the situation more to my liking or materialize an object I need for the situation I am in. I may even fly. On the other hand, there have been times that I have questioned the reality of a dream because I did not want what I was experiencing to be a dream and I did not want anything to change. While I cannot always change (or keep from changing) everything that happens in the dream world, I cannot always change (or keep from changing) everything that happens in the waking world. But, I can change some things in both realities with the difference being the immediacy with which I can them. In the dream world, I can change things drastically, immediately. In the waking world I can change things drastically, but usually not immediately. What might this situation imply?

A wise man once remarked, “Dreams are real while they last. Can we say more of life?” That quote has led me to ponder that each reality may be equally real [definition below] although each may be obeying different laws of physics. Many theoretical physicist I’ve read seems to agree that when it comes to considering the possibility of a multi-verse in which my universe is one of many, there’s no telling what the laws of physics are in other universes. But, having never experienced what the laws of physics are in another universe, how am I able to imagine defying the ones I know in the universe in which I exist? How can I imagine the impossible unless what I imagine is possible somewhere? (Although, I might ask that even if I could imagine what is possible with a different set of physical laws, how could I possibly have access to that information?) If I give any credit to the theory that my imagination is an evolutionary trait that helps me ‘problem solve,’ I’m still bound to ask how such a trait evolved to the fantastic lengths that allow me to fly in my dreams. If there is a weakness in any such evolutionary Theory of Imagination, that’s it. At any rate, the difference in physics is the foremost difference between the dreaming and waking reality.

[‘Real’ meaning a world of extended objects that exists outside of the mind. Hence, the problem; I cannot prove the existence of extended objects when I am awake. How then can I be sure I am ever awake?]

Another assumed difference is the strengths of my ability to remember my dreams. When I wake up, whatever happened in my dreams flee from memory like water overflowing the edges of a bowl, except that almost all the water leaves. On the other hand, I’ll be the first to admit that my memory of events that have taken place in my waking life are not particularly accurate either. Furthermore, assuming the existence of other minds, numerous studies have revealed how notoriously unreliable people’s memories are. But both my dreams and waking experiences are remembered in some fashion, to a variety of degrees. If dreams were not in some sense real, why is there any recall of them to begin with? While there is no reason to assume I have evolved flawlessly (assuming evolution to be a correct in its theory), the ability to recall dreams seems rather odd. I can begin to accept that dreams may be an evolutionary tool for learning, though I have never seemed to learn anything from them. However, I don’t see the sense in recalling dreams if their supposed lessons can be stored unconsciously. Frankly, to recall dreams seems like a waste of memory resources, unless how real they are is in some way important. Isn’t that exactly what might be thought of on the importance of memories to the waking world? Memories of the waking world beget a third difference between dreaming and being awake – consistency.

It appears as though when I am awake, my reality is consistent. The same people, the same places, familiar situations; I have memories of them all from yesterday and before yesterday. Problematically, all of my memories may have been implanted by Descartes’ Demon mere moments ago and I would be none the wiser. In supposing this to be true, such an event would make my ability to question reality when I am ‘awake’ even more bizarre since it would not seem to be advantageous to any such spirit to allow me such a line of questioning (at least no advantage I can think of). Meanwhile, while dreaming, I find myself in many unfamiliar situations while my relationships are reimagined against scenery that is as often strange as it is known to me. When I dream, reality is less consistent, sometimes much less. This could be caused by the random firing of neurons triggering the memories they contain. When such memories clash, so to speak, it would make sense that my mind would attempt to construct a narrative based on conflicting reports, thus providing an explanation to the strangeness of dreams. But again, from an evolutionary perspective, the random firing of neurons seems inefficient. (Not that the process of evolution should provide efficiency necessarily.) While evidence supports the assertion that a good night’s sleep assists learning, it would seem more efficient for dreams to be somewhat more consistent (and/or memorable) when reinforcing what I learn. Since this is not the case, I must then ask ‘why do I dream?’ Do I not get enough of processing information when I am awake? Perhaps I am making connections I would not normally make when I am awake due to competing stimuli or that the strangeness of dreams allow me to think more abstractly, which allows for problem solving. In such a case, I can accept the strangeness of dreams but not why my memory of them is so weak.

Still, this difference in consistency and memorizing what happens in the world of my dreams vs. the ‘real’ world is diminished in importance when considering the afore mentioned differences of the assumed absurdity of physical behavior in dreams. Only, isn’t waking reality often as absurd? It may be absurd in a different fashion, but absurdity is common to each world(s). And, for me, the familiarity of nature’s absurd behavior (and the behavior of my fellow human beings) is of little comfort. Moreover, if I am inclined to think about the waking world through multiple lenses and not just on facts alone, such a perspective further heightens the absurdity of the world in which I am awake. This situation makes it difficult for me to accept the existence of other minds when I afford myself the time to think about it; it appears as though I am one of very few people who care to consider what something like the dual nature of light means to the fabric of reality or my own consciousness. The fact of light’s dual nature would seem perfectly at home in the world of dreams, but not in the world in which I am supposedly awake. If I had discovered the dual nature of light in my dreams, I would probably not question it. Being awake, however, I must question it and try to make sense of it because it is so counter-intuitive, because it is dreamlike in quality. This is the problem that makes me consider dreams as real as any other reality I may be experiencing.

No, it does not make sense that I can question reality when I am awake but not when I am asleep. Little of either so-called reality makes sense. What conclusion should I then draw? I am either asleep when I dream and awake when I am awake, asleep in both the dream world and the ‘waking’ world, or awake in both the ‘dream’ world and the waking world. [I am relying on the traditional English definitions of these words.] Or, I am neither asleep nor awake; I am in a state for which obviously no word exists. Perhaps there should be. Clearly the either-or premise upon which the waking world operates is flawed. It is time to explore other options.