The Definition of God, Dammit (Part Two)

[Note: This entry is ancillary to last year’s blog, “The Definition of God, Dammit.”]

Does God exist? Before we can even attempt to answer such an awkward question, a universally acceptable definition of God is the most fundamental matter that must be settled. Whether or not any god can be said to exist will lie in our ability to define what qualifies as a god. If we are unable to define what a god is, then can God really be said to exist? How would we recognize God? Without a standard we can all agree upon for what qualifies as a god, we are faced with several prospects: That all definitions of a god are possibly valid, all definitions are invalid, or all definitions are at least worth considering because one may in fact be correct. Yet without that universal definition, we can’t be sure who is right and who is wrong. It may also be that God indeed exists despite our ability to define the extraordinary, but if we are unable to identify the qualities associated with a god as a means of recognition, then the whole concept of a deity existing in reality is rather useless if not downright irritating. Like elevator music. 

Can God be universally defined? Despite our seemingly advanced ability to communicate, we have not been able to adequately do this. Hindu's have a certain idea about what a god is, while Muslims have something entirely different in mind. No two religions ever appear on the same page (duh, otherwise they’d be the same religion). It cannot be the case that all concepts of God are equally valid because many religions exclude the possibility of other gods besides their god(s). What it comes down to is this: for a god to exist there must be one definition of what characteristics constitute the deity, so that we are able to identify God in much the same way we are able to identify a coconut, being that there is a general consensus of what the term “coconut” means even regardless of the language being spoken. With that definition we are able to recognize coconuts as being what they are. Either we have a term that identifies an entity or entities as a god or gods, or we do not. If not, the rational man cannot conclude God exists because you cannot believe in what has no definition^*. Feel free to become an atheist by default.

[* You might be thinking that if you were to encounter something you did not know the name of or have a name for, you could believe in the existence of something for which there is no definition. This is false. You may not realize it, but whichever one or more of your senses has perceived the whatever-it-is has attached certain characteristics to the whatever-it-is as a means of recognition. Only if deprived of all your senses would you not “recognize” anything.]

Is it the case that the idea of God is so incredible that the human mind (designed by God some would say) simply cannot define the word? That is in fact the argument of many agnostics. However, agnostics cannot show that this is not possible, merely that it just hasn’t happened yet. Hypothetically speaking, if a clear cut, unilateral definition of God were handed down tomorrow, agnostics would have to wrestle with that definition and come to a conclusion one way or the other. If the agnostic is going to suspend judgment about the existence of God based on lack of a definition, again, there is no practicality whatsoever in supposing that God might exist, unless the agnostic is accepting a form of Pascal’s Wager^**. If God actually does exist (ahem, citing a proper definition) I wonder if the G-man forgives such ambivalence.

[** From Wikipedia: Pascal's Wager (also known as Pascal's Gambit) is Blaise Pascal's application of decision theory to the belief in God. Pascal argues that it is always a better "bet" to believe in God, because the expected value to be gained from believing in God is always greater than the expected value resulting from non-belief. Note that this is not an argument for the existence of God, but rather one for the belief in God. Pascal specifically aimed the argument at such persons who were not convinced by traditional arguments for the existence of God. With his wager he sought to demonstrate that believing in God is more advantageous than not believing, and hoped that this would convert those who rejected previous theological arguments. The incompleteness of his argument is the origin of the term Pascal's Flaw.]

The problem is that even as great as our communication techniques are, they are often inadequate in explaining just about anything, object or concept, when you really want to be a prick about it. Asking for the definition of “X” is a time honored tradition among philosophers meant to demonstrate that an opponent has no idea what they are talking about. If a chair is defined as an object that you sit on that usually (but not necessarily) has four legs and back support, well then, lots of things might qualify as a chair. Lots of things might also qualify as a god, but if we’re talking about the “One True God,” then only one definition will do.

That brings us to “conceptual failure.” Have you ever had an idea that seemed reasonably clear in your own mind but that you found difficult to put into words clear enough for another person to understand? This doesn't make an idea automatically false or invalid, but without clarity what good is this idea of yours in the first place? A god may be well defined in someone's own mind, but that this definition probably has little universal acceptance implies a conceptual failure. For atheists this is not a problem; we don't go around trying to define that which does not exist. An ambiguous concept doesn’t exactly lead to credibility, folks.

Sometimes the problem lies with the words we use to explain ourselves. Words sometimes have different meanings depending upon the context in which they are used. For example, suppose I say to you, "I'd love to own a Jaguar." If we're talking about luxury cars the meaning of my statement is obvious. On the other hand, if we're talking about exotic pets perhaps you would try to talk me out of such an idea being that I can barely keep a house plant alive. On the other, other hand, if I’m talking about luxury cars and you think we’re talking about exotic pets, this might as well be an episode of “Three’s Company.”*** You see, context can be used to manipulate words to create all kinds of puns, double entendres, or plain ol’ confusion for the unsuspecting. Frankly, it's amazing that any one knows what anyone else is talking about. Arnold sure didn't know what Willis*** was talkin' 'bout.

[*** Showing my age here, folks.]

What we could really use is a language in which one word meant one thing regardless of context. Until then there will be no suitable definition of God, which is no doubt a great relief to the believer. After all, this will mean that God cannot be shown whether to exist or not and faith can rush in to prop up a theists’ righteousness. At the same time, though, the theist faces the dilemma that despite all the faith in the world, all concepts of God should be considered equally valid since prove their point linguistically. Though the theist appeals to faith in hopes that they've picked the correct religion with the proper definition of God, they cannot disprove anyone else’s definition of a god. That’s a mighty big hurdle to clear. What the theist is not admitting here is that really, they're playing Russian roulette with God. Well, go right ahead and blow your brains out guys. It'll be your defining moment.

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.