Uncial asked:

I have a question about Craig Skinner’s recent reply to a question about teleportation. I noticed repeated use of the idea of an exact molecular copy of my body.

It seems to me that at the instant of taking the scan, a lot of information needed to make another living body is just not there. Or am I missing something?

Answer by Craig Skinner

No, you’re not missing something. Contrariwise, you’ve put your finger on something important. In these thought experiments, we talk glibly about scanning/ reconstruction with little thought as to whether it could ever actually be done. It may be that the idea is no more workable than the 19th century fiction of sewing together body parts and animating the whole thing with bolts of electricity.

Consider first how a human is naturally made.

It requires:

* information specifying the form
* assembly of matter into the specified form

Information: this is coded in the DNA sequence (genome) of the starting cell (fertilized egg, zygote). It is transcribed into a similar RNA sequence which is then translated by ribosomes into amino acids (translation from Nucleotidian into Aminoacidean) which join up to make proteins. These proteins provide cell structure and function (enzymes).

Assembly: this happens by growth/ development. The original cell repeatedly divides producing different cell lines expressing different bits of the genome, helped along by environmental cues, positional information, chemical gradients and cell-to-cell signals.

In our scan-and-build fantasy, instead of growing a human from an existing living cell, we seek to capture the information as a database obtained by scanning a living adult human and then assemble a duplicate by some nanotech tour-de-force whereby we build the human, molecule by molecule, using the database information.

Let’s consider each of the two steps.

Information: as your question suggests, no scan could capture the exact location/ momentum of all moving parts (the uncertainty principle disallows this for even one electron). But this wouldn’t be necessary. After all I continuously exchange molecules with the environment so that my exact molecular constitution changes second by second whilst I remain me. So, there is redundancy in the information, which gives us some leeway. However, what would be necessary is exact information for every one of my trillions of cells as to structure of DNA, RNA, ribosomes, proteins including enzymes, chemical messengers, neurotransmitters, cell surface markers and chaperone molecules. Otherwise cells couldn’t function, either in themselves, or cooperatively as a living organism. I doubt this could ever be done. But let’s say it could so that we can consider step two.

Assembly: we have the software (the scan database in our computer). We have the matter to build the hardware (wetware) in vats of the necessary chemicals. But the software and the chemicals are inert. How can we make them interact so as to assemble a human form. If we had some fancy nanotechnology capable of picking up the right molecules and placing them one by one from the soles of the feet upwards say, what would stop them falling in a heap long before a body was made. And, as you suggest, since the database is a static snapshot, how could the right motion be imparted to the molecules of the new body so that we end up with a living breathing human rather than a corpse.

I suspect the only way to make a human is to start with the form in potential i.e. a zygote, or maybe another suitable human cell, and, by growth/ development, in-form dumb matter to make the form actual i.e. a human being. Aristotle said all this a long time ago (but then messed it up by suggesting some lifeforms arise spontaneously from decaying matter, an erroneous notion that persisted into the 19th century).

Craig Skinner at philosophos.org

Natalie asked:

What is the number one?

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

I’m going to disappoint you. This question is the sort that everyone should be able to answer – including an untutored child. But as you asked for a philosopher to respond, you must have some inkling about the deep ramifications of identifying just what Number 1 truly identifies. You could look it up in Aristotle’s Metaphysics, Book Delta, ch. 6. He gives a rational answer that should serve you in all but the most extreme of counterintuitive situations. But if you are really determined to get to the bottom of it, you must read Russell & Whitehead, Principles of Mathematics. But let me warn you that it’s not an easy text to get to grips with. For a start, there is very little English in it; and then the authors felt obliged to construct a foolproof system of presuppositions, which takes them over 300 pages before they actually come to a definition of ‘1’. You will excuse me, I hope, if I refuse to give the ‘gist’ of 300 pages in one paragraph. But these are your choices – or else you stick with everyone’s convenience and take the ‘1’ for granted!

Jürgen Lawrenz at philosophos.org

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

There’s an easier book than Russell and Whitehead’s Principia by the man who invented modern logic, Gottlob Frege: Foundations of Arithmetic, translated by the Oxford ‘ordinary language’ philosopher, J.L. Austin — the last person you’d expect to translate a work full of arcane symbolism.

In fact, Frege’s book is a joy to read and a great introduction to the philosophy of mathematics.

Frege recognized that there are two questions to ask about numbers, generally. The first question is about what we are describing when we say, for example, that there is one can of beans in the cupboard. The second, and more metaphysical question, is what we are referring to when we use the names, ‘one’, ‘two’, ‘three’ etc.

IS the can of beans one? But it is also many (a few thousand). It is also trillions (of molecules). Using his new logic, Frege showed how, when numbers are used to count, the number is a property of a concept, e.g. ‘can of beans’, rather than an object. To say that there is one can of beans, and only one, is to say that there is an object x which has the property ‘can of beans in the cupboard’, and if there is any y with that property, then y=x.

The problem is that we have simply used the concept of identity to explain the concept of one. The only response to this is to admit that the two notions are fundamentally the same. The very possibility of there being ‘objects’ presupposes the idea of identity. That’s a logical point of some significance.

The second, metaphysical question, what objects numbers refer to, led Frege to put forward a theory that numbers are classes. The number one is the class of all classes which have exactly one member. Similarly for two, three etc. Frege’s idea here was that the notion of a class is more fundamental than the notion of number, and so counts as a genuine explanation.

Frege discovered, late in his career, that the definition he had proposed led to an insoluble paradox — named ‘Russell’s paradox’ after the famous philosopher who grappled with it.

A significant portion of the history of 20th century mathematical logic has been concerned with the various responses to Russell’s paradox, offering a theory of what numbers ‘are’. However, there are sceptics who would say that Frege’s first answer, what we are doing when we call something ‘one’, is all one needs to say. The metaphysical question what the number one is, in itself, doesn’t have an answer; or, equally, there are any number of equally valid ‘answers’.

http://www.philosophypathways.com/vita.html

Peter asked:

It is widely accepted that there is a high probability of intelligent life on other planets. Given that there is so much we don’t know about how life began, that seems a sensible judgement.

Would that make a difference to how we live? (I’m thinking of global warming, nuclear proliferation, etc.)

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

I do question the supposition ‘that there is a high probability of intelligent life on other planets’. It is a conjecture based entirely on the rise of intelligent life on earth, and there is not a smidgin of actual evidence from anywhere else, not even the solar system. In short, we simply extrapolate from the evolution of life on earth a handful of principles which could conceivably occur elsewhere in the universe. But it is not a compelling argument.

So the evidence you ask for, that the human race may be alone, is more powerful than the contrary supposition. And so to your question: What if we succeed in screwing it up?

I would suggest to you that it would mean the end of only a particular form of intelligence. We have a tendency of exalting it, even to the extent of dreaming about ‘theories of everything’ and playing God with genetically modified life forms. But clearly, if it were to end in a nuclear catastrophe, any putative aliens watching could come to only one conclusion: That our supposed intelligence was far outweighed by our collateral stupidity.

What then? The earth would be rid of a dangerously delusional and immensely rapacious life form. And since all evolutionary evidence points to failed gene pools never being re-used, we would not get a second chance. But intelligence itself would endure, because nuclear fallout does not affect the survival of anaerobic life forms. Let’s not forget that on a 36-hour clock, Homo sapiens is only 2-3 seconds old; that’s all it has taken for the human brand of intelligence to misfire. But the possibilities and opportunities for other kinds of intelligence to emerge from our fiasco are endless in the geological long-term view.

Keeping a terminal scenario before our eyes should obviously affect the way we live. But we humans are also an extremely short-sighted species. We can hardly plan for more than one generation into the future. Thus we think nothing today of the possibility that we are robbing our grand-children of maybe half or all the resources of civilisation that we still enjoy. That’s not very intelligent and the negative imprint of our vaunted intelligence. Paraphrasing Schopenhauer, we humans have accustomed ourselves to employing our intellect to furnish us with cogent arguments in support of the stupid things we do. It’s a very pessimistic view on our future; but unless the many find ways of depriving the few of the power with which they bring ruin on our head, we can only hope that there is really a God who won’t let it happen!

Jürgen Lawrenz at philosophos.org

Sam asked:

What could be the explanation of epistemology using Plato’s allegory of the cave?

Answer by Graham Hackett

Plato must have been an excellent teacher. Many people might dislike his use of the technique of dialogue and metaphor, and they would no doubt have preferred him to write text books, or straightforward academic papers. But there is no quarrelling with the tension and drama he creates with his particular methods. I have often imagined him holding a group of his students rapt, as he drew out the lessons from the cave metaphor, perhaps drawing a diagram of the cave and its occupants in the sand, using his staff. I have been a lecturer myself, and often wished I could have devised teaching metaphors as vivid.

Many teachers of philosophy since Plato have used and elaborated on the cave metaphor, sometimes adding details (why not? Metaphor is a very flexible technique) and sometime paring the image down a little. The main details are always;

• A cave with just one small entrance

• A group of people who could be actual slaves, or who could be slaves in the sense that they are in thrall to false data masquerading as knowledge

• The ‘slaves’ sit with their backs to the entrance, watching the wall before them

• There is a fire at the entrance to the cave

• People passing between the fire and the cave entrance are shadow on the back wall of the cave.

• The slaves believe that these shadow images represent reality, and have no direct apprehension of the objects causing the shadows

Think of the metaphor first, as offering Plato’s opinion on the various sources of knowledge, perception, testimony, memory, reason and introspection. What the inhabitants of the cave apprehend consists just of shadow images. The objects which are casting these shadows are outside the cave and, if they partake of reality at all, are just a pale imitation of it. The shadows in the cave are not knowledge in the way that many people today consider it; as justified true belief. If the slaves could turn round, or better still, leave the cave, they would, (after becoming attuned to the bright light), see that what they have taking for reality is just an illusion, and the real objects are outside the cave. The shadows on the cave wall are the objects of perception, and as long we take them at face value, can never provide us with true knowledge. The only way we can acquire true knowledge is by seeing what is causing the shadows.

To do this, Plato tells us that we must abandon our total trust in perceptual knowledge and use our reason. Only by using reason can we acquire knowledge of what is outside the cave. In Plato’s own language in the theory of forms, we need to apprehend the true ‘form’ of knowledge, rather than the pale perceptual copies of it. If you wish to add more metaphor still, you can think of ‘a veil of perception’ between the inhabitants of the cave and what lies outside, preventing them from getting to know the real truth. You could argue that the power of Plato’s metaphor breaks down a little here, as you could just argue that the clueless cave dwellers could just get up, turn around and leave the cave. Job done! This is true knowledge! However, the metaphor can still be argued for by saying that this is not an option for any of us; we cannot come out of the cave, peer through the veil of perception, or even turn round. Our only hope is to use our reason to try and gain an insight about what lies outside our dark, damp smelly cave.

Another image I have of Plato teaching, is to visualise him using his cave metaphor to give a lesson in how we might change from being a shadow-fixated slave to becoming a free person, strolling in the sun-bright, knowledge-rich area outside the cave. The path from perceptual delusion to true knowledge is not easy. One of the slaves is gradually introduced to the outside world, not without some kicking and screaming apparently. The slave is only taken from the cave very gradually and is very reluctant to leave the apparent (but illusory) certainties of his habitat. He is blinded by the light, and takes a long time to get used to it, but after doing so, begins to apprehend things as they are. The real form of knowledge is at last acquired. This part of the cave metaphor is to demonstrate that there is a very long educational process needed before our slave of perception can gaze at the sun of reason. Not every one of the slaves will be able to benefit from such an education, and the process is long and arduous.

Finally, the enlightened sage will reluctantly return to the cave, to live with, and share the problems of the cave dwellers. The newly enlightened one, in attempting to enlighten the others will often meet with opposition and sometimes outward derision. Clearly, even the trustworthy testimony of a philosopher as to the nature of truth could be regarded with suspicion.

I do not think I have exhausted the possible lessons which could be drawn from the analogy of the cave, but the above is at least a start.

Graham Hackett is currently studying for the BA (Hons) in Philosophy with the University of London International Programme. He is a former student of Dr Geoffrey Klempner.

Lucy asked:

According to Descartes, before Neo is freed from the Matrix (i.e. when his body and brain are still imprisoned by the machines), can he properly claim to know anything at all? If so, give an example of something he can know and explain why it counts as knowledge.

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

Actually your question should go much further. Before asking how much (if any) knowledge Neo might possess, you should enquire if Neo has the capacity to think; and whether, upon his exit from the matrix, if he is actually fit to live in the empirical world.

So we start with him as a typical denizen of the matrix, which is to say, as a particular instantiation of a computer program which controls his brain. As his brain’s inputs have been disconnected from his body, Neo’s sensory experience from birth to manhood is negligible. His body has not gone through the mandatory process of priming it for life in an empirical (social and natural) habitat. I regret to say that the movie skips over this elementary item, as if it didn’t matter or could be circumvented. But it does matter and cannot be circumvented.

To elaborate on this: One of the really useful aspects of philosophy is, that it teaches one to take unquestioned presuppositions apart and subpoena the evidence on which the whole construction might rest. You would undoubtedly agree that the explanation of the origin and constitution of the matrix is pretty rough and obscure. No details! Instead we are fobbed off with intuition pump that suggests to us that the denizens of the matrix are all exemplifications of Descartes’ ‘thinking thing’ or, in its updated terminology, the ‘brain in the vat’ hypothesis. Descartes does not speculate on the possibility of a brain being dissociated from its body and allocated to another; but it is implied in the hypothesis. The ‘brain in the vat’ hypothesis takes this implication to the stage of running the idea through a series of thought experiments. ‘The Matrix’ hangs it on a salvationist story line, by insinuating that Neo’s instantiation is an instance of a glitch in the system, as he has the capacity of discerning a flaw in its architecture that enables him to sabotage it.

His brain, like all others, is being fed data by the system, on which it can work and produce images that emulate the normal life cycle of a person. But the glitch has already enabled others to escape; and this can mean nothing other than somehow (no details!) re-connecting these brains with their own body.

However, there is another glitch, this time in the theory. Let’s re-enter the matrix for a moment and examine the crack in its edifice. Everyone knows that a huge preponderance of the signalling traffic between the body’s nervous system and the brain is concerned with evaluating real time occasions. Accordingly, in an empirical habitat, the outcome of the brain’s manipulation of all the inflowing signals is a corresponding outflow of signals into the body, consisting of options for behaviour, motion, exertion etc. So body, brain and mind are an integrated feedback system; and now the obvious question must be asked, apropos the matrix: where does this return traffic flow to, when there is no body to respond to it?

It flows back into the matrix, But the matrix cannot maintain the two-way feedback, as it cannot handle the infinite regress of the continuous ricochetting of responses between brain and body (the famous halting problem). Biological organisms don’t have this problem, because they make constant arbitrary, spontaneous decisions involving equipollence breaking. As one biologist famously said, body and brain working in tandem produce lots of ‘quick dirty fixes’ for real time situations — a best guess from 5 to 50 alternatives that has the merit of promoting survival, if not logic! A computer program can’t work that way; it needs precise data and unambiguous yes/ no alternatives for its logic gates. Moreover, the matrix is a closed system, and this implies that over certain stretches of time it would have to recycle of all its contents in new mixes, as otherwise the signalling tree would rapidly outgrow the system’s capacity to operate in ‘real time’.

In a word, the ‘individuals’ in the system are not evolved, but reconstituted entities, and the resources of the matrix constrained to a finite quantity inside the boundary of its architecture.

Returning now to the rebels, but focussing on Neo because he is the new boy on the block, we come upon the third and most fatal objection. Which is that Neo would be unfit to live an empirical earthly life, precisely because the body-brain feedback system has been truncated. Inside the matrix, his brain produces images that are a simulacrum of human society, but — they are images, nothing else.

In real life, images are only a part of the brain’s work. As it works in real time, most of the results of mental processing are actions. Accordingly Neo’s exit from the matrix subjects him immediately to a sensory environment of which he has almost zero experience and therefore none of the know-how that is required to cope with real-life stimuli and situations. He would be helpless as a new-born babe. To repeat this important principle: life in the matrix is not sensory, as the information is already formed to produce images in the brain. This is frequently overlooked, especially by those who subscribe to the incorrect assumption that every stimulus impacting on the body is registered in the brain. In fact, a very large percentage of sensory information is pre-processed and filtered before it reaches the brain, and another large percentage is withheld altogether, if it can be dealt with in situ.

Thus all living bodies maintain a certain amount of autonomy, which is indeed crucial, because the last thing that e.g. the metabolic and homeostatic systems want is for the brain to interfere with their delicately tuned microprocesses. Besides, every organ and every fibre in the body has to be primed for optimum performance in the subject’s habitat, and none of this has any relevance to the brain.

Consider now a couple of absolutely basic facts of life. The matrix is not a habitat. Therefore he has never learnt to use his eyes, ears or tongue. He doesn’t need them in the matrix! But in real life, he needs them for orientation on what’s going on. Babies learn the use of eyes, ears and tongue in the first years of life. Neo missed out.

In a word: None of his biological fibres have been primed for the conditions of life in an empirical habitat. This means that his brain knows literally nothing that pertains to living; and his body has not acquired any navigation, orientation and anticipation skills. On top, his muscles and nerves would be totally dysfunctional (maybe atrophied) and the ordinary living pressures he encounters on his entry into the ‘dirty’ world of reality would induce high levels of distress, disorientation, fear, excessive blood pressure, breathing difficulty etc. etc.

I come to conclusions. The proposition of ‘The Matrix’ is about the energy of living humans being sucked into the matrix for power. But this is all one-way traffic (as they say, the body is basically a battery). About Neo’s brain, the most favourable hypothesis would be that, perhaps, he acquired some purely intellectual knowledge such as mathematical equations. But as he cannot be a knowing agent, this is tantamount to proposing that knowledge is something that can exist on its own, without being held by knower. That may suffice for the matrix, but it is nonsense in the real world.

Altogether: Entertaining movie; insupportable presuppositions; careless stitching together of several incompatible scientific-philosophical theories; internal self-contradictions; inadmissable conflation of two disparate states of existence.

Final answer: Neo is merely the simulation of a person. Try to work out how he ‘exists’ if someone got hold of the main switch and turned the power for the whole matrix off. Then you also have the answer to how much knowledge he has.

Jürgen Lawrenz at philosophos.org

Dakota asked:

Does anything matter if nothing’s real?

Answer by Shaun Williamson

If nothing is real then you aren’t real and your question isn’t real. I am not real, the internet isn’t real and my answer isn’t real. Fortunately all these things are real so they all matter. What we need to explain to ourselves is how thinking philosophically can tempt us to think that everything might not be real.

Shaun Williamson developed the Ask a Philosopher cgi script question.pl. He did his postgraduate studies on the philosophy of Wittgenstein.