I Am a Strange Loop - Douglas R. Hofstadter [185]
SL #642: What kinds of regularities are you talking about?
SL #641: Oh, for example, swings on a playground will swing in a very predictable way when you push them, even though the detailed motions of their chains and seats are way beyond our ability to predict. But we don’t care in the least about that level of detail. We feel we know extremely well how swings move. Similarly, shopping carts go pretty much where you want them to when you push them, even if their wobbly wheels, rather predictably, lend them an amusing trace of unpredictability. And someone ambling down the sidewalk in your direction may make some slightly unpredictable motions, but you can count on them not turning into a giant and gobbling you up. These sorts of regularity are what we all know intimately and take for granted, and they are amazingly remote from the level of particle collisions. The most efficient and irresistible shorthand of all is that of imputing abstract desires and beliefs to certain “privileged” entities (those with minds — animals and people), and of wrapping all of those things together in one single, supposedly indivisible unity that represents the “central essence” of such an entity.
SL #642: You mean that entity’s “soul”?
SL #641: Pretty much. Or if you don’t want to use that word, then it’s the way that you presume that that thing feels inside — its inner viewpoint, let’s say. And then, to cap it all off, since each perceiver is always swimming in its own activities and their countless consequences, it can’t keep itself from fabricating a particularly intricate tale about its own soul, its own central essence. That tale is no different in kind from the tales it makes up for the other mind-owning entities that it sees — it’s just far more detailed. Moreover, the story of an “I” is a tale about a central essence that never disappears from view (in contrast to “you” ’s and “she” ’s and “he” ’s, which tend to come into view for a scene or two and then go off stage).
SL #642: So it’s the fact that the system can watch itself that dooms it to this illusion.
SL #641: Not just that it can watch itself, but that it does watch itself, and does so all the time. That, plus the crucial fact that it has no choice but to radically simplify everything. Our categories are vast simplifications of patterns in the world, but the well-chosen categories are enormously efficient in allowing us to fathom and anticipate the behavior of the world around us.
SL #642: And why can’t we get rid of our hallucinations? Why can’t we attain that pure and selfless “I”-less state that the Zen people would aim for?
SL #641: We can try all we want, and it is an interesting exercise for a short while, but we can’t turn off our perception machinery and still survive in the world. We can’t make ourselves not perceive things like trees, flowers, dogs, and other people. We can play the game, can tell ourselves we’ve succeeded, can claim that we have “unperceived” them, but that’s just plain self-fooling. The fact is, we are macroscopic creatures, and so our perception and our categories are enormously coarse-grained relative to the fabric at which the true causality of the universe resides. We’re stuck at the level of radical simplification, for better or for worse.
SL #642: Is that a tragedy? You make it sound like a sad fate.
SL #641: Not at all — it’s our glory! It’s only those who take Zen and the Tao very seriously who consider this to be a condition to be fought against tooth and nail. They resent words, they resent breaking the world up into discrete chunks and giving them names. And so they give you recipes — such as their droll koans — to try to combat this universal built-in drive to use words. I myself have no desire to fight against the use of words in understanding the world’s mysteries — quite the reverse! But I admit that using words has one very major drawback.
SL #642: What is that?
SL #641: It is that we have to live with paradox, and live with it in the most intimate fashion. And the word “I” epitomizes