Necessary Illusions

A fairly long-standing view I have espoused and defended in many places and many ways is that the world of our experience is illusory … and delusory insofar as we sincerely believe in its veridicality. The standard illusion, however, is something we can disabuse ourselves of as a belief, although it may well remain as an appearance (for example, continuing to see the Müller-Lyer as lines of unequal lengths even when we cease to believe they are of unequal length). 

            A very big question for me is the degree to which various illusions are incorrigible, and in either sense: that is, simply qua illusions or also as delusions. An illusion need not be a full-blown delusion in order to hold powerful sway over us; for instance, when I have been tossed 360 degrees in a dizzy spell while lying in my bed, I do not really believe I and my bed have been fully flipped around, or moved at all, and yet I will hold on for dear life.[1] 

            So I wonder, to take a prominent case, whether my moralism is inveterate. Certainly it has seemed that way to me, since I have spent over a decade trying to rid myself of it to little avail. And yet, as with the dizzy spell, I don’t think it is quite delusory, since I fully reject its veridicality; and yet it can throw me into a fit of outrage at the drop of a hat.[2] 

            Other major categories of experience – and hence, ex hypothesi, illusion! – are the sense of being a self, of having freewill, even of having continuous consciousness (as noted in Footnote 2). Various philosophers have roundly questioned the veridicality of all of these, just as the “natural philosopher” Copernicus questioned the veridicality of the Sun’s movement in the sky; and I number myself among the skeptics. But my question is: Could we rid ourselves of all or any of these? Again, I am not necessarily talking about full-blown belief in their veridicality, which I think it is quite possible to dispel (as I myself have done qua philosopher), nor about illusions as experienced, but at least about illusions that hold powerful sway over us. … a kind of fiction that we nevertheless rely on for vital purposes. 

            Take the illusion of God, that is, of living in a world directed by a benevolent force. This illusion is apparently comforting to many, maybe even most people on Earth. The “comfort” probably varies over a wide range, but what I wonder is whether we can imagine living without it. This is really a variation on: Are there any atheists in foxholes? The comfort afforded by this illusion is twofold: There is the belief (or alief? – see again the first footnote) either that God will protect us from some calamity (no mortar shell will hit me in the foxhole) or that all is for the best according to God’s benevolent Plan (if the mortar shell hits me, I will be transported at once to paradise everlasting). I am as hard-core an atheist as could be, and yet even I hold out hope for various happy outcomes for my deepest desires, even when my reason tells me this is quite unlikely. The sheer strength of a desire sustains the irresistibility of the illusion that it will be fulfilled. 

            Again, my question: Is that OK? Or, even if it’s unfortunate that some illusions are both incorrigible and powerful, might this still be somehow inevitable or “necessary”? For example, without the unrealistic hope sustained by such an illusion, might human life simply be unendurable, and the only alternative suicide? Or perhaps not unendurable, but, even more fundamentally, inconceivable? For example, if the self is (as I strongly suspect) an illusion, might it be nonsense to suppose that a human life could continue without it?—“nonsense” in the strong, logical sense in which a 4-sided triangle cannot be conceived? After all, it might be argued, how could someone continue to exist who does not exist?[3]

[1] Although an alternative interpretation might be that I alieve we are being flipped, to use a wonderful concept coined by philosopher Tamar Szabó Gendler.

[2] Here again there could be an alternative interpretation, for example, that I keep forgetting my own considered belief. Indeed, something I have become acutely aware of is that my attention flickers on an off by the second. I meta-notice, or infer, this from, for example, the way I keep forgetting (although the word should perhaps be in scare quotes?) whether I have soaped various parts of my body in the shower. Even when I direct myself to pay full attention for the duration, I am likely to miss what I’ve done from moment to moment. Another prominent example is listening to someone speak: I am missing practically every other sentence! I would wager that this is not a sign of my senility but rather something common to us all at all ages but which, like the saccades of the eye, we usually don’t notice. The brain, it has been shown experimentally, is very good at filling in the gaps of attention with illusory, indeed delusory, content. (Daniel Dennett is marvelous at discussing this sort of thing. His conclusion is that consciousness itself is an illusion; and, being a materialist, I am very sympathetic to that position.)

[3] This seems to be an even stronger rhetorical question than Descartes’ Cogito, or, more properly speaking, Dubito (Even if I doubt my own existence, the very act of doubting establishes that I do exist, for how could there be doubting without a doubter?). But there may be a real answer: It may be mistaken to assume that what must exist for the illusion of self to continue is … a self! So at best we might be able to infer that something exists, but its nature remains elusive… or it could be a certain type of brain structure or event. Of course the option would remain to call that a self. But this would probably be of a very different nature from what we normally take to be a self. On the third paw, radical changes of meaning do occur over time: Consider “planet” or even “phone” (something we now take pictures with!). 

Popular posts from this blog

An Argument for Materialism

A philosopher (like a scientist) can never prove anything but only at best provide evidence or reasons for (or against) believing something. Nevertheless a philosopher, like anyone, can still believe things, and we philosophers in particular fancy that our beliefs are at least rational if not proven. To me this means simply that whatever we believe, we do so in light of careful reflection on the evidence and arguments adduced pro and con.  That is all preamble to my stating that I am a materialist, that   is, I believe that human beings are wholly physical animals; and so even our consciousness, which seems “nonphysical” and for which, frankly, there is still no adequate explanation, is either nothing but the firing of synapses in the brain or does not even exist in its own terms but is illusory. [1]   But how could I possibly believe such a thing, when the counterevidence seems to stare us in the face (almost literally)? Indeed, I know the pull of this (what I n...
Read more

How a Philosopher’s Mind Works, or, The Usefulness of Philosophy

For a long time I have conceived philosophy as the examination of assumptions that most people never question or are even aware of, especially the fundamental ones, such as that we have a mind or soul separate from our body or that we have free will or even that we exist at all. What philosophers then do is consider the reasons to believe or deny the assumption, and also whether the assumption might be reinterpreted. It is my considered view after a career in philosophy that none of these issues is ever decided once for all. Nevertheless I find value in the enterprise from the very turning of assumptions into questions, that is, issues about which people may reasonably disagree. This has the benign effect of supporting a greater mutual tolerance and respect among people who disagree even fundamentally.             A further benefit of – and way to characterize – philosophy is that it generates hypotheses. For by turning an assumpt...
Read more

Make It So

I have found an excellent way to fall asleep. The default is that at 9:00 p.m. I stop whatever I’ve been doing, usually working at the computer, and perform my evening ablutions. (It’s later if I’ve been out late.) Then I dim the lights and read a novel in the comfy chair by the bed until I can no longer keep my eyes open. At that point it’s all I can do to move to the bed. Sleep follows.  If instead I had stayed at the computer or got involved in some other activity with the lights on (not to mention, eaten a meal or drunk some coffee just before bedtime, etc.), sleep would have been indefinitely elusive, even if I were fatigued. But I’m an early to bed person because I like to get up early and well rested, so I have developed this method for inducing sleep.  But what I cannot do is will myself to sleep. I am sure you have had the common experience of needing to be up early the next morning and trying to get to sleep, to no avail. The method is actually counterproducti...
Read more