Monday, November 12, 2012

Inception and The Experience Machine

 I had the extreme pleasure of being able to re-watch Christopher Nolan’s Inception this weekend. I am a huge Christopher Nolan fan and love everything of his that I had seen, from the mind-bending Memento to this Dark Knight trilogy.

Many critics of Nolan might point to Inception as an example of how most of Nolan’s work is overblown and over-hyped. And the movie is. Despite the reputation the movie has garnered for being complicated and confusing (or maybe all my friends are just idiots…) Inception is just an action heist movie wrapped up with a neat little twist. It’s Ocean’s Eleven in dreams.

But there’s still one scene that really catches my attention, and it’s a scene that the movie does not give much attention.

Cobb (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) walks into the basement of an alchemist, who will give him a drug strong enough to knock him and his comrades into the needed level of unconsciousness. The basement is full of cots, each of which supports the body of a dreaming man, whose arm is connected to a needle which feeds him anesthesia. Cobb is told that these men are no different than addicts, who cannot find joy without indulging in these artificial dreams.

The reactions from Cobb and his crew are barely audible grumbles, which amount to not much more than a collection of pitying scoffs.

What immediately comes to my mind, when I see this scene, is a philosophical thought experiment penned by Robert Nozick in the 1970s. In his book Anarchy, State and, Utopia[i], Nozick discusses The Experience Machine. It was an effort to refute unrepentant hedonism. Nozick proposes a scenario in which you have the opportunity to experience an event by connecting yourself to some machine, perhaps similar to the machine Leonard DiCaprio carried around with him in Inception.

However Nozick argues that, despite being able to completely experience whichever event you desire to experience and despite being able to derive any and all of pleasure from the experience of this event, you will not find the experience satisfactory. You fail to actually do things, you just experience them. Instead of being someone and constructing an identity, your being is just a collection of experiences.

The third and final argument Nozick makes against the experience machine:

“Plugging into an experience machine limits us to a man-made reality, to a world no deeper or more important than that which people can construct. There is no actual contact with any deeper reality, though the experience of it can be simulated.”

The lack of “actual contact with any deeper reality” precludes any possibility for the experience to be deeply satisfying. Sounds pretty good.

His counterargument is anchored in an appeal to this vague unsatisfactory feeling a person is left with when confronted with The Experience Machine scenario. Just as Leo scoffed at the dreamers in the basement, Nozick scoffs at those who would consider that a life dominated or augmented by The Experience Machine to be a satisfying or worthy life.

I want to return to the above quote from Nozick. He believes that most human beings would find this lack of a deeper reality to be unsatisfying. Merely indulging in pleasurable experiences, especially artificially simulated experiences, deprives human beings of any deeper reality. Therefore, these indulgences are undesirable.

This concept pervades science fiction. We see it in the basement of Inception; we see it throughout The Matrix. There is the real and there is the unreal. Within the Matrix, within the dream, within the experience machine, we can find pleasure. We can find enjoyment. But we cannot find any meaning. We can’t get any satisfaction from such artificial, albeit enjoyable, experiences.

I like Nozick’s concept of “deeper reality.” I also like that Nozick suggests that “deeper reality” exists. It’s real. It’s tangible. It’s something with which I can have contact. Most importantly, at least to him, it’s something that I cannot, or do not, create.

But is it? Again, I fall back to the oft-used questions of science fiction stories. What if it’s all fake? I could be nothing more than a projection your subconscious just as much as you could be one of mine. And we don’t know. We really know nothing. We just perceive a whole bunch of stuff and then categorize it and compartmentalize it and build a nice and neat narrative out of it. Even if there is an objective “deeper reality,” it only exists because I can perceive it. And its existence is limited by my ability (or your ability) to perceive it and make sense of it and make use of it.

So why couldn’t I find a deeper reality within The Experience Machine? If I can construct a suitable sense of reality out of the experiences I have had during my current life, why couldn’t I construct an equally suitable sense of reality out of the pleasurable dreams fed to me by some machine?

There’s a chance I’m already hooked up.

Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn't know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi.




[i] Read an excerphere (PDF Download)

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