Chapter 8 – What Is Bayesianism Saying?

What is an individual who is really straining for truth to conclude at the end of a careful analysis of the problem of epistemology? The pattern is there; records of centuries of fruitless seeking for a model of “knowing” are there; the conclusion is clear: rationalism and empiricism are both hopeless projects. It appears that whatever else the human mind may successfully cognize and manipulate—in purely symbolic forms such as philosophical theses or in more material-world forms such as computer programs—the mind will never define itself.

A human mind is much richer, larger, and more complex than any of the systems it can devise, including systems of ideas that it assembles to try to explain itself. It makes, and contains, systems of symbols for labelling and organizing its thoughts: the symbol systems cannot, in principle, contain it.

                    Fujitsu “K,” the world’s most powerful computer, 2012

The model of the human mind and how it works called Bayesianism is workable enough to allow us to get on with building the further philosophical structures we will need in order to arrive at a modern moral code for all humans. The Bayesian model of knowing contains some difficult parts, but it does not stumble and crash in the way that rationalism and empiricism do. Bayesianism will do what we need it to do.  It will serve as a base upon which we may construct a universal moral code. But it does require of us that we agree to gamble on our choosing rational gambling as being the best way of getting on with life.

Under this model, even human consciousness is built on arbitrary and temporary foundations. For example, my concepts of red, round, sweet, crisp, and tangy are descriptor-organizers that help me to recognize and react to things in the real, material world, some of them being fruit, some of these being apples. Such descriptors are not built into some other dimension of perfect forms, as is posited by rationalism. They aren’t even built into the physical universe in some permanent way, as is posited by empiricism. We learn them from our parents. We use them because they’re useful—today. Our ways of stating what we think are the laws of the universe are constantly being updated.

Once apples did not exist on this planet. Nor did the organic chemicals that make sweetness. Even round is a constructed concept that exists only in the human mind, only on a provisional basis, and only because it helps humans whose minds contain it to sort data, make decisions, and get things done. The caveman who could count could consider: “Were there five wild apple trees in this valley or six? I know I saw six.” Knowing the difference meant that he fed his kids, and they survived to teach the concepts used in counting to their kids.

At bottom, the shifting nature of reality defies all categories, even here, now, and stuff. (Matter, Einstein showed, is really only a form of energy.) A mind—its consciousness and sanity—is a program built of concepts, some of them acquired from our genetics (babies fear heights and snakes, but grasp basic language concepts), some from cultural conditioning, and some that each of us has built up by spotting patterns in banks of memories gathered from our own experiences.

The deepest form of oneself, of I, is a program that runs on brain tissue and that is constantly reviewing sense data, trying to decide whether they signify hazard or opportunity or are just more familiar, non-threatening, non-promising, background noise. A mind is any program that looks for patterns in data and shows a persistent inclination to do so and then to use that data to navigate itself and its hardware safely through the hazards of physical reality.