The Experience Machine Part 2: Now We Poke (A Lot Of) Holes

Difficulty: What the fuck

This is Part 2 of a series on Robert Nozick’s Experience Machine Thought Experiment (EMTE), so you might want to read Part 1 first. This series is a simplified, slightly profane version of the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s article “The Experience Machine.”

Now things get more complicated. We will backtrack a little and look at some of Nozick’s stipulations for EMTE and see if he’s cheating dialectically. We’ll then look at a few objections to the abductive interpretation of his argument.

Nozick’s stipulations

The stipulations: Nozick tells us to set aside questions like “What is reality?” and “How can we know it”? The first question is what philosophers call a metaphysical question; that is, it deals with what things are on a fundamental level. The second question is an epistemic (knowledge) question: how do we know that something is true? How do we know that life outside EM is any more real than life inside EM?

On to the first question: If there is no such thing as reality because all reality is is mental states, stuff that goes on in my head only, then EMTE is pointless: life inside and outside EM would be equally virtual and “fake.”

And about the epistemic question: René Descartes famously advanced the Evil Demon problem to argue for a view called global skepticism: How can I know that I’m not dreaming? How can I know that I’m not a madman, and my “hands” are, in reality, two deformed pumpkins or some other crazy shit? How can I know that anything I perceive is real at all?

If global skepticism (or a more local skepticism that targets EMTE) might be true, then without Nozick’s stipulation to set aside the epistemic question, EMTE would also be pointless: how could we say that the “virtual” world of EM is more, or less, real than the world outside EM?

Lastly, there is the contextual stipulation: Nozick says we should set aside the question of context when we think about EMTE. For instance, if a possible context is that life outside the EM is torturous and unbearable, that might make us decide that plugging into EM is preferable. Nozick tells us to set the contextual question aside and assume that the pleasures we experience outside EM are what the average Joe experiences, so, nowhere near super pleasurable, but also nowhere near unbearable.

Is Nozick cheating?

So is Nozick cheating here?

Well… maybe. But not in a stupid way.

Let’s look at what he’s doing. He tells us to ignore:

  • metaphysical questions (what reality really is)
  • epistemic questions (how we know what’s real)
  • contextual factors (like whether real life is miserable)

That’s a lot to set aside.

So one reaction is: “Hold on, aren’t those exactly the kinds of things that might affect my decision?”

For example, suppose:

  • there is no meaningful difference between “real” and “virtual” experience
  • or we can never know which one we’re in
  • or real life is absolutely terrible

In those cases, plugging into the machine suddenly looks a lot more appealing.

So by ruling out those possibilities, Nozick might look like he’s stacking the deck, designing the thought experiment so that we’re more likely to say, “No, I wouldn’t plug in.”

But here’s the other side.

If we don’t set those questions aside, the whole thought experiment collapses.

If we start worrying about whether reality exists, or whether we can know anything at all, then we’re no longer evaluating hedonism; we’re doing skepticism and metaphysics.

And if we allow extreme contexts, like a life of constant torture, then of course we might choose the machine. But that doesn’t show that pleasure is the only thing that matters. It just shows that sometimes pleasure outweighs everything else.

So Nozick’s stipulations aren’t obviously cheating. They might just be a way of isolating the variable he cares about:

Does pleasure alone determine how well our lives go?

Still, the worry remains. If a thought experiment works only after you strip away enough complications, you might wonder whether it’s telling us something deep, or just guiding us toward a pre-loaded intuition.

The abductive argument, revisited

Now that we got that out of the way, let’s revisit the abductive interpretation of Nozick’s argument:

What’s the best explanation for the fact that many people care about reality, not just pleasurable experiences? One possible answer is that reality itself has intrinsic value.

The question we now focus on is whether “reality itself has intrinsic value” really is the best explanation for why many people care about reality. There are at least three possible sources that make us question the abductive argument: the hedonistic bias, imaginative failures, and the status quo bias.

Hedonistic bias

The hedonistic bias is the most speculative of these three potential biases. Really, it’s controversial as hell, because its core claim is:

You think the reason you don’t want to plug into EM is that you value not just pleasure, but also reality. But actually, all your desires, including the desire not to plug in, are still best explained by the fact that what ultimately drives them is pleasure.

Even more bluntly:

You don’t want to plug into EM not because you value reality, but because you unconsciously believe that reality would get you more pleasure than EM would.

Speculative and controversial as that claim might be, if it’s possible that the hedonistic bias might be true, then it’s possible that Nozick’s EMTE does not, contrary to what many philosophers in the 1990s believed, provide a knock-down argument against hedonism.

Sharon Hewitt shares similar views, arguing, in her 2010 paper “What Do Our Intuitions about the Experience Machine Really Tell Us about Hedonism?,” that it’s not enough to merely stipulate that our practical hedonistic reasons for not plugging in to EM are irrelevant; we must also “fill in the concrete details that would make them irrelevant.” In other words, you can’t just tell people to ignore their practical concerns; you have to show why those concerns don’t actually matter. Further, our intuitions about EM might not be reliable indicators of what is intrinsically valuable: rather than telling us about what truly matters, our intuitions about EM might just be telling us something about how our brain is wired.

Or to flesh it out a bit more:

  1. Thought experiments target gut reactions: we’re trying to see what we intuitively prefer.
  2. But those reactions are “pre-reflective”: we didn’t think it through, we just reacted.
  3. The problem is that we don’t really know why we reacted that way.
  4. So our reactions are not reliable evidence of what actually has value.

Imaginative failures

Let’s move on to imaginative failures. This is another source of bias, which can be divided into two separate confounding factors: imaginative resistance and overactive imagination.

Imaginative resistance

Empirical evidence shows that imaginative resistance, namely, the phenomenon whereby people disregard the stipulations of a thought experiment, is an actual problem when people decide whether they would want to plug into EM.

In his 2014 paper “Nozick’s Experience Machine Is Dead, Long Live the Experience Machine!,” Dan Weijers found that 34% of the participants who did not want to plug into EM were affected by imaginative resistance, disregarding some stipulations of EMTE by worrying about things like whether EM would malfunction, even though Nozick had explicitly stipulated that EM would never malfunction and would provide a perfectly blissful experience.

(This is where you might pause and say, “Oh, those people don’t know how a thought experiment works. You can’t disregard stipulations; that’s the whole point of a thought experiment!” But then again, even philosophers make that mistake at times. The philosopher Ben Bramble, in his 2016 paper The Experience Machine, ignored Nozick’s stipulation that EM provides a perfect simulation: Bramble argued that artificial intelligence is too primitive and that it thus cannot possibly give us a convincing simulation of loving someone and being loved in return. But with recent advances in AI, of course that argument sounds stupid, in hindsight.)

Overactive imagination

Then there’s the problem of overactive imagination, which, according to Weijers’ study, happened for 10% of people who didn’t want to plug into EM. People who have an overactive imagination when thinking about EMTE might be biased against plugging in due to reasons not stipulated by EMTE. For instance, if they’ve watched The Matrix one too many times, they might say, “Oh, no thanks. I don’t want to plug in because I don’t want to be enslaved by aliens.” This, clearly, goes beyond what EM stipulates.

Also, considering that a whopping 46% of anti-plug-in philosophers and 39% of anti-plug-in laypeople were biased by at least one of these two imaginative failures, it’s quite possible that EMTE is simply too far-fetched for us to reliably conclude anything about what we actually value. In other words, our judgments about extreme scenarios like this might be less reliable than we think.

a. Memory’s erasure

Now here’s another complication of possible imaginative failure, particularly one of imaginative resistance: Bramble argues that another reason people might not want to plug into EM is that doing so forces EM to erase some of our memories, making it seem like we would die if we plug in. And since most people don’t want to die, the threat of death might be their reason that they wouldn’t plug in.

If this is hard to wrap your head around, it might be easier to understand what Bramble is saying by thinking of the TV series Severance (if you’ve watched it), in which employees working at a company undergo a “severance” procedure that not only erases their memories of their lives once they enter the workplace, but also makes them forget, once they’ve entered, that they underwent the procedure at all. So if, hypothetically, an employee were to enter the workplace and never come back to the “real world,” the only place they can regain memories of life outside work, then their non-working identities would, in a sense, be dead.

In his 2012 paper “What’s Wrong with the Experience Machine?,” Christopher Belshaw raises an even stronger objection: for EM to work as intended, it would require not just some memory erasure, but invasive memory erasure. Since EMTE stipulates that you wouldn’t remember that you plugged yourself in, for the pleasures to be meaningful in EM, scientists would have to recreate your identity for the pleasurable experiences to be realistic enough.

At this point, the IEP article accuses Bramble’s and Belshaw’s arguments of being victims of imaginative resistance themselves. That is, although EMTE doesn’t explicitly stipulate that identity would not be erased, nowhere does it insinuate that your identity would be erased. In EMTE, identity preservation is implicitly assumed, so by disregarding this implied stipulation, Bramble and Belshaw might be suffering from imaginative resistance themselves.

b. Moral concerns

Moral, as opposed to prudential, concerns are also stipulated as irrelevant in EMTE, though people disregard these stipulations and decide not to plug in anyway. This, again, is a case of imaginative resistance.

For instance, Weijers reported that a participant said that “I can’t [plug in] because I have responsibilities to others,” and Guido Löhr, in his 2018 paper “The Experience Machine and the Expertise Defense,” wrote that anti-plug-in philosophers stated, “I cannot ignore my husband and son,” “I cannot ignore the dependents,” and “Gf[girlfriend] would be sad.”

But EMTE stipulates that we should ignore moral concerns and think only of prudential reasons, that is, reasons for why something is good for me. So this disregard for this stipulation shows just how both laypeople’s and philosophers’ seemingly muddled thinking might render conclusions about what we value unreliable.

And imagine this: if someone told you to disregard moral concerns in a case of, say, sexual violence, would you be able to do so? Probably not. In short, the fact that someone stipulates the rules doesn’t mean you’ll follow the rules.

So what does all of this suggest? It suggests that all our crappy imaginative failures might be a big reason that most of us choose not to plug in. If, on the other hand, we were not affected by any of these biases, then our strong intuition against plugging in might weaken, or at least become less reliable as evidence. That would weaken Nozick’s argument that hedonism is false.

Status quo bias

Lastly, we come to the status quo bias, which means that we humans have a tendency to abide by the adage “when in doubt, do nothing,” especially when faced with complex decision making. We see this happen when people vote for an incumbent politician or decide not to trade in a car. And some studies have exposed just how powerful the status quo bias is during EMTE-like decision making.

Take, for example, the reverse experience machine thought experiment (REM), where participants are asked whether they would want to unplug from EM if they were already living in EM. Most people’s answers: no. Don’t unplug.

And then there’s the “stranger No Status Quo” (stranger NSQ) scenario, which attempts to remove the status quo bias from REM and see how people would respond. The stranger NSQ scenario is based on the idea that the more detached we are from the subject of a thought experiment, the more rational, and thus less biased, we would be. So, researchers asked people to make a decision for a hypothetical stranger: should the stranger, having spent 50% of his or her life in EM, be unplugged and enter reality? Given this scenario, only 55% of participants were pro-plug-in.

This is a problem for Nozick because the same basic preference can generate opposite answers depending on how the question is framed. That suggests the intuition may not be tracking value at all, but bias.

Conclusion (for now)

So what does all this say about Nozick’s abductive argument against hedonism? Recall that the abductive argument goes:

What’s the best explanation for the fact that many people care about reality, not just pleasurable experiences? One possible answer is that reality itself has intrinsic value.

Sure, that’s a possible answer, but is that really the best explanation for why most people choose not to plug into EM in EMTE as formulated by Nozick? Probably not. We’ve seen that there are many other good explanations for why people choose not to enter EM: the hedonistic bias, imaginative failures (including imaginative resistance and overactive imagination), and the status quo bias. And if any one of these explanations is better, or even comparably good, then the abductive case for saying that reality itself has intrinsic prudential value becomes much weaker.

In other words, EMTE does not straightforwardly show that hedonism is false. At the very least, it is not the philosophical knock-down argument that many people once thought it was.

That’s all for now. In Part 3, we’ll delve into EMTE even further. Meanwhile, keep thinking.

The Experience Machine Part 1: What the Hell Is It and What Does It Aim to Show?

Difficulty: What the hell

In 1974, Robert Nozick offered, in his book Anarchy, State, and Utopia, a thought experiment, which he later revised in his book The Examined Life (1989). We will focus on this second version, which I’ve summarized:

You have access to a machine that could give you any experience(s) that you might desire. When plugged into this machine, you could experience writing a great poem, bringing about world peace, or loving someone and being loved in return, and you could feel “from the inside” the pleasures that these things bring. You could program this machine to give you experiences this week, this year, or for the rest of your life. If you should run out of ideas for pleasurable experiences, you could consult a library of suggestions taken from biographies and from novelists and psychologists. Would you want to be plugged into this machine for the rest of your life? If not, why not?

Further, Nozick stipulates that upon entering the machine, you will not remember having done so. You can optionally program uncertainty by using a randomizer built into the machine.

This thought experiment is Nozick’s attempt to refute the central argument for hedonism about well-being—that the goodness and badness of our lives, for ourselves, is wholly determined by the pains and pleasures we experience.

Simplified, Nozick’s argument can be formulated as a deductive argument:

Premise 1: If hedonism is true, then the vast majority of people would want to plug themselves into the experience machine.

Premise 2: It is not true that the vast majority of people would want to plug themselves into the experience machine.

Therefore, hedonism is false.

This argument is logically valid (it follows the form of modus tollens). The real question is whether Premise 1 is true.

Alternatively, we might reconstruct Nozick’s argument in a different, more controversial way:

Premise 1: The vast majority of reasonable people value reality in addition to pleasure.

Premise 2: If the vast majority of reasonable people value X, then X has intrinsic prudential value.

Conclusion 1: Therefore, reality has intrinsic prudential value.

Premise 3: If something besides pleasure has intrinsic prudential value, then hedonism is false.

Conclusion 2: Therefore, hedonism is false.

Here, “prudential” means “what is good for a person,” which corresponds to “well-being.” So something that has “intrinsic prudential value” is good for a person in itself, not merely as a means to something else.

Some quick examples:

Prudential values (good for you):

  • health
  • friendship
  • pleasure

Intrinsic values (good in themselves):

  • pleasure (for hedonists)
  • not money (since money is just useful for getting other things)

So something has intrinsic prudential value if it makes your life go better just by being part of it, not because it leads to something else.

The is-ought dichotomy

The deductive interpretation

The problem with this second interpretation is that it moves from what philosophers call an “is” to an “ought.” That is, just because something is the case doesn’t mean it ought to be the case.

For instance, it is the case that most people value money. That doesn’t allow us to conclude that people ought to value money.

This version of the argument assumes that what people happen to value determines what is genuinely valuable. That’s a controversial move, and without it, the argument doesn’t go through.

The abductive interpretation

So instead of interpreting Nozick’s argument as deductive, philosophers more charitably interpret it as abductive—an inference to the best explanation (IBE).

What the hell does that mean?

Say that you see smoke coming out of your car hood. You consider the following explanations:

  • You absent-mindedly left a cigarette in there.
  • Some part of the car is malfunctioning.
  • Criminals planted a stick of dynamite.

The best explanation is the simplest one: something is wrong with the car.

Applied to Nozick’s argument:

What’s the best explanation for the fact that many people care about reality, not just pleasurable experiences? One possible answer is that reality itself has intrinsic value.

This doesn’t prove that hedonism is false, but it gives us a reason to doubt it.

So there you have it: Nozick’s Experience Machine Thought Experiment (EMTE) in a nutshell. In future posts, I will present objections, counterarguments, and all that good philosophy shit. It gets complicated fast, so be prepared to move from “what the hell” to “what the fuck.”

What the Hell Is an Argument? (And Why “Deductive = General to Specific” Is Bullshit)

Difficulty: What the hell

People love saying:

“Deductive arguments go from general to specific.”
“Inductive arguments go from specific to general.”

This is repeated so often that even professors say it.

Unfortunately, it’s wrong.

And if I hear one more person say that, I’m gonna have a fucking seizure.

First: what an argument actually is

An argument = a set of statements, a.k.a. premises, that lead to a conclusion.

So this is an argument:

Premise 1: If I hear one more person say “deductive arguments go from general to specific,” I’m gonna have a fucking seizure.

Premise 2: I hear one more person say “deductive arguments go from general to specific.”

Conclusion: Therefore, I’m gonna have a fucking seizure.

The form, or structure, of the argument is:

  1. H → S
  2. H
  3. Therefore, S

That logical move, by the way, is called modus ponens. It’s a valid and “duh” move, yes, but the Latin makes it sound deep, and it’s exactly the kind of structure all deductive logic is built on.

In logic, an argument is NOT defined as:

  • yelling
  • a claim (like “postmodern art is valuable, but postmodernism is not”–sounds deep, but that’s just a claim/statement)
  • an opinion (including the ones everyone and their uncle feel entitled to express)
  • disagreement

What deduction REALLY is

Deductive validity

Deduction means:

If the premises (of an argument) are true, then the conclusion must be true.

In other words:

The truth of the premises guarantee the truth of the conclusion.

So, if ‘H → S’ (premise 1) is true, and if H (premise 2) is true, then S (conclusion) must be true.

Specifically, that’s what we call a deductively valid argument.

Notice I kept on italicizing the word if. That’s because that’s super important–after all, one or more of these premises might not be true. For example, is premise 2 (“If I hear one more person say “deductive arguments go from general to specific,” I’m gonna have a fucking seizure”) true? No. So deductive validity doesn’t mean that the conclusion of your argument is true. It just means, again, that

if the premises are all true, then the conclusion must be true.

Deductive soundness

But what if you have a valid argument and its premises are all true? For example:

Premise 1: If I don’t have any money, I can’t pay the mortgage. (TRUE)

Premise 2: I don’t have any money. (TRUE)

Conclusion: I can’t pay the mortgage. (BOTH LOGICALLY AND IN REALITY GUARANTEED TO BE TRUE)

Then this deductive argument is what is called sound.

A word on that bullshit definition of “deduction”

Note that in neither the seizure example nor the mortgage example is anything “going from general to specific.” That’s because “going from general to specific” is simply not the correct definition of “deduction,” nor is it useful for a deeper understanding of how arguments work. But some teachers and professors will still use that definition no matter how many times I object. Whatever. Let’s move on.

What induction REALLY is

Inductive logic does not use labels like “valid” or “sound.” Instead, we use words like “weak,” strong,” and “apt.” This different terminology is important because, unlike deduction, induction is probabilistic.

Inductive weakness

Consider this argument:

Premise 1: Some dogs bark.

Premise 2: Guai Guai is a dog.

Conclusion: Guai Guai (probably) barks.

This is an inductively weak argument because of what the word “some” means.

“Some dogs” might be just 1% of dogs. “Some dogs” might even be just 0.01% of dogs. There simply isn’t enough reason for us to accept the conclusion that Guai Guai probably barks because, by definition, probably = roughly put, “more likely than not” or “high enough likelihood given the evidence.” And the word “some” is simply too weak to conclude that Guai Guai’s barking is probable.

Inductive strength

Now what about this one?

Premise 1: Most Martians like Dr. Seuss.

Premise 2: Zorp is a Martian.

Conclusion: Zorp (probably) likes Dr. Seuss.

This is an inductively strong argument. “Most Martians” doesn’t mean some exact math like 51%. It just means a strong majority—enough to make the conclusion actually likely. So that–and the fact that Zorp is a Martian–makes it probable that Zorp likes Dr. Seuss.

Inductive aptness

What happens when you have an argument that is inductively strong and all its premises are true? That’s when you have an inductively apt argument. Let’s go back to the dog argument and change it a little:

Premise 1: Most dogs bark.

Premise 2: Guai Guai is a dog.

Conclusion: Guai Guai (probably) barks.

This dog argument has a form that is identical to that of the Martian argument, so it is obviously inductively strong. But unlike the Martian argument, the dog argument has premises that are all true. Hence, it is inductively apt.

A word on that bullshit definition of “induction”

Note that none of these inductive arguments “go from specific to general.” That’s because, like the bullshit-y definition of deduction, the bullshit-y definition of induction is not very helpful for a deep understanding of how arguments work. And yet, textbooks teach that definition. Perhaps I will be having that fucking seizure after all.

Another type of argument: abduction

There’s at least one other type of argument–the abductive argument–that we can discuss. Abduction, or inference to the best explanation (IBE), aims to reach conclusions based on the best possible explanation. Ockham’s Razor–the principle that the best explanation is the simplest one that makes the least number of assumptions–is a case in point. For instance:

Suppose you walk into your living room and see that:

  • The floor is wet
  • Your dog is shaking water everywhere
  • There’s a knocked-over bowl of water

You could come up with many explanations:

  • A pipe burst
  • Someone broke in and spilled water
  • Your dog knocked over the bowl

But one explanation stands out as the best:

Your dog knocked over the bowl and made a mess.

That’s an abductive argument:

The floor is wet and the bowl is knocked over.
If the dog knocked over the bowl, that would explain all this shit.
Therefore, the dog probably knocked over the bowl.

Notice what’s happening here:

You’re choosing the explanation that best fits the evidence.

A brief note on abduction and probability

Abduction is often treated as probabilistic, even if people don’t always say it that way.

When you say “this is the best explanation,” what you usually mean is something like:

This explanation makes the observed evidence more likely than the alternatives.

That’s exactly the kind of reasoning philosophers like Elliot Sober analyze using probability. (Check out his book, Ockham’s Razors.)

So if someone tells you that abduction is “not probabilistic,” they’re either oversimplifying or just wrong.

Conclusion

If you forget most of what I just said, remember this one thing:

The difference between deductive and inductive arguments has nothing to do with “general vs. specific.” It has to do with certainty vs. probability.

That’s all for today. And keep thinking.