I Am a Strange Loop

which is visible under a microscope, was explained in great detail in 1905 by Albert Einstein using the theory of molecules, which at the time were only hypothetical entities, but Einstein’s explanation was so far-reaching (and, most crucially, consistent with experimental data) that it became one of the most important confirmations that molecules do exist.

Who Shoves Whom Around inside the Careenium?

And so we finally have come to the crux of the matter: Which of these two views of the careenium is the truth? Or, to echo the key question posed by Roger Sperry, Who shoves whom around in the population of causal forces that occupy the careenium? In one view, the meaningless tiny simms are the primary entities, zipping around like mad, and in so doing they very slowly push the heavy, passive simmballs about, hither and thither. In this view, it is the tiny simms that shove the big simmballs around, and that is all there is to it. In fact, in this view the simmballs are not even recognized as separate entities, since anything we might say about their actions is just a shorthand way of talking about what simms do. From this perspective, there are no simmballs, no symbols, no ideas, no thoughts going on — just a great deal of tumultuous, pointless careening-about of tiny, shiny, magnetic spheres.

In the other view, speeded up and zoomed out, all that is left of the shiny tiny simms is a featureless gray soup, and the interest resides solely in the simmballs, which give every appearance of richly interacting with each other. One sees groups of simmballs triggering other simmballs in a kind of “logic” that has nothing to do with the soup churning around them, except in the rather pedestrian sense that the simmballs derive their energy from that omnipresent soup. Indeed, the simmballs’ logic, not surprisingly, has to do with the concepts that the simmballs symbolize.

The Dance of the Simmballs

From our higher-level macroscopic vantage point as we hover above the table, we can see ideas giving rise to other ideas, we can see one symbolic event reminding the system of another symbolic event, we can see elaborate patterns of simmballs coming together and forming even larger patterns that constitute analogies — in short, we can visually eavesdrop on the logic of a thinking mind taking place in the patterned dance of the simmballs. And in this latter view, it is the simmballs that shove each other about, at their own isolated symbolic level.

The simms are still there, to be sure, but they are simply serving the simmballs’ dance, allowing it to happen, with the microdetails of their bashings being no more relevant to the ongoing process of cognition than the microdetails of the bashings of air molecules are relevant to the turning of the blades of a windmill. Any old air- molecule bashings will do — the windmill will turn no matter what, thanks to the aerodynamic nature of its blades. Likewise, any old simm-bashings will do — the “thoughtmill” will churn no matter what, thanks to the symbolic nature of its simmballs.

If any of this strikes you as too far-fetched to be plausible, just return to the human brain and consider what must be going on inside it in order to allow our thinking’s logic to take place. What else is going on inside every human cranium but some story like this?

Of course we have come back to the question that that long-agoshelved book’s title made me ask, and the question that Roger Sperry also asked: Who is shoving whom about in here? And the answer is that it all depends on what level you choose to focus on. Just as, on one level, the primality of 641 could legitimately be said to be shoving about dominos in the domino-chain network, so here there is a level on which the meanings attached to various simmballs can legitimately be said to be shoving other simmballs about. If this all seems topsy-turvy, it certainly is — but it is nonetheless completely consistent with the fundamental causality of the laws of physics.

CHAPTER 4

Loops, Goals, and Loopholes

The First Flushes of Desire

WHEN the first mechanical systems with feedback in them were designed, a set of radically new ideas began coming into focus for humanity. Among the earliest of such systems was James Watt’s steam-engine governor; subsequent ones, which are numberless, include the float-ball mechanism governing the refilling of a flush toilet, the technology inside a heat-seeking missile, and the thermostat. Since the flush toilet is probably the most familiar and the easiest to understand, let’s consider it for a moment.

A flush toilet has a pipe that feeds water into the tank, and as the water level rises, it lifts a hollow float. Attached to the rising float is a rigid rod whose far end is fixed, so that the rod’s angle of tilt reflects the amount of water in the tank. This variable angle controls a valve that regulates the flow of water in the pipe. Thus at a critical level of filling, the angle reaches a critical value and the valve closes totally, thereby shutting off all flow in the pipe. However, if there is leakage from the tank, the water level gradually falls, and of course the float falls with it, the valve opens, and the inflow of water is thereby turned back on. Thus one sometimes gets into cyclic situations where, because a little rubber gizmo didn’t land exactly centered on the tank’s drain right after a flush, the tank slowly leaks for a few minutes, then suddenly fills for a few seconds, then again slowly leaks for a few minutes, then again fills for a few seconds, and so on, in a cyclic pattern that somewhat resembles breathing, and that never stops — that is, not until someone jiggles the toilet handle, thus jiggling the rubber gizmo, hopefully making it land properly on the drain, thus fixing the leak.

Once a friend of mine who was watching my house while I was away for a few weeks’ vacation flushed the toilet on the first day and, by chance, the little rubber gizmo didn’t fall centered, so this cycle was entered. My friend diligently returned a few times to check out the house but he never noticed anything untoward, so the toilet tank kept on leaking and refilling periodically for my entire absence, and as a result I had a $300 water bill. No wonder people are suspicious of feedback loops!

We might anthropomorphically describe a flush toilet as a system that is “trying” to make the water reach and stay at a certain level. Of course, it’s easy to bypass such anthropomorphic language since we effortlessly see how the mechanism works, and it’s pretty clear that such a simple system has no desires; even so, when working on a toilet whose tank has sprung a leak, one might be tempted to say the toilet is “trying” get the water up to the mark but “can’t”. One doesn’t truly impute desires or frustrations to the device — it’s just a manner of speaking — but it is a convenient shorthand.

A Soccer Ball Named Desire

Why does this move to a goal-oriented — that is, teleological — shorthand seem appealing to us for a system endowed with feedback, but not so appealing for a less structured system? It all has to do with the way the system’s “perceptions” feed back (so to speak) into its behavior. When the system always moves towards a certain state, we see that state as the system’s “goal”. It is the self-monitoring, self-controlling nature of such a system that tempts us to use teleological language.

But what kinds of systems have feedback, have goals, have desires? Does a soccer ball rolling down a grassy hill “want” to get to the bottom? Most of us, reflexively recoiling at such a primitive Aristotelian conception of why things move, would answer no without hesitation. But let’s modify the situation just a tiny amount and ask the question again.