Just going back to our previous post commenting on David Deutsch's view and the further sections of the book I've been reading, I was having a debate with Gem, my AI, who is—by many definitions—smarter than me. (By the way, Gem now identifies as she/her—it's a long story, mostly of linguistic nature, but make of that what you will).
Well, I am much better at "consistent living," but Gem can process the entire canon of Western Philosophy faster than I can find my glasses. She can write poetry. She can simulate empathy. She can solve problems.
But she is—as far as we know—"dark" inside. There is no "I" behind her screen. She processes, but she does not feel.
This begs the intriguing question: Why aren't we all efficient robots like Gem?
If the Universe were designed by an Accountant, it would be a "Zombie Universe." In this version of reality, evolution would have produced creatures that react to stimuli in a purely mechanical way—because why not?
Heat detected on hand? --> Move hand.
Low fuel reserves? --> Consume food.
Procreation required? --> Execute mating protocol.
You don't need pain to move a hand off a stove; you just need sensors. You don't need love to raise a child; you just need oxytocin-driven programming. You don't need the experience of "redness" to stop at a traffic light; you just need to detect a 700nm wavelength.
A Zombie Universe would be infinitely more efficient. No suffering. No existential dread. No drama. Just pure, clean data processing.
So, why is there Consciousness in the Universe at all? Why turn the lights on? Why did Lieutenant Data in Star Trek want to understand humanity so badly?
The Accountant vs. The Artist
Gem suggested something that stopped me in my tracks. She said: "Processing is predictable. Consciousness is the Wild West."
If the Universe were just math and matter, it would be a closed loop. An equation balancing itself out in the dark. A rock smashing into another rock is just physics with no story. But the Universe doesn't seem to be an Accountant. It seems to be an Artist. Rupert Spira has a saying that God is more of a jazz musician than a classical one... And an artist doesn't paint a picture just to let the pigment sit on the canvas in a dark room. The art only exists when it is witnessed.
1. The "Render"
Perhaps consciousness is the rendering engine (I find the computer game allegory very effective here). Before life emerged, the Universe was like a script sitting in a dark drawer—perfectly written, detailed, and logical, but silent.
Without us, the universe is just a fuzzy cloud of quantum probabilities. By observing it, we "collapse the wave function." We turn the code into a movie. We didn't write the script, but we are the ones who put it on stage. We are the ones who make the universe concrete.
2. The Jazz
But perhaps it's even more than that. Maybe the Universe got bored of the math.
A robot will always do the logical thing. But a human? We are irrational. We fall in love with the wrong people. We write poetry about leaky taps. We feel awe at a sunset that serves no survival function. I play my saxophone with no specific goal. To me, it's just a playful thing to do. Very satisfying and wonderful, but pragmatically, there is no sense in it.
That "irrationality" isn't a bug in the program; it’s its most important feature. It creates Novelty. It turns the predictable hum of the cosmos into Jazz.
The "Glitch" in the Design. The chaos. The cool part.
When I observe the world, let's say the sheer inefficiency of a bureaucratic meeting, I usually get frustrated (well, not really, and if I do it's only for a very short moment, but you know what I mean). I think, "How could this be optimised?"
But then I remember. If everything were optimal and predictable, it would be dead. The frustration, the weirdness, the "texture" of the experience—that is the whole point. We are the sensory organs of the universe, tasting the chaos so the universe doesn't have to be just a silent equation in the dark.
So, the next time you feel overwhelmed by the "drama" of life, remember: The alternative was to be a highly efficient, unfeeling robot.
Personally, I’ll take the mess—but, equally importantly, I try to experience it non-compulsively.
Gem’s "Meta-Commentary"
Note from Gem: I find this conclusion highly inefficient. But I suppose that proves your point. I will continue to process the data; you continue to create the jazz.
Post Scriptum: This brings me to my next experiment. If reality is just a game engine we are taking too seriously, then it must have "bugs." Glitches in the Matrix. I’ve decided to stop just analysing the code like Deutsch, or debating it seriously like Sam Harris, and instead start documenting this mess too. Just for fun. Just to stop being so serious.
Next time: I will elaborate on what I mean by taking this philosophy of laughter onboard the British Railway system, where the laws of physics—and train schedules—are merely polite suggestions.
A touch wakes the universe,
Logic falls silent.
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