Blindsight

Peter Watts’ new book Blindsight is the best SF novel I have read in quite some time. It’s a space opera, and a First Contact novel, and a vampire novel — and also a philosophical novel about the nature of consciousness. [The usual warning applies: this review unavoidably contains SPOILERS).

Watts is a hardcore sociobiologist, in outlook. Which is often something that drives me up a wall. But he has enough conceptual audacity that he makes it work, chillingly and powerfully, in Blindsight.

To explain about sociobiology: I despise it when those “evolutionary psychology”‘ types tell us that women are “hardwired” to be attracted to older, wealthier men; or that “criminality” (a word or concept left carefully undefined) is significantly genetic, since children of “criminal” parents adopted into “non-criminal” families are (supposedly) much more likely to become “criminals” themselves than children of “non-criminal” parents adopted into “criminal” families. (Both these assertions come up, for instance, in Matt Ridley’s The Agile Gene, which I recently had my students read). Such blatant projections of contemporary social prejudice and unequal conditions into “nature” are beneath contempt, not even worthy of the energy it would take to refute them. On the other hand, I admire the audacity of Richard Dawkins, when he starts to sound a lot like William Burroughs, suggesting that we are lumbering robots struggling to escape the control of having been programmed by ruthlessly “selfish genes,” and that our most cherished ideas are viral infections that have taken over our bodies and minds (“memes”).

Now, Watts is sociobiological in this latter, audacious and scary, sense. He knows that we live in a “war universe” (as Burroughs would puts it) — all the more so in that this condition is the result, not of some active, Manichean malice (as it seems to be, for instance, for Cormac McCarthy), but simply of the blind forces of natural selection. For Watts, natural selection is no benevolent “invisible hand,” automatically producing “optimal” outcomes — which is how the current fashion for drawing parallels between Darwinian evolution and Adam Smith’s vision of “perfect competition” would have it. Rather, natural selection is nasty, brutish, and short — and it frequently leads to messed-up results, not only for those individuals and groups that “lose” out in Darwinian competition, but also for the “winners,” who may well have developed the way they did either because of random genetic drift, or because they were (temporarily) lucky enough to develop without encountering the changed conditions that, in the long run, will wipe them out. That’s what happened to the dinosaurs, and it’s also what may well happen to us sooner or later.

Watts’ sensibility is, not cynical exactly: since cynicism implies a kind of apologia for, or complicity with, things as they are, on the grounds that we can at least be certain of the worst, and anyone with illusions to the contrary is dismissed with a smirking “what did you expect?” That isn’t really Watts’ tone. Rather, he is downbeat and grim, looking into the abyss with the full consciousness that the abyss looks back at us. Reading Watts is always quite bracing, as was the case for his previous works of SF, the Rifters trilogy — which I wrote about here, here, and here. But I think that, in Blindsight, he has surpassed himself.

Start with the people we encounter in the novel. Watts’ characters are quite memorably drawn; they are nearly all sociopaths to one extent or another, as well as being thoroughly “posthuman.” In the year 2082, most human beings have become redundant, because — whatever skills they have — computers can perform their tasks better than they can. Lots of people have checked out entirely, putting their bodies in storage and letting their minds wander freely in Heaven, a virtual reality space of blandly narcissistic wish-fulfillment. The others have loads of genetic and neural tweaks, and prosthetic enhancements to their bodies and their senses; they tend to remain as much as possible in physical isolation, using VR for messy things like sex. It’s just safer (both physically and emotionally) than coming into actual physical contact. There’s always the danger of terrorism by the Realists, a faction that objects to this “posthuman” condition: they specialize in nasty retroviral attacks.

Blindsight takes place, however, among a small group of people who are stuck in close physical proximity on a spaceship that goes out to the Kuiper belt to make contact with, or at least to study, aliens who have apparently arrived from another solar system, and who may or may not pose a threat to humankind. The commander of the spaceship is a vampire (and Watts provides a brilliant account of vampires as a near-human subspecies, different from “baseline” Homo sapiens in a few crucial genetic and physiological respects). The crew includes a linguist with (technologically generated) multiple personality syndrome, a biologist who has had nearly all his senses overlain with extensive prosthetics so that his proprioceptive feelings — his feelings of self — reside much more in long-range mechanical extensions than they do in his own flesh; and a military officer whose sensorium similarly extends into a whole range of killing machines that she manipulates by remote control. And the (unreliable) narrator has had one of his two brain hemispheres removed and replaced by machinery; he is constitutionally incapable of any sort of empathy.

All that is the baseline condition the novel starts with. Things get seriously weird when we encounter the aliens, who turn out to be quite beyond human understanding. I will skip over their biophysiology, though Watts is amazingly inventive in this respect (he is helped by his background as a marine biologist, who is therefore with all sorts of weird invertebrates). What really distinguishes the aliens is that they are zombies: not in the George Romero, living dead sense, but in the sense that the term has been used by cognitive science and the philosophy of mind. A zombie is a being who acts just as you or I do, who shows clear signs of language, intelligence, and so on; but who is inwardly devoid of sentience or consciousness. It’s the old Cartesian/solipsist dilemma: I know that I have consciousness, interiority, and a sense of self; but how do I know that you have all these things? For all I know — since all I really know (according to Descartes) comes from introspection, everyone else in the world may well be a machine, or an automoton, only simulating consciousness.

Now, most philosophers don’t take this paranoid fantasy very seriously. Turing, Wittgenstein, and Dennett all suggest, pretty much, that if something (someone?) acts intelligent and conscious, we should assume that he/she/it is intelligent and conscious. The hypothesis that zombies could exist is –even when just floated as a possibility, and not pushed to the point of solipsist paranoia — is predicated on the idea that some precious internal essence of consciousness is not captured by behavioral criteria, so a zombie who behaved like a conscious person is at least conceivable. But if you reject this sense of transcendent interiority as a mystifcation — as Turing, Wittgenstein, and Dennett all do — then you will reject the zombie hypothesis as well. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, etc…

It nonetheless seems to be true that people who are usually conscious can nonetheless perform cognitively complex acts while in a state of unconsciousness: this is what happens, presumably, when people sleepwalk or when they are under deep hypnosis. There’s also the phenomenon of blindsight — which is the title of Watts’ novel because it is his main conceptual metaphor throughout the book — where people claim to be blind — they cannot consciously see — and yet, when asked (or forced in situations when a quick reaction is necessary) to guess where something is in the visual field, do so with a high degree of accuracy. This suggests that they in fact can see, at least on a certain level — even though they do not know that they can see.

Zombies would then be possessed of blindsight, not only where vision is concerned, but for all sensory and cognitive modalities. And this turns out to be the case with the aliens in Blindsight. By any possible measure they are vastly more intelligent, and more technologically advanced, than human beings (and even than prosthetically enhanced human beings). Yet they are entirely devoid of consciousness or sentience. They simply do not know that they know; they know not what they do; yet their knowing and doing is all the more effective and efficient for all that. Indeed, the novel suggests that consciousness is an evolutionary accident. We’ve developed conscious minds because we have been lucky enough (for a while) to develop in a sort of evolutionary backwater, without meeting competition from intelligent, non-conscious organisms. But consciousness is an ultimate disadvantage in the struggle for survival, and Watts suggests that it could well be weeded out, even in the future course of our own development. Sociopaths are already half the way to zombiehood; and sociopathy — which allows for competitiveness without the hindrances of empathy, remorse, or self-consciousness — is (as Watts acerbically notes) already being actively selected for, today, in the higher realms of corporate culture. Blindsight is a brilliant, and chilling, thought experiement about the possibilities of non-sentient intelligence, a prospect that is likely to come up for us in the future as a consequence of robotics (and of corporate culture), even if we never actually enounter non-sentient intelligent aliens.

Dennett argues that the possibility of zombies is self-contradictory and incoherent, because its proponents are simultaneously positing a difference (we are conscious, they are not) and positing that this difference is empirically undetectable (in every possible respect, zombies appear to be exactly like us). But then, Dennett doesn’t think much of the existence of interiority and consciousness in the first place. (In this respect, Dennett lines up with Rorty; though I would argue that both of them are misreading Wittgenstein. But that is a matter for a different post). However, Watts is approaching the question from a somewhat different angle. If we take it for granted that consciousness does exist, at least in us — Watts asks — then what evolutionary purpose could it serve, that makes up for its (pragmatic and cognitive) inefficiency? What is our consciousness good for? In suggesting that “we” are conscious, whereas the aliens, vampires, and CEOs of Blindsight are not, Watts poses that the difference between conscious beings and zombies matters, in some sense, and that therefore it is empirically detectable. The difference is extremely subtle, yet it is ultimately apprehensible (at least, it is by we who are conscious).

By the end of the novel, the difference between conscious beings and zombies seems to be that only conscious beings possess aesthetics. The aliens in the novel are a bit like logical positivists: they have no aesthetic sensibility, and find aesthetic and affective statements to be, strictly speaking, meaningless. They can carry on complex conversations, despite not “understanding” what the words mean; but they can only regard non-functional expressions as a sort of spam. In this way, Watts’ Darwinism ends up confirming Kant: the defining attribute of the aesthetic is that it is unavoidably “disinterested,” that its purposiveness of structure serves no actual (empirical or utilitarian) purpose. In other words, an aesthetic sensibility — which at this point we can pretty much equate with consciousness tout court — is not an evolutionary adaptation, but mere nonadaptive byproduct.

And this brings us back to the arguments about sociobiology and evolutionary psychology. The opponents of the sociobiological approach, like Richard Lewontin and the late Stephen Jay Gould, argued that many important features of our existence are in fact not in themselves adaptive, and only arose as byproducts of other processes. This is why cultural variability matters, and why not all aspects of human existence are biologically fixed, “hardwired,” and “in our genes.” To the contrary, hardcore sociobiologists and evolutionary psychologists — like Steven Pinker — argue that nearly every feature of human existence and human nature, to an extremely high degree of specificity, is biologically universal and not culturally variable, because it is directly adaptive (if not for us, then at least for our ancestors in the Pleistocene). Indeed, nearly the only aspect of human life that Pinker will concede to be a mere, nonadaptive byproduct, rather than a “hardwired” trait of evolutionary significance, is precisely… art and aesthetics. Of course, this is just Pinker’s way of saying that art and aesthetics are trivial and of no worth or importance whatsoever. However, I’m inclined to think that Pinker thus expresses, unbeknownst to himself and in inverted form, the Kantian insight that aesthetics is non-utilitarian, non-cognitive, and hence disinterested; which is why aesthetic judgment is the key to any sensibility whatsoever. By equating an aesthetic sensibility with sentience itself, and relegating both to evolutionary dysfunctionality, Watts pushes this line of thought in a startling direction. It sounds fatuous to claim that aesthetics is what makes us “human”; doubtless Watts would reject my turning this assertion into the “theme” of his novel. Nonetheless, this seems to me to be the unavoidable correlate of his radical dystopianism. Consciousness is little more than a fugitive, wavering doubling of what happens (cognitively and affectively) in the depths of our bodies. But in this way, consciousness, aesthetics, and unadaptiveness or dysfunctionality go hand in hand in our species — and this, rather than any supposed goodness or nobility, is what distinguishes and defines human life…

9 Responses to “Blindsight”

  1. Mr. Waggish says:

    I’m not sure I follow. If consciousness is not purely epiphenomenal (zombie-popularizer David Chalmers is epiphenomenal), I don’t quite see how it can be carved off from the rest of the mind to be an aesthetic center. And it doesn’t mesh with Gould’s statements about evolutionary “exaptations” (I think that’s the word), because a non-epiphenomenal consciousness would have to play some adaptive or non-adaptive role. It may have been a byproduct of an adaptation so good that it stuck around, but the mere fact that consciousness (= aesthetics) is considered maladaptive makes it non-disinterested. And at least by Chalmers, these aliens are not true zombies, but simply non-conscious entities.

    Wittgenstein would say that aesthetic behavior and speech acts are separated from the interiority of aesthetic experience, and I think this is more correct.

    The epiphenomenal/non-epiphenomenal contradiction also popped up in a story in the lastest “Year’s Best SF” which I can’t remember the name of, but the author switches his position midway through the story. I guess he does so because writing fiction about the difference between conscious and unconscious beings is rather boring, if not impossible, when consciousness is taken to be purely epiphenomenal.

  2. Ktismatics says:

    Steven Pinker notes that human beings are only “so-so scientists” by nature: Our brains were adapted for fitness, not for truth. Sometimes the truth is adaptive, but sometimes it is not… we are apt to want our version of the truth, rather than the truth itself, to prevail.

    Certainly scientific knowledge has enabled our species to dominate the planet. But “good” science is also true, and scientific progress often forces scientists to abandon intuitive, popular, and authoritative explanations of the world that also happen to be wrong. It’s possible, of course, to reduce every human intent and action to evolutionary terms: the individual who comes up with a new and better bit of science achieves admiration, status, desirable sexual partners, fit offspring, perpetuation of the genes. Still, it helps if the new bit of science really is good. Maybe “goodness” in all its classic forms — truth, beauty, justice — is a kind of aesthetic epiphenomenal overlay on our adaptive apparati.

  3. Just an FYI, your first link to your Rifters blogging points to an unrelated post. I assume it was meant to post to the Starfish-related entry I found via search.

  4. Steven Shaviro says:

    Thanks, Jason. This has now been corrected.

  5. One thing that occurs to me in reading this, and I really enjoyed the post
    a lot, is that one can follow a paradigm I’ve been exploring in my own art
    that the ‘reductio’ depending on context ie within the pluroma of undecidabiliy of the organon can recieve and produce just as many hermeneutical openings as something designed to be multi-leveled.

    IE the lack of an aesthetic sense IS in essence a form of aesthetic.

    so if we look at say our own appreciation and incorporation of ‘natural forms’ into our ‘aestethic’ (oops, but hmm i like it) ‘aesthetic’ you can
    see that there are blind morphologies and indeed social morphologies
    whose contours we are not able to acheive by conscious design.

    Look at the ants. The economy and purity of that social system is wired in.
    We marvel at its complexity at its functionality etc. yet because of our
    set of cathexes we obviously would reject such a thing.. perhaps ths is a bad example. I guess what I’m getting at is the actuality of non-conscious
    aesthetics.

    You can no more argue the pure utilitarianess of brachiopodes than you can say that the reformation was actually the product of the little ice age
    that affected so much of history in one way or another.

    Or look at Mount Toba’s relationship to our modern racial debate.
    What racial diversity did we loose 70k yrs ago that migh have shaken up the mix later.

    You go into this pretty well in your discussion of natural selection
    and randomness etc..

    I’m not expressing this well.

    I’m not a deist, or anything like that, but when things like the statement

    Deus absconditus, sub contrario

    seems to point to a grounding of consciousness in the field.. sort of like sheldrakes morphological fields etc..

    all of us are contingent on the field
    but is field a null?

    I certainly don’t know, but in certain circumstances it certainly
    doesnt seem like it.

    Reality seems productive of infinitely unique events.
    I don’t want to say IS productived of infinitely unique events
    because essentialism is generally wrong in practice..

    anyhoo. shit if i know, but WOW! what a kickass blog-post Steve!
    Totally excellent writing which got my damn neurons chattering
    pretty good. Otherwise I’d still be sitting there contemplating making
    another pot of coffee or how bad my hand is hurting..

    :)
    thx again. way cool post.

  6. also, the “aesthetic sense” is also used evidenced in behaviors say like the bower bird’s nest building..

    can aesthetics be reduced to an economy or semiotics of specialized fitness indicators. I think in a certain sense it can.

    look at the strange attractor. now i suppose this is poor scholarship,
    but why inherently does something like the sonnet form survive. or why
    can’t say blogging be considered as an extended form of the novel
    in the sense of an extended “inaesthetic” instance of the chronotope.

    You writing here and me reading it and commenting seems just about as interesting as half the work in characterization you might find in many boilerplate novels out there. Film Verite’ might be one model or association
    etc.. The line between life and art are permanently fuzzed and in a really negative sense you can see this prominently in the case of Politics..

    Foucault’s use of Genealogy versus History points to social subjectivity
    which is just a euphemism for “fiction” or “reduction” or Framing..

    All reality, or least the expression of it, is some case of framing.
    Zizek approaches this pretty well..

    Anyway I’m glad your blog is here and I’ve been reading you for several years now, and am always happy to do so.

    I sure wish you could help me get another professor’s paper.
    He wrote a book on kaironomia, and he has a paper on slime molds
    and the grotesque. Its a paper on the biological grotesque which is something I’m really interested in, but he won’t give me the time of day.

    You may not either, but I really want to have a look at that paper of his,
    so I’ll risk it. The guy’s name is Eric Charles White.

    Just trying to find somebody who knows the guy and could hook me
    up with that paper!

  7. […] So for a nontrivial chunk of the past 48 hours, I have been trying to write something coherent about Peter Watts’ latest novel, Blindsight. It’s a very good book, and there’s an interesting discussion of its central thesis here — though if you want to pick up a copy it’d probably be best to act sooner rather than later, since Blindsight’s publication seems to be attended by the sort of fiasco that afflicted the first edition of The Separation. Writing about it is proving difficult, though, and that’s partly because it’s hard to summarise (as a review inevitably must) without compromising the intelligence and rigour of Watts’ story, and partly because one of the things I want to talk about, at least in passing, is what it means to say the book is “hard sf” — which it clearly is — and why the hardness of the sf is part of the reason the book succeeds. And I can’t quite find a way to say it. […]

  8. Hank Roberts says:

    Thank you. I’m blessed by a membership private library (Mechanics’, in San Francisco) and found the book there as soon as it was available, so I am delighted to find the discussion. Those who haven’t read it yet — buy, borrow, beg your library, get the book. Read it first. come back and talk.

  9. […] Shaviro reviewed a new s-f novel called Blindsight by Peter Watts. It sounds a little pulpy, and it’s unlikely that I’ll get around to it […]

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