Words&Dirt

This book came to my attention by way of David Brin, who claims it as mandatory reading for anyone interested in saving the world.  I’m not sure if I’d go that far, but the assertion that positive sum games play a critical role in biological and cultural evolution is definitely significant, especially insofar as it carves out a space for balance between competition and cooperation in discussions about evolutionary development.  If pointing out this interesting facet of natural selection were Wright’s only goal, he might have written a better book.  Unfortunately, Wright insists that positive sum games reveal not only that nature proceeds in a certain direction (plausible), but also that such directionality, enabled and amplified by positive sum relationships, imbues human life with meaning and purpose (problematic).  The result is a blend of brilliance and atavism; Wright’s insightful, progressive vision is ultimately dampened by his adherence to one of humanity’s oldest misconceptions: purpose and meaning are properties of the universe itself, rather than features of experiential narratives generated by the human body.

This book is a predecessor to Ted Chu’s Human Purpose and Transhuman Potential, which also makes the case that evolution is both directional and demonstrative of the universe’s inherent meaningfulness.  Chu’s book is more thorough, far-reaching, and contemporary (it was published 15 years after Nonzero), but he essentially takes the baton from Wright without significantly altering the message.  Additionally, both thinkers insist on clinging to notions of divinity that are almost entirely incompatible with their scientific worldviews.

Let’s begin with Wright’s least controversial claim: evolution gives nature a direction, with biological (and cultural) systems tending to become more complex and interconnected over time.  This directionality flows from the second law of thermodynamics (entropy), which dictates that energy systems always tend toward equilibrium, a state of chemical inertness where no life can thrive.  In the grand scale of things, entropy can never be overcome, but organisms can stave off its effects through efficient organization of matter and nutrients.  The more complex, efficient, and adaptable the organism, the longer it can survive.  Over time, simple organisms group together in adaptive, mutually beneficial arrangements that extend the lifespan of all constituents––hence the progression from unicellular organisms to increasingly robust multicellular life.

Wright effectively argues that this pattern is descriptive not just of organic evolution, but also of human cultural evolution.  History demonstrates that positive sum relationships between human groups ultimately outlast bellicose tribalism and subjugation.  That doesn’t mean myriad zero-sum games are not brutally playing themselves out at any given point in history (they always are), but it does mean that, over time, civilization favors win-win arrangements over zero-sum games.  There are numerous historical examples that, when taken in isolation, seem to contradict this point of view, but I’m willing to agree with Wright and others (such as Steven Pinker) that progress is real and the world truly has become safer––even better––in recent epochs (at least for humans).

So, great, let’s give ourselves a big pat on the back and return to the project of trying to solve existing problems, which are multifarious and demand further adaptation, moral imagination, and a commitment to rooting out and bolstering as many positive sum relationships as possible.  The problem with the nonzero approach, as I see it, is that it’s both easy and common for two or more parties to arrange a positive sum game in which everyone involved benefits but others do not.  When an American company outsources jobs overseas, it’s win-win for the business owners and third-world workers who get access to better jobs and wages, but American middle class workers are left in the lurch.  When Uber enables independent drivers and smartphone users to connect at unprecedented speeds for a competitive price, cab drivers who’ve spent many years and dollars getting licensed lose business.

There are plenty of examples of how certain nonzero relationships can be seen as zero-sum if you’re the person getting the fuzzy end of the lollypop.  Wright’s answer to this problem is practical and level-headed: since the driving forces behind globalization are so powerful, we shouldn’t buy the argument that regulating new technologies will stifle innovation or destroy markets.  We can’t stop technological progress, but we can slow it down at times in order to minimize its most detrimental effects.  Revenue will still flow, tinkerers will still tinker, and the next killer app will still get made if we make rules about how quickly or in what fashion companies and governments can exercise their considerable power to put people out of work and/or cut off social services.  In fact, helping populations through times of transition is the best way of allowing progress to continue: “The only thing with much chance of stalling globalization for any length of time is the very chaotic backlash––from the angry and disgruntled––that a slight slowdown might avert” (234).  It is refreshing to get such a reasonable and sensitive perspective from someone who might otherwise be accused to shrugging his shoulders at the worst results of creative destruction and muttering, “Well, that’s the price of progress.”

While I agree with Wright that “To stop technical progress is to reserve a place in the dustbin of history,” I think his book (and others by similar thinkers) lacks a serious discussion about human quality of life (196).  Wright has much to say about grand historical trends, global brains, and ways that technical innovation has generated win-win relationships, but he’s surprisingly mute when it comes to human fulfillment or flourishing.  And while it’s true that “Literature is nice, but putting food on the table is nicer,” I balk a bit at his attitude that art doesn’t play a significant role in human progress (145).  In all its forms, art is crucial for human self-expression and -actualization, and is also our primary means of encapsulating the richness of human experience to share it with others.  I’ll concede that I don’t starve because of technology, but only if I can also insist that my heart soars because of art.  My desire to keep living would decline drastically if I were wrenched away from the plethora of narratives (real and fictional) I explore in solitude and with loved ones.  That which makes life possible doesn’t always make it meaningful.

This brings us to Wright’s final blunder, which is really a pair of blunders.  The first is Wright’s bizarre characterization of consciousness through a woefully inapt thought experiment.  Wright asks the reader to imagine a world that seems just like ours, with people who look and act just as we do, only they have no consciousness (i.e. no internal experience of sensations, emotions, or reflections).  “Such a world,” Wright contends, “would lack moral meaning…it would offer no context in which words such as ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ made sense” (321).  This is nonsense.  As with many thought experiments, such a world is completely incompatible with what we know about how intelligent organisms are structured.  Consciousness is a gradient––animals have it, but to a lesser degree than humans, especially when it comes our big superpowers: symbol manipulation and future projection.  Any creature that possesses a sufficiently complex system of bio-feedback loops and neural networks will have some form of consciousness; it’s a necessary tool that enables massive conglomerations of highly specialized cells to aggregate sense data and guide the “boat” away from rocky shores, which would ruin the game of life for everyone.  So if you happened on a world in which people acted just as we do, with all our nuance, quirkiness, and pettiness, the only logical conclusion would be that those people were fully conscious.  It’s the old “if it acts like a duck and quacks like a duck…” problem, and the same goes for humans.  Wright’s “human-like zombies” give the impression that a brain could be fully functional without producing the experience of mind, which is impossible as far as we know.

Wright’s determination to link a flawed understanding of consciousness with evolution’s directionality forces him into an awkward mysticism:

That biological evolution has an arrow––the invention of more structurally and informationally complex forms of life––and that this arrow points toward meaning, isn’t, of course, proof of the existence of God.  But it’s more suggestive of divinity than an alternative world would be: a world in which evolution had no direction, or a world with directional evolution but no consciousness. (323)

Because he does not view consciousness as a necessary, emergent property of directional evolution, Wright jumps to the conclusion that consciousness’s existence is “suggestive of divinity.”  But why?  And what “meaning” does directional evolution point toward?  Evolution’s directionality––to the extent that it exists––is just a fact of life, not some revelatory link to the world’s inherent meaning or some divine being’s intentions.  Wright has forgotten to apply Occam’s Razor; instead of choosing the simpler explanation (consciousness is a natural property of sufficiently complex brains), he clings to a quasi-supernatural definition of consciousness: “Consciousness––the fact that it is like something to be alive––[is] a profound and possibly eternal mystery, and a suggestive one to say the least.  And divinity isn’t the only thing it suggests” (331).  To be fair, some scientists seem to think the jury is still out on whether or not the existence of consciousness implicates divinity or some other metaphysical force, but I’m not holding my breath.

Wright’s second concluding blunder is the book’s strikingly misguided final flourish:

In the end, this is the best argument for higher purpose: that the history of life on earth is too good a story not to have been written.  But, whether or not you believe the story indeed has a cosmic author, one thing seems clear: it is our story.  As its lead characters, we can’t escape its implications. (334)

I can accept Wright’s softer arguments that a few of history’s broadest trends were “destined” (the rise of positive sum games among them), but I heartily reject the notion that our story was just too awesome “not to have been written.”  This reads like the puerile musings of an aging autocrat who, looking back on his illustrious legacy (i.e. decades of tyranny), convinces himself that it just couldn’t have happened any other way.  This is arrogance of cosmic proportions, with meaning written in the stars and deciphered by clever astronomers, Wright’s “lead characters.”

Why spring for cheap romanticism when truly stirring notions are close at hand?  Instead of portraying nonzero thinking as a special key to understanding the universe’s underlying purpose, why not bask in the glory of being the only existing creature (as far as we know) capable of creating thought systems of complexity and scope, of using everything at our disposal, from biological gifts to technological marvels, to generate ideas and stories that reconstruct the past, throw perspective on the present, and grasp at a better future?

Wright hasn’t exposed the true meaning hidden under the universe’s insouciant guise, but he has created a thought-provoking and worthwhile book.  In the end, the importance of positive sum thinking for solving modern problems is enough to forgive Wright’s unjustified extravagance.  Having paid a few dollars for the experience of reading Nonzero, I think reader and writer both came out on top.

Rating: 7/10