Imagine a world where humans reign supreme, not machines. A bold statement, but one that challenges our assumptions. For centuries, scientific advancements have dealt humanity a series of blows, pushing us from the center of the universe, the world, and even our own minds. From Copernicus to Darwin and Freud, each revolution has been a painful reminder of our limitations.
But there's one frontier that remains unconquered: consciousness. It's a chasm that the AI industry promises to leap over effortlessly, but is it really that simple? Michael Pollan's new book, "A World Appears," dares to question this narrative.
Pollan, a renowned author and thinker, has always been fascinated by the threshold between the world and the self. From his influential works on eating to his exploration of psychedelic drugs, he's consistently pushed the boundaries of what we know. Now, he turns his attention to consciousness, the ultimate destination of his intellectual journey.
In "A World Appears," Pollan admits to having no definitive answers after extensive research and personal experimentation. He navigates through a sea of competing hypotheses, from physicalist accounts to non-physicalist theories, highlighting the field's flailing state.
The book is divided into four sections, each building in complexity. Pollan starts with plants, which he initially sees as the most basic form of consciousness. But even here, he discovers that plants possess an astonishing array of senses, challenging our assumptions about their awareness.
The book's most captivating sections delve into feeling and thought. Pollan argues that feeling precedes computation as a necessary condition for consciousness, a perspective supported by neuroscientist Antonio Damasio. He notes the irony that machines have mastered so-called "higher" human capabilities like reason and language, while struggling with more elemental ones like emotions.
The final section explores the self and its elusive nature. Pollan, at 71, meditates in a Santa Fe cave, accepting the insoluble nature of his quest.
While "A World Appears" may not be the most lucid introduction to the subject, Pollan's genius lies in his ability to anticipate cultural shifts. He did it with food and psychedelics, and now he's doing it again with AI. By patiently mapping the problem, he brings this dominant technology into a more realistic light.
"Just about any place you push on it, the computer-as-brain metaphor breaks down," Pollan concludes. He cites a study demonstrating that a single cortical neuron can do everything an entire deep artificial neural network can. AI is powerful, but it's not a replacement for human consciousness.
Pollan is cautious about the potential romanticism behind his conclusions. He understands the dangers of resistance to scientific progress, which can lead to superstition and hate. But he misses a crucial point: computing has evolved from a scientific revolution to an economic one, driven by utopian mysticism. The chieftains of AI reject humanism because it's anti-business, not anti-scientific.
AI is not an incidental development but a fundamental part of this violent alteration. It represents our final arrival at the limits of science and technology. The panic over AI's potential failure stems from our overreliance on materialism and the decline of religion. Many seek transcendence through the conquest of Mars or the singularity, but AI threatens to offer a radical alternative, one devoid of the sacred or divine.
"A World Appears" reminds us of the miraculousness that technology has outsourced. It's a compassionate book that celebrates the human condition, where seeking answers is more important than finding them. Some may find this terrifying, but others will feel the pure exhilaration of standing on the precipice, face-to-face with the ultimate question: God.
