Rereading The Mind’s I forty years after it was published is like opening a philosophical time capsule of the 1970s. With the exception of a paper by Alan Turing and some fiction by Borges, all the selections in this anthology date from 1972 to 1982.
There are essays and stories by scientists, philosophers, mathematicians, and science fiction novelists. There’s a Buddhist with no head, a philosopher’s brain in a vat, a hippie about to have his mind downloaded into a computer, and a chimp who speaks sign language. There’s body swapping, split brains, teletransporters, artificial intelligence, and maybe even a little ESP – although physicist Douglas R. Hofstadter would not have it so.
The Mind’s I was published the same year I started college: 1981. I took the first of many philosophy courses that fall. Add to that my love of speculative fiction and it was inevitable that this book would end up in my hands. Rereading it now takes me back to that headspace, but with hindsight.
The heart of the book is Turing’s question: Can machines think? From there it goes in a variety of directions. One direction is science fiction. When I first read this book, I did not read straight through. I just read the selections that looked the most fun and that meant sci fi.
Jorge Luis Borges and Stanislaw Lem are the literary masters in this collection. The philosophical fantasies of Borges are elegant and poetic. The stories of Lem are quintessential philosophical science fiction. And for those who like their philosophy with some pulp, these classic works of literature are presented in the company of fiction by Terrel Miedaner, Justin Lieber, and Rudy Rucker. I like the juxtaposition of art and pulp: the dreaming magician of Borges’ poetic tale and the guy in a campy novel who wakes up to find his new body has boobs and a tail.
I got levels, you see. My mind thinks and laughs and wonders and sometimes rolls its I’s.
Another direction this collection takes is philosophy and there are important papers by Turing, Searle and Nagel. This is where the book gets down to some serious philosophy of mind. I spent the 80s studying philosophy and these three texts were essential reading. But Hofstadter does not agree with either Searle or Nagel, and since The Mind’s I is his book, he gets the last word.
At the time of publication, William Barrett wrote a book review criticizing Hofstadter for (among other things) using his Reflections to “upstage” his contributors.* Some of Barrett’s criticisms are more justified than others and this is the one that is the most justified.
Hofstadter does try to upstage his contributors. He tries. But he does not succeed. The contributors he disagrees with stand on their own. Hofstadter’s Reflections are just that: Hofstadter’s Reflections. Not mine. Hofstadter just engages me in dialogue and I’m always game for a lively dialogue.
Did Hofstadter misunderstand Nagel as Barrett said he did? Maybe. I think he understood and was just being facetious. Either way, I’m too delighted by the essays Hofstadter includes in the book to be more than a little disappointed with his Reflections on them. I do think he only includes Morowitz, Harding, and Wheelis so that the book will not seem one-sided. But he includes them and that’s what’s important. He disagrees with them. He tries to upstage them. Yet they speak for themselves.
When I first read this book, my mind was so blown by the various metaphysical puzzles that I never bothered to think about the book as a whole. And even if I had, it is unlikely that I would have given it a second thought. I would have agreed with so much of Hofstadter’s ideology that it was unlikely I would even notice the bias. This was the air I was accustomed to breathe.
Rereading it now is quite different. I get split into three me’s. One me reads Hofstadter’s Reflections and disagrees with much of his ideology. Another me reads the various selections and enjoys thinking about all the tantalizing ideas. And a third me is so caught up in nostalgia that she’s just happy to be here.
The nostalgia takes me back to those exciting years in philosophy of mind.
In his review, Barrett called The Mind’s I confusing in its effect, but it’s only confusing in effect if one reads it looking for answers. This is not a book of answers. This is a book of questions ~ a mind-expanding assortment of paradoxes, riddles, dialogues, games, and thought experiments.
The dialogues are one of the strengths of the book. By means of dialogues by himself and Smullyan, his (and co-editor Dennett’s) Reflections, and Sanford’s response to Dennett, Hofstadter encourages the reader to engage the editors in dialogue. His own ‘Coffeehouse Conversation’ is an instructive example of what such a dialogue might look like.
The thought experiments are another of the book’s strengths. The line between thought experiment and short story is blurred by the contributions of Arnold Zuboff, Christopher Cherniak, and Robert Nozick. Cherniak’s 1978 story “The Riddle of the Universe and its Solution” is one of the highlights of the book – equal to the best philosophical science fiction I’ve read.
For me, the highlights are the works which I probably would not have encountered on my own. Among these are the essays of Morowitz and Wheelis. Morowitz may only be here to serve as a contrast to Dawkins, but I am am free to form my own opinion. Wheelis blends science and spirituality in a way that seems to make Hofstadter uncomfortable. Nevertheless it was Hofstadter who turned me on to Wheelis’ poetic essay “Spirit.”
Like the mind itself, Hofstadter’s book about the mind is more than the sum of its parts.
NOTE
*William Barrett, “The Computer and the Ego” (The New York Times, 12/13/81).