One in one

I learn from a quick internet search that it is estimated there are around 108 billion people who have ever lived. For purposes of this essay, let’s suppose that is not just an estimate, and that at this moment there are exactly 108 billion people who have ever lived. The probability that I am one of them is 1 in 1 = certainty, since I am a person who has ever lived. But the probability that I am a particular one of them chosen at random is 1 in 108 billion. If the particular person out of the 108 billion is not chosen at random, but using some criterion of selection, then the probability that I am the one chosen can be increased. Suppose, for example, we say that the person must be alive in the present time. That would improve the odds to 1 in 7.4 billion, instead of 1 in 108 billion, since I am alive at the present time, and the present population of the world is 7.4 billion. We could improve the odds still further to 1 in 3.7 billion by stipulating that the person selected be not only alive in the present but also a male, and if we further stipulate that the choice is from the present population of California, the odds improve to 1 in 18.5 million, since I am a male resident of California. And we only need to stipulate the choice is from the current male residents of [fill in my address], in order for the odds to return to 1 in 1, since I am the only male currently residing at this address.

But what is the point of all this? Each of those stipulations that improves the odds is based on the fact that I know, not only that I am one of the 108 billion people who have ever lived, but also that I know which one I am. I am this one. I am I. How do I know that? Well, that’s a strange question, isn’t it? How could I not know that? I’ve heard that someone suffering from amnesia may not remember his or her name or where he or she lives and may not be able to recognize friends or family members. So, there is a sense in which someone may not know who he or she is. Let’s imagine a scene in which a man, who has suffered trauma to the head and as a result has severe amnesia, is lying in a hospital bed and being examined and cared for by a doctor, a nurse, and a nurse’s aide. I can imagine that the nurse’s aide, having the most frequent encounters with the patient, has noticed the amnesia first and has reported her observations to the nurse, who in turn has reported to the doctor. The nurse and then the doctor confirm, through talking to the man, that he doesn’t know who he is, in the sense outlined above. But supposing this has been established, he will know that he is the one lying in bed and being questioned and that he is not the doctor, nor the nurse, nor the nurse’s aide. So, there is still a sense, and an important sense, in which he knows which person he is. Of course, we can further imagine that a man has become cognitively impaired to such a degree that he is incapable of responding in any way to the doctor’s or nurse’s questions. He may be in a coma, for example, so that, from our points of view, there may be no way of knowing whether he has totally lost any sense of being the particular person he is, the subject of his own experiences; for perhaps he simply has no experiences and is suffering from total loss of consciousness. It is possible that each of us is in such a state from time to time, while in dreamless sleep or anesthesia-induced unconsciousness. It is clear, though, given my ability to think these thoughts and write these words, and your ability to read and comprehend what I have written, that neither you nor I is presently in such a state. At the worst, you or I might be like the man suffering from amnesia but aware at least that he is the one suffering it. I have the ability to refer to myself as distinct from anybody else, and so do you. I am not denying that there may be times during which I lack such an ability, but I am interested in the significance of this ability, which most people, it seems to me, simply take for granted. Of the 108 billion people who have ever lived, I am just this one and no other, and I know which one, and not because I have learned it through experience. I learn what kind of person I am through experience, I learn the consequences of my choices through experience, I learn through experience what happens to me as a result of things that are outside my control; but I don’t learn which person I am through experience, since my having any experience at all presupposes that I am the one having it. I can’t explain why I am the person who I am and not any other person. I don’t think I can really even imagine being any other person. I can imagine being like someone else, being in the same situation as someone else, going through what he or she is going through. In fact, in many cases, I can’t help doing that. But to imagine literally being someone else, I would have to imagine a situation that would consist in my being the other person that would be different from what I take to be the actual situation in which I am myself and he or she is himself or herself. Would I still be myself and at the same time, in some sense, be him or her? In what sense? Would it be like a split personality, where both I and the other person take turns or simultaneously share his or her body, which would also be, then, my body? But no, clearly that wouldn’t be a case where I simply am the other person, since we are still distinguishing between him or her and me. Some people suffer from dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as “multiple personality disorder”), and I think it is likely that we all experience some degree of personality disintegration, in the form of inner conflict, whether consciously or not. When I think about how a possible cure for a case of dissociative identity disorder would come about or how a more ordinary case of dissociation due to inner conflict would be resolved, I come to see that I can only imagine being someone else, or even, let us say, realizing that I am someone else, if I imagine realizing that the “other person” is not, after all, someone else but was really I all along. So, trying to imagine that I am someone else, in contrast to trying to imagine that I am in the same situation as someone else, turns out to require imagining that the other person never really existed as another person separate from me, and seems less like compassion for the other person and more like the annihilation of him or her, swallowed up into me. Or else I am the one annihilated and the other person realizes that I was really he or she all along.

I take it, then, that the following facts are simply given, with no explanation in terms of other facts which don’t presuppose them:

1. Of the 108 billion people who have ever lived, and of the even greater number who ever will live, I am exactly one of them.
2. I know which one I am without being able to explain how I know it.
3. Although I can imagine what it would be like to be someone else, in the sense of being in that person’s situation, I can’t imagine actually being him or her.

It is possible to put a negative interpretation on these facts such that they imply that I am “imprisoned” in myself, that I must be a selfish narcissist or a solipsist experiencing himself as alone in a world in which it is an illusion that anyone else exists. But I think a positive interpretation is much better justified. For consider what reality would be like if those facts did not obtain:

1. There are two ways in which it could be false that I am exactly one of the 108 billion people who have ever lived and of the even greater number who ever will live: a) I am none of them, i.e., I never live, or b) I am more than one of them. Neither of these possibilities presents itself as desirable to me, for I am glad I am alive, and, for the reasons already given, I can’t imagine and so can’t desire actually being both myself and also someone else.
2. As long as I have a point of view from which I experience the world, I automatically know which person I am, out of all those who have ever lived or will ever live. So, not knowing which person I am would be equivalent to having no point of view. And if I had no point of view, I would be unable to interact with the world. I can’t see the fun in that.
3. I think the reason I can’t imagine actually being someone else and also myself is because it is a logical impossibility and not because of some lack of ability peculiar to me. It’s like my inability to imagine a round square. It’s not a lamentable limitation but rather something that brings conceptual clarity. In other words, if I thought I could imagine it, I would be confused, and it is undesirable to remain confused.

The claim that it is an irreducibly given fact that I am exactly one of the people who ever have or ever will live does not imply that reincarnation or some other form of an afterlife is impossible. Suppose we discovered that I have died and been reborn nine times in the past as well as having been reborn in my present incarnation. It wouldn’t follow that I was and am ten of the people who have ever lived. It would follow, instead, that there were nine fewer than 108 million people who have ever lived. That is, we would have discovered that people whom we had counted as distinct, on the assumption that a birth and a death delimit one person, have turned out to be one person, namely me, and that the assumption is false.

The fact that I can’t imagine actually being someone else, but at most that someone else turns out to be me after all, is connected to the fact that I can’t imagine my own nonexistence, which in turn implies that I can’t help but believe in an afterlife and a pre-life. It may be easy for you to imagine I don’t exist, but what am I supposed to be imagining if I try to imagine a time when I don’t exist anywhere? I would have to imagine away not only my body but also all my sensations, emotions, memories, thoughts, and acts of imagining, as if an act of imagining could cause its own annihilation. I think the reason why people, including me in the past, are apt to believe that it is possible for them not to exist is that they are overlooking what I have just pointed out, and thinking of themselves as objects as if from someone else’s point of view. I have no problem imagining that I don’t exist as an object. All I have to do is think about a time when I am not thinking about myself or about how I might appear to someone else. Although I care about what others think of me, there are plenty of times when I don’t think about that at all, as for example, when I am enjoying my surroundings while on a walk or when I’m watching a good TV show or reading a good book, etc. But of course, I still exist as the subject of those experiences.

But, say you, it is blasphemy to claim that I couldn’t possibly fail to exist. Only God exists necessarily, and the existence of every other entity is dependent on God’s free decision to create it or him or her. But I am not claiming there are any restrictions on God’s power to do whatever he wants. I’m confessing to a restriction on my own powers of imagination. I find that I can’t imagine myself simply not being there.

I believe there are many times and places when and where I was, am, or will be absent. I am not and never have been on the moon, for example, and possibly I never will be. I am presently sitting in a chair in the living room of my house, but an hour ago I was absent from this place. So it is that, although I believe I am presently sitting in this chair, it is easy for me to imagine that I am somewhere else instead and thus absent from this place. But I can’t imagine and don’t believe I could be absent from this place without being someplace else instead. I can’t imagine being absent from all places at all times. But can I imagine being absent from all places at all times before a certain date, the date of my birth, and after a certain date, the date of my death? Given that I am present some place now, can I imagine I wasn’t anywhere at all before my birth and won’t be anywhere after my death? I’m sure I can imagine there were times and places before I was born and will continue to be times and places after I die. The question is whether I was or will be present at any of those times and places. I am sure that I can imagine that I was or will be. But, of course, this doesn’t imply that I actually was anywhere before I was born or will be after I die. I can imagine I am standing on the surface of the moon right now, but I’m not really there. But can I imagine that I was not anywhere at any time before my birth and will not be anywhere at any time after my death? This would not be to attempt to imagine my absolute nonexistence at all times and places, since I am acknowledging that I am presently alive and asking myself the question from my present point of view. So, wouldn’t it be like imagining, and believing, that there was a time when I was not sitting in this chair and will also be a time in the future when I am not sitting here, even though I am sitting here now? Or, like imagining, and believing, that there are plenty of places at this time where I am simply not there, because, after all, I am here? And the answer is No, it is not like that. Recognizing that within my lifetime there are places where I am present and places where I am absent and that these change over time is different in an important way from imagining that before my birth I was absent from all places at all times and that then, during my lifetime, I was, am, and will be present at some places at some times and absent at others, and that then, after my death, once again I will be absent from all places at all times. The problem is that this requires me to imagine there is a time when I am not anywhere at all. I can remember waking up with the feeling that I have returned from somewhere else but without being able to give a coherent account to myself of where that was, other than that I was dreaming just before waking up. But if I try to imagine not being anywhere at all, these come to seem like empty words to me. So, then, I imagine that before my birth and after my death I had and will have a point of view from which I will be present at some places at some times and absent at others.

I not only imagine it, I also believe it, and for the simple reason that I can’t imagine that it is not true. But what is it that I am imagining when I imagine this? And what is the difference between imagining it and believing it? I imagine it, for example, whenever I read a description of an historical event at which I was not present. I imagine it as if I were a witness of that historical event, just as I imagine myself as a witness of an event described in a work of fiction, with the difference being that I believe that the historical event but not the fictional one really happened. Interestingly, the more detailed the description of an historical event, the more I suspect that it is fictionalized to some degree. This doesn’t weaken my belief that it really happened or my imaginary participation in it as a witness, but it does weaken my belief that it happened in exactly the way described. Of course, this depends on how close in time to the real event the account of it was written and on whether the writer himself or herself witnessed it at first hand or wrote about what he or she had heard from someone who was a witness. It also depends on whether other independent witnesses corroborate the account and, if so, to what degree of detail.

I don’t believe that I really witnessed an historical event just because I imagine myself as a witness of it when I read or hear or see a reenactment of it. I do believe that, before I was born and after I die, I had and will have a point of view from which I was or will be present at some places, having experiences and witnessing certain events, and absent at others, where I will have no experiences and won’t witness anything; but I don’t claim to remember or foresee any of those experiences or events. When I imagine what this was or will be like, I don’t try to imagine the particulars of it. I imagine it as being, in general, just like my having a point of view from which I experience the world now in my present life. This is very much like my imagining and believing that I have had many experiences in this life that I have totally forgotten. What were they like? I assume that, in general, they were like the experiences which I remember and like the experience I am having now, and just as rich in detail, although I can’t remember any of it and so don’t claim to know in particular what they were like. This is not to deny that there can be periods in which I am totally unconscious, and from which I then regain consciousness. I don’t know whether that is really possible or not. But because I know what it is to remember I know what it is to forget, so that I find it easy to imagine that I have had a life before this one which I cannot now remember, except maybe in unidentifiable fragments, in the way that certain combinations of sensations and mood come to me from time to time with the strong feeling of a link to some unspecified time in the past. And it is similarly easy to imagine that I will have a future life with only the same feeling of a link with a past that has been forgotten. Of course, as long as we are talking strictly about what I can imagine without regard to what I believe, I should say I can also imagine remembering a past life with as much vivid detail as I remember important events of my present life, and that I can imagine a future life in as much detail as I please and in which I would also be able to remember this life as vividly as events of that future life. But I don’t see this as a reason to believe I will ever remember a past life or foresee a future one in such detail. It is not a matter of believing because I can imagine. Again, I believe I’ve had a life or lives before this one and that I will have one or more after this one, not because I can imagine it, but because I can’t imagine a time stretching endlessly backward or endlessly forward in which I have no point of view, in which I am absent from all places. If you say I should try to imagine there being no time and no space, my reply is that I don’t know how.

And now for a brief return to the relatively more concrete and particular, I wish to inform you that I am no longer sitting in the chair in the living room, and it is no longer even that same day. Now, I am sitting on the glider on the patio, feeling a sea breeze flowing in, hearing windchimes behind my back and just to the left, and there are shifting patterns of light and shade on the tablet on which I write, due to the breeze stirring leaves on trees. When the breeze momentarily dies down, I hear the sound of traffic on Beverly Blvd., commuters returning home from work, with the occasional especially noisy car or motorcycle and an airplane above heading towards Los Angeles International Airport.

To return to the question of the significance of these facts: I am exactly one of the people who have ever lived or ever will live, and I know which one. I can’t explain how I know it, other than to say I experience the world from this particular point of view, which is not any kind of non-circular explanation. I can’t imagine actually being someone else. I can’t imagine my own nonexistence. I think all this gives me a reason to believe in God. I take it that these are facts about reality, so that any account of reality that leaves them out is necessarily incomplete. These are not impersonal facts. They are about my life and death, my existence as a person and not as an object. I believe that they are also true for everyone else, reflecting from his or her own first-person point of view. I didn’t create these facts, and I don’t believe any other human being did either, except for Jesus Christ, as he is portrayed in the Gospel of John. I don’t see how an impersonal, uncaring universe, as described by Richard Dawkins, for example, could possibly be consistent with these facts.

So, I believe that, to account for the universe that we observe, there must be a person who can create things that neither I nor any other non-divine human can create and who can control things that none of us can control. Why a person? Why not believe that an uncreated, impersonal universe, in which everything is either a subatomic particle or a combination of them, moving about according to the laws of physics, is the ultimate account of everything we observe? I have said why. It is because I am exactly one of the people who have ever lived or ever will live, and I know which one, but can’t explain how I know it. I just know that if it was ever within my power to control reality to make it this way or some other way instead, I have totally forgotten how. To imagine that I did have such a power I would have to imagine that I were God, and I can’t even imagine really being another ordinary human being. And it doesn’t help to speculate that subatomic particles already have their own first-person perspectives from which they experience the world, as the currently fashionable philosophy of panpsychism proposes, unless I suppose that one or a combination of them can make it true: 1) that I am exactly one of the people who have ever lived or will ever live, 2) that I know this, and 3) that I know which one I am. And if a subatomic particle or a combination of them had the power to make those things true, then I suppose it would be a personal God, but I have just as hard a time understanding how that would work as I do when I believe that a personal God in the classical sense has that power.

Someone may object—I myself would have objected in the past—that it does no good to attempt to account for some otherwise inexplicable facts by saying that God made it this way, as long as we can’t explain how or why God does it. My answer to the objection is to concede the lack of understanding of the how but to insist that we can and do have an idea of the why, which we don’t have on the theory that subatomic particles do the job.

The answer to the Why question is that it’s better this way, better for God and better for each one of us. Firstly, it’s better to exist than not to exist. But how can I make this claim when I have also claimed that I cannot imagine my own nonexistence? Maybe I should just say that, as far as I can see, there is no alternative to existing and that I am fine with that. Secondly, it’s better to be able to have company than to be the only one who exists. And thirdly, it’s better to know which person one is than not to know, because it enables one to create things that otherwise wouldn’t exist; and being able to do that is better than not being able to do it.

As I tried to explain above, I cannot imagine really being someone else. It follows that I cannot imagine being God. But I can imagine, and often do, being in someone else’s situation. And I can try to imagine being in God’s situation. If I were a “being than which none greater can be conceived,” as Anselm puts it, why would I want to create any lesser beings? I can think of several good reasons. One is that I might not want to be the only being who exists. I might enjoy creating things that otherwise wouldn’t exist. I enjoy this as a human being, and I imagine that if I were in God’s situation, I would enjoy it at least as much, if not more. As a human being, my efforts are often frustrated by my own ignorance and the resistance of the material, which doesn’t always seem perfectly suited to my purposes. Also, I must overcome my own laziness and willingness to be distracted. If I were in God’s situation, I wouldn’t have to worry about any of that. But as a human being, a large part of the satisfaction of doing and creating comes precisely from overcoming those obstacles, and this makes me wonder if, placed in God’s situation, I would want there to be obstacles for me to overcome.

I imagine I would want to create not only other things besides myself, for the sheer joy of creation, but also other beings more like myself than mere things, for I would not be a thing, a mere object, but a person. I would want company. Would I create other beings than which none greater can be conceived, to keep me company? But each of those beings, however many I might create, should have already existed on his or her own, without waiting for me to create him or her, because it is greater to exist by one’s own power than to depend for one’s existence on someone else’s act of creation. So, all powerful as I would be, I could not create other beings than which none greater can be conceived. But I could create beings like me in other ways, not all powerful but having some powers. None of them could actually be me, for I don’t create myself, I just am. But each of them would be conscious like me, from his or her own first-person perspective, as I am conscious from mine. The difference would be that I would also be able to experience the world from the perspectives of each of them, while each of them would be limited to experiencing the world from his or her own perspective. The limited, creaturely version of my omniscience and omnipresence would be the ability to imagine being in the situations of others. This would give them the ability to care about what happens to each other, as I care about what happens to them.

Before I had created anything or anyone, there would be no obstacles for me to overcome, and even after I had done so, there would be no insurmountable obstacles for me, since I would be all powerful. So, before creating other things and people, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the satisfaction of overcoming obstacles. But I imagine it could also be enjoyable not to have any obstacles to overcome, and I wouldn’t be under any obligation to create anything. So, I imagine my reason for creating things and living, conscious beings would be that it is intrinsically satisfying. Nevertheless, after creating things and conscious beings, I then would be able also to enjoy the satisfaction of overcoming obstacles, via my power of experiencing the world from the first-person perspective of each of my creatures, so that I would experience his or her satisfaction at overcoming obstacles. I would know that none of those obstacles are insurmountable, and I would make that knowledge available to them.

Why would each of my people be limited to being exactly one of the people who ever lived or ever will live? Because I would be limited to being exactly one of the conscious beings who has ever lived, and in this way, they would be like me and make suitable companions for me. Of course, the difference is that I would be God, and they wouldn’t be, because if they were, then I wouldn’t have really created anything: only I would exist. God is relatively unlimited in comparison to us, and that is good, because it is good that someone can control the things that we can’t control. But God is not absolutely unlimited, because then he would have to be alone, and it isn’t good to be alone.

Would I make it so that each of my people would know, not only that he or she is exactly one of the people who have ever lived or will ever live, but also which one? If I were in God’s situation of a being than which none greater can be conceived, I would know, not only that there is such a being, but that I am that being, because a being that didn’t know he or she was such a being wouldn’t be as great as one who did. For example, if I didn’t know that I had the power to create whatever I wanted to create, it wouldn’t occur to me to exercise that power. It would be almost as bad as not having it. It’s hard to imagine someone not knowing who he or she is. I mentioned above the example of a man suffering from amnesia, not knowing his name, not knowing where he lives, unable to recognize friends or loved ones, not knowing how he got to where he is. I remarked that there would still be a sense in which he would know who he is. He would know that he is the one being questioned by the doctor, he is the one lying in bed and viewing the room from that perspective, and that he is not one of the ones standing and viewing the other lying on the bed. So, let’s go one step further. Imagine that you have a sort of floating, apparently disembodied viewpoint that can move about through time and space at will. You don’t see your nose, your chest and arms and legs. If you look in a mirror, you don’t see a reflection of your face or any of the rest of your body. But you see people going about their business, living their lives in different places over the centuries, and you know that you are one of them, but you don’t know which one. You also know that other people won’t be able to tell which one you are either. They can’t tell that you have a disembodied, free floating viewpoint, because outwardly the one who is you acts just like anyone else. Now let’s go one step again further and imagine that everyone is in this same situation. Everyone can float around the world and through the centuries, hearing and seeing what is going on at various times and places and having sensations of smell, taste, and touch corresponding to the places and times. Suppose you are viewing a man, alone in a forest glade, kneeling down beside a stream, and scooping some water in a wooden cup and drinking it; and you then see what he would see and taste the water and delight in the cool refreshment of it. It might seem at that moment that you would know you are that man, but then imagine that you don’t remember anything about being that man. In fact, just moments before, you were viewing a crowded scene in an underground train station, hearing the sounds of echoing voices and many mingled footsteps, feeling something like someone bumping into “your” side. And the moment after you were tasting the cool water slaking “your” thirst in the forest glade, you zoom back out for an overview and then zoom in to another location two hundred thirteen years later, through the walls of a house and into the kitchen where you see a woman preparing a meal, and then you see what she is seeing and feel the knife in her (“your”) hand as she chops some red peppers and other vegetables and you smell the peppers and feel a rumbling in “your” stomach. And so on, indefinitely, at will, zooming out for overviews and then zooming back in for a closer look. You can stay as long as you like in any one place and time, so that you can pretend that you are a particular person, that whatever is happening to him or her is happening to you, that you are doing whatever he or she is doing. You can even, let us suppose, choose to “tune in” to that person’s thoughts, memories and expectations, for they would be just as present as his or her sensations. You might hope that in this way you would eventually hit upon the one person who you are and somehow recognize yourself. But no, we are supposing that is impossible, for although you know that you are one of them, you don’t know which one, and let’s stipulate that you have no means of finding out.

When I imagine that I am in God’s situation, able to create whatever I want, I know that I wouldn’t want my people to float around like that, not knowing who they are. I would be able to experience their lives and the world from their points of view, knowing that it was all also from my point of view. I wouldn’t be confused about which person I am, for I would be God and I would know it. I would want each of them to know which person he or she is, by virtue of experiencing the world only from his or her own point of view. But I would give them the great gift of being able to imagine being in someone else’s situation.

Here is why I think it is a great gift: I’ve tried to explain why I can’t imagine actually being someone else, but I’ve also said that I can imagine being in someone else’s situation. I’ve even imagined what it would be like to be in God’s situation. Now, if I try to imagine that I lacked the ability to imagine being in someone else’s situation, I imagine that I would believe myself to be not only unique in the sense of being just the person who I am and no one else, but also unique in being the only person who really has a first-person perspective. This is because I can effectively believe that another person has a first-person perspective only if I can, with more or less success, imagine being in his or her situation. If I couldn’t do that at all, I don’t see how I could believe that he or she really has a first-person perspective. It would be as if I were to believe, not that someone else has a different first-person perspective from mine, but that his or hers would not even be the same kind of thing as mine, as if mine is the real thing and anyone else’s is just a fake, outward show. This would make other people alien to me. I would be lonely, and not just lonely in a transitory way that can go away when one finds companionship, but lonely in a harsh, metaphysical sense that could never be cured. I can’t make it so that other people have their own first-person perspectives on the world in the same way that I have a first-person perspective from which I experience the world. I don’t even have control over whether I have one or not. I just find that I do. But God, a being than which none greater can be conceived, can make it this way and has done so. I don’t know how, but I think the reason why is that companionship is good, for us as well as for God. Yes, it is sometimes also good to be alone. I wouldn’t want to be forced to be always around other people. But neither would I want to be always alone, and when I imagine myself in God’s situation, I imagine this still would be true of me, which is why I would create other beings, each of which has his or her own first-person perspective.