May 5, 1997

Choice: Solipsism or brains in a vat

Luke Wilson

he end of the semester has come again, boys and girls, and what do you have to show for it? Those of you who will be graduating cum laude, I'm sure, are mighty proud of yourselves. May you eat your shorts every morning in graduate school.

Those of you who barely got through another year are to be congratulated for being able to maintain your modicum of brain cells for so long. May your bongs never run empty.

May all the rest of you be recognized according to your own idiosyncrasies.

As I write my commentary, a predicament plagues me - my fatigue caused by my 9-5 job - thus the color of my humor may appear shaded.

The end is near, I tell you. (Not big "E" End, but small "e" end.) What kind of "end," you ask? Well, it is merely the end of another semester, another year, another chapter in the book called Life. Thoughts on endings of any kind, however, make me think of the End.

Pondering anything metaphysical is my favorite way to waste away the minutes, and currently the two notions that make the most sense to me are solipsism and the "brains in the vat" theory. Neither will be much appreciated by those with narrow minds, and as an occasional solipsist, it doesn't matter what anyone other than myself thinks since I am the only cognizant entity in the Universe while all other matter and anti-matter is little more than a manifestation of my imagination.

Solipsism is self-centeredness nurtured by years of untreated neurosis, wrapped in a warm blanket of denial and other defense mechanisms, and wedged way up the ass of Narcissus. Eat that, would-be writers of my future hate mail! I like it a lot since there is no loophole. Everything that I hear, see, smell, feel and taste is created by some intensely screwed-up portion of my subconscious in reaction to something I thought previously. Other beings do not exist in the world of a solipsist, ergo it is a lonely existence.

The "brains in the vat" theory is much more pleasant since it involves other people, and it is much more fun to think about since there are so many more possibilities. The idea is that all of humanity are brains in a vat hooked up to a Titan computer that feeds us all the data we perceive as sensory activity and memory while recording all of our reactions, our thoughts, our emotions for the sake of some higher authority. Essentially as brains, we are nothing more than lab rats in a higher order experiment controlled by scientists whom we have defied for lack of a better explanation as why they would have exposed us to this irrational existence we call reality.

Some of the variables are: How many cognizant beings are there? Are all beings represented by living brains or merely a select few? Obviously, I am one of the brains; otherwise I could not be having the thoughts I am having. Of course, you have no way of knowing that, and most likely you are asking yourself, Who does this schmuck think he is? And how can he make such a claim based on the factors he has provided?

And unfortunately I can't prove it, which is the best thing about metaphysics - nothing has to be proven. All thought is piffle. Nothing matters.

Nietzsche was wrong. God is not dead.

God is a near-sighted, bucktoothed scientist, donning a lab coat and pocket protector, feeding data into the divine computer and recording its findings so that he can tell his lab buddies about what the computer and the brains in the vat did today. If you think I am lying, listen to the 6 o'clock news and hear about all the day's crime, ponder the multitude of unnecessary unhappiness in the world, my inability to make par on every hole and the fact that a philanderer with the moniker "Tubby" diurnally (and nocturnally) embarrasses the most powerful nation in the world as its nominal, political leader.

I think I have contacted God personally on a number of occasions. Of course, three of those most recent occasions have been under the influence of a mind-altering substance.

A gaggle of teenage Canadian females crossed my path today. The fact that there are women so cute yet so annoying is proof of one of two things: there is evil in the world ... or the divine scientist (God) has a sense of humor. Good-looking, irritating women are a detriment to society in either case. Something must be done about them.

Nurse, hand me the forceps. The doctor is about to operate.

There ain't no shame in being beaten by a master so rack 'em up. (Johnny Lang)

Wuh-Hoo (Blur)

I put my hand on your hip. I dip. You dip. We dip. (Freak Nasty)

Yeah, baby. Yeah. (Austin Powers)

Hey there, MTV viewers, I have a question for you: is the singer/keyboardist of Hanson a boy or a girl? I have been trying to figure it out for weeks.

A tout a l'heure, mes amis.

For those interested, international man of mystery and junior history major Luke Wilson has been taking a nine-week hiatus to pursue a career in his lifelong dream of female mud wrestling.

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