Do Bats Know What it is Like to be Human?
Do Bats Know What it is Like to be Human?
One answer would be that we don’t know whether they do or can know what it’s like to be human, because of the problem of bat other minds. That is a boring answer and, I think, incorrect; in any case, I will ignore it. We know enough about bat minds to know whether or not they know what it’s like to be human. And I believe the simple answer is that they do know. This is because we don’t have any senses they don’t have. They have one sense we don’t have (echolocation), but we don’t have a sense they don’t have. Their senses may not be as acute as ours (e.g., sight), but they have the basic phenomenology associated with our five senses; they are not totally in the dark about what it’s like to be human from a sensory point of view. Someone might say bats can’t have such knowledge, because their cognitive abilities are too limited to know anything of the kind. They don’t even know what it’s like to be a mouse. Again, this answer is boring and, I think, incorrect: they know what’s it’s like to be them, and other animals share that subjectivity to a sufficient degree to ground knowledge of other animal minds. Bats know what it is like to see and hear (etc.) generally. Basically, all mammals know what it is like to be a mammal, so long as their sense modalities overlap. They know each other’s mode of sensory consciousness. Indeed, the same point applies to reptiles and birds, fish and octopuses. So, perhaps surprisingly, animals have good knowledge of what it’s like to be most other animals, including humans. Even mice know what it’s like to be human!
But that point only applies to sensory consciousness, and it is not the only kind. What about what may be called a priori consciousness—logical, mathematical, ethical, philosophical? Assuming that bats don’t have that kind of consciousness, do they know what it’s like to be human? I think not. In fact, I am doubtful that any animal knows what human a priori consciousness is like, even our closest relatives. Of course, if they have a kind of closeted a priori mental life, then they can know what it’s like to be us; but there is no evidence for this and it seems clearly false. So, there is a large part of what it’s like to be human that bats and other animals don’t and can’t know. Nor can humans who lack rational faculties, say because of brain abnormality. Human intelligence (of an advanced kind) is not knowable by animals in general; they don’t know what it’s like to have the kind of intelligence we have. We can know what it’s like to have bat intelligence, but they can’t know what it’s like to have human intelligence—though they do know what it’s like to have human sensations. If a bat were to write a paper called “What is it Like to be Human?”, the answer would have to be “We don’t know”, or “We know some but not all”. The topic of animal knowledge of other minds is a neglected area, but part of psychological zoology. I am just laying the groundwork here.[1]
[1] I think we know exactly what it’s like to be a dinosaur, sensorily and intellectually, and I think they know what it’s like to be a human sensorily—but not intellectually. We humans are distinctive in having a developed a priori form of consciousness. It is like having another sense.
I don’t know what it’s like being anything, even what I am, let alone something other than that; I don’t even know what it’s like being who I am. I have some idea of what people are thinking of when they use this expression, which I’ve always found inexplicable. People seem to wonder about other people, and are curious about how the world is understood from a different point of view, that of a different soul. Like John Malkovich, for example. He seems like a weird guy; what gives with this guy? Why is he like the way he seems to be, and not like normal people who are predictable? At one point in the last century linguists liked to ask, “What is it like to speak L?”, where L is some exotic language. Why don’t you learn the language and find out? (I’ve learned a couple.) But I never saw a good description of what it was like to speak language L, as opposed to the person’s own language. I could understand a description of exotic language L, but I don’t think I could give one that would satisfy the curiosity of those who ask this question; I wouldn’t know what to say, although I suppose I could give it a try. (What’s it like winning the Super Bowl? It’s amazing. It’s incredible.)
Don’t you know what it’s like to see?
Yes, as opposed to being blind, which I could get an idea of by going around with a blindfold on. I can experience the differences and understand them. In this case I can describe the differences. (With the blindfold I’m always bumping into things. What a bummer. If only I had echolocation! When I can see I don’t do that so much, although I still do it sometimes. Can I get the echolocation even though I can still see things?)
That’s all you need to get Nagel’s argument going: you can’t know what seeing red is without seeing it, but you can know about the brain without seeing red, so the former can’t be just the latter.
Not sure this posted, so here’s a second try: I think that AI may be the reverse of bats: they do *not* know what it’s like to be human qua sentient-conscious beings but *do* know what it’s like to be human qua a priori conscious beings. No reason to think that the latter kind of consciousness requires the former.
I agree: if AI has conscious intelligence, it knows part of what it is like to be us–but only if. This assumes that its mode of intelligence is like ours.
Thanks for this, Colin.
Humans and cats both have bodies they can move, so you might say a cat knows what it’s like to coordinate motor actions like a human. But, a human coordinates its body with much more sophisticated syntactic computation and deeper temporality. Is that still the same base phenomenology?
And so, do cats really know what human smell phenomenology is like, considering their vastly superior smell sense? There’s an essential similarity, of course: a nose that converts air particles into qualia. But, it seems as if cat smell qualia is interwined with the visual sense in ways that ours isn’t; as far as I know, a cat’s smell sense does the heavy-lifting in geometric mapping. Or am I thinking of dogs?
Either way, if a smell-heightened animal wrote an essay on What It’s Like to Smell as a Human, they might assume we can smell-visualise like they can, that our internal visual map of the world is massively compartmentalised by smell.
Have I poked a hole in this essay? Looking forward to philosophy’s Final Boss letting me know.
Joanne
No hole, I’m afraid. I’ve already written about the kind of point you are driving at (you can search here for several essays on the topic). The truth is that knowing what it’s like comes in degrees, and we don’t fully know what it’s like to be a cat and a cat doesn’t fully know what it’s like to be us. But both have knowledge of the basic phenomenological facts–unlike with the bat case (as typically described).
Yes, your essay on dolphin echolocation helped clarify what I was driving at. Dogs can smell a visual scene, and dolphins can hear a visual scene — the same essential sense modalities, but different degrees of application. Intriguing as ever, thanks!
Let me commend you on your clear-sightedness!
Do bats ever ask the question, “What is it like to be a human, I wonder?”? Am I just taking all the fun out of it, or is something missing here?
BTW, a cat (call her Supercat) (not a dog) writing a short story (not an essay) for cat Twilight Zone, would not just assume that those other beings were just like them. This, I think I can get behind. (I guess it does come in degrees.)
Maybe not bats but possibly dolphins, who are more intelligent. Apes surely do wonder what makes us tick.
I think I’d be willing to wager that cats do too.
Dogs too.