This is a linkpost for The Ethical Implications of Illusionism by Keith Frankish, which was published in Neuroethics on 20 May 2024. The abstract and a summary from Claude Opus 5.5 are below. Readers may also be interested in Losing Your Religion: Ethics After Illusionism, chapter 9 of the book "House of Mirrors: The Illusion of Phenomenal Consciousness" by François Kammerer.
Abstract
Illusionism is a revisionary view of consciousness, which denies the existence of the phenomenal properties traditionally thought to render experience conscious. The view has theoretical attractions, but some think it also has objectionable ethical implications. They take illusionists to be denying the existence of consciousness itself, or at least of the thing that gives consciousness its ethical value, and thus as undermining our established ethical attitudes. This article responds to this objection. I argue that, properly understood, illusionism neither denies the existence of consciousness nor entails that consciousness does not ground ethical value. It merely offers a different account of what consciousness is and why it grounds ethical value. The article goes on to argue that the theoretical revision proposed by illusionists does have some indirect implications for our ethical attitudes but that these are wholly attractive and progressive ones. The illusionist perspective on consciousness promises to make ethical decision making easier and to extend the scope of our ethical concern. Illusionism is good news.
Summary
Illusionism
Frankish contrasts illusionism with phenomenal realism, the view that experiences have an irreducibly subjective "what-it-is-likeness" known only to the subject by direct acquaintance. Realism faces the hard problem. Its theories of which systems are conscious range from humans only to fundamental particles and the whole universe, with no empirical way to test them.
Illusionists hold that experiences can be fully described in functional, third-person terms. The impression of irreducible subjectivity is created by introspective self-monitoring, which misrepresents functional processes. This impression resists correction, which is why it is called an illusion. Illusionists do not deny subjectivity: each organism has a real subjective take on the world, made of its many reactions to what it perceives. In the version Frankish prefers, stimuli trigger waves of changes in attention, expectation, motivation, and emotion. The brain monitors these and builds simplified models of them, a "user illusion" similar to the graphical interface of a computer.
Does illusionism have negative ethical implications?
Does it deny experience?
No. Illusionists deny phenomenal properties, not experience itself. Frankish compares this to Hippocrates denying that epilepsy was a divine affliction, or biologists denying a vital force. Neither denied that seizures or life exist. Illusionists and realists can agree on which states they are talking about by pointing to clear examples, such as the pain of being punched on the nose, or the pain of an injured, whimpering dog. They disagree only about the nature of these states: realists say they have an irreducibly subjective aspect, and illusionists deny this.
Does it deny the value of experience?
No. Kammerer imagines Piotr, who suffers excruciating pain every night and forgets it, and a zombie twin in a functionally identical state. Kammerer argues it would be an amazing coincidence if both states had the same value. Frankish replies that when we imagine Piotr, we recall our own worst pain and add a theoretical gloss. If illusionism is true, the recalled state is functional. Imagined in full detail, the zombie state would be the same state without the gloss, so equal value is trivial rather than a coincidence. Pure phenomenal pain, stripped of every functional reaction (discomfort, distraction, or desire for relief), would be psychologically identical to painlessness. Frankish does not find it worse. If anything, he finds the reverse.
Can illusionism explain why pain is bad?
Yes. Pain is bad because of how it affects us. It seizes attention, disrupts thought and activity, and creates an overwhelming desire for relief, leaving us helpless, anxious, and fearful. Its badness lies in these reactions, which reflect the evolutionary function of pain. Saying we know pain is bad by direct acquaintance amounts to little more than admitting we cannot give a substantive answer.
Does it eliminate phenomenal concepts?
No. Talk about what experience is like tracks something real: the significance stimuli have for us, embodied in our reactions. The user illusion is useful, and illusionists do not propose abandoning it.
Positive ethical implications
Knowledge of consciousness
If realism were true, ethical significance would be written in a private code no one can access, and our evolved ethical instincts could not track it. Frankish compares this to locating economic value in an inscrutable essence. Under illusionism, a creature's subjective life lies in its engagement with the world. It can be studied by building multidimensional functional profiles of its responses.
Distribution of consciousness
Realism requires a sharp line between conscious and nonconscious beings, and with it a sharp ethical divide. Such discontinuities are rare in biology, and the conviction that one exists invites motivated speculation about where to draw it. Under illusionism, consciousness is graded and multifaceted, and creatures occupy positions in a "consciousness space". The question changes from "Should we care about this creature?" to "How should we care about it?". Introspection does not create a new binary line. It confers no extra value. It only adds another layer of functional complexity, which can increase or relieve suffering.
Ethical progress
Under illusionism, facts about consciousness are discoverable empirically, through messy but tractable research. Frankish concedes that this research alone will not settle how much weight to give the suffering of other creatures, or how to trade it off against our own.
Conclusion
Illusionism liberates us from picturing minds as private worlds closed to everyone else. It lets us know other creatures, human and nonhuman, and extend ethical concern more widely and more fairly.
