Wilson insisted on sleeping in my bed last night, to be sure I wouldn't wink out of existence while he wasn't looking. As soon as he awoke this morning, he started to explain about Descartes' theory that we are dreaming Reality and it's really all in our heads, and Willard Van Orman Quine's theory that Everything is Made of All Our Minds.
Made of our Minds? What??
Finally, he outlined Nick Bostrom's theory that Reality is just a computer simulation, and we are all just characters in some vast video game. I'm guessing it's Lemmings.
This makes little or no sense to me, and all it seems to achieve is worrying Wilson that he's not real. I'd so hoped we'd put all that behind us after the 'Moon' incident.
I asked W why he was so interested in all this paradoxical metaphysics, and his reply surprised me: 'I was expecting to be able to read about my Great Uncle Kenneth's Theory of Reality, but New Scientist didn't even mention it!'
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