The Fine Taste of Reality
They both were swirling the wine in their glasses. It was catching the soft glow of the candlelight in the restaurant. Two old friends, Ethan and Julia, leaned back in their chairs, the remnants of an exquisite meal between them. Empty plates were stained with hints of tomato sauce and the quiet hum of conversation drifted from the other diners.
Ethan took another sip of the 1993 Chateaux Margaut after inhaling the intense bouquet of cassis, pine, truffles, reality and that haunting scent of violets one gets in an aged Bordeaux.
"You know," he said, "this wine is supposedly one of the most objectively perfect wines in the world."
Julia raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her own.
"Objectively perfect? Really? What does that even mean when it comes to wine? It’s all about taste. I might love this, but someone else might prefer a bottle of two-buck Chuck."
“Oh, come on,” Ethan gagged. “You could have at least said they might prefer a bottle of Opus One. Anyway, it’s funny you say it. I’ve been having this very conversation recently . . . with ChatGPT, of all things!"
"With ChatGPT? You’re philosophizing with an AI now?" Julia asked, amused. She took another sip. The sweet scent on the nose was like a sixty year old woman’s perfume—both rich and subtle. It reminded her of a former classics professor of hers. Her mind was now nimble enough to recall reading The Aeneid in Latin. Arma virumque cano—of arms and the man I sing.
Ethan nodded. "Yep. We got into this whole thing about “objectivism” and “subjectivism”—whether reality exists independently of our perception or if it's shaped by how we experience it. Honestly, it got me thinking."
"ChatGPT?" Julia’s disbelief hung in the air. "You’re discussing philosophy with something that literally has no mind? No subjective experience? I mean, doesn’t that undermine the whole conversation? How can something without a perspective talk about subjectivism or objectivism?"
Ethan smiled, unphased. "I get your point, but it was actually insightful. I mean, sure, it doesn't have a 'self' or a point of view, but that’s what made the conversation so interesting. It could argue both sides, almost like stepping outside of the whole debate entirely."
"Which," Julia cut in, "ironically makes ChatGPT a great argument against objectivism. If there’s no subject, no 'mind' behind the words, how can we trust its claims about an external reality?"
“Look, go with me here. It takes an objectively amazing wine just to get me to confess this. I haven’t told anyone else I’m philosophizing with ChatGPT.”
Julia took another sip of wine and looked about the room, clearly warming up to her own point. Wine works for both. "I mean, think about it. For us, our experiences shape the world around us. We taste this wine and decide whether it’s ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ but those are personal judgments. A robot can analyze the chemical compounds in the wine, but it can’t taste it the way we do. So how can it really understand anything about what reality is?"
Ethan fell back in his chair, appreciating her point but unwilling to surrender. "But isn’t that exactly the argument for objectivism? The fact that ChatGPT doesn’t have subjective experiences means it’s not biased by perception. It deals with data—cold, hard facts. In a way, it's the ultimate objectivist."
"Right, so now ChatGPT is the poster child for objective reality?” Julia laughed. “No offense, but it can’t even enjoy this wine, let alone know if the sunset looks better from Montmartre or Malibu. It might know what objectivism is, but it doesn't know anything the way we do. Its whole ‘understanding’ is, well, artificial."
"But maybe that’s the point. I believe reality exists whether we perceive it or not. We like to think that how we taste this wine—whether we find it fruity, or bold, or tannic—matters, but the wine is what it is, regardless of whether we’re here to enjoy it. Same with the sunsets in Montmartre and Malibu. The Margaux doesn’t need us to be a great wine."
Julia put her glass down, shaking her head. "I don’t know. I think the wine does need us. Without someone to taste it, to experience it, what is it really? Just some liquid in a bottle? How can it be great? How can it be wine? Have you ever let your cat smell your glass of wine? Haha. I do all the time. Cat’s are into smell, but they’re not into wine. It’s the same with reality. Without our minds to interpret it, to live in it, what does any of it mean? You and I both know that tasting this wine isn’t just about the chemicals in it. It’s about the memories it brings up, the mood we’re in, the lighting, the company. That’s what makes it real, to me."
"That’s subjectivism right there," Ethan said, smiling. "The cat may not appreciate this wine—hell, most humans don’t—but the cat can smell that the wine exists. You’re saying reality depends on how we experience it."
"Of course it does," Julia almost shouted. "That’s why I’m skeptical about AI—and even this whole idea of objectivism.” She softened her voice. “Reality is messy, it’s personal. Sure, ChatGPT can tell you the history of Château Margaux, break down its flavor profile, but it’ll never experience the moment when you take that first sip after a long day, or the way a certain taste can remind you of an old memory. Reality is lived, not just analyzed."
Ethan, unbothered by her phenomenalism, countered, "But that’s precisely why we need objectivism in some sense. It gives us a grounding. I mean, think about how polarized the world has become. People are living in their own bubbles, believing whatever fits their narrative. If reality is completely subjective, then we’re all just living in our own versions of the truth, and there’s no way to agree on anything. That’s a dangerous road, don’t you think?"
Julia’s expression softened. "I get that. And polarized politics is the first defense usually brought up. Look, I agree, we need some shared understanding, or society just falls apart. But even those ‘shared truths’ are experienced differently by everyone. I just think we’re fooling ourselves if we believe there’s this perfectly objective world that exists outside of how we experience it."
She gestured to the bottle of wine. "Returning to the wine, the critics might all agree this is a world-class wine, but maybe to someone else, it’s not. Who’s right?" She threw her head back and combed her long red hair with her hand.
"Well," Ethan smirked, "the experts are. They’ve got the experience, the palate, the data."
“Taste isn’t data," Julia said, laughing. "It’s experience. And even the experts’ opinions are shaped by their own preferences. In the end, the wine is only as good as the person drinking it says it is." She was curious if he would continue this topic.
Ethan took a sip, savoring it. "So, you’re saying reality is just in the tasting?"
Julia smiled. "Maybe. Or at least that it’s meaningless without someone there to taste it."
The two of them sat in satiated silence for a moment, enjoying the lingering flavors of the Margaux. Ethan finally broke the quiet. "You know, I think I need to ask ChatGPT what it thinks about wine."
Julia rolled her eyes playfully. "Sure, and it’ll probably tell you all about the tannins, the terroir, the vintage. In the end, you still have to take that first sip."
"Touché," Ethan conceded, lifting his glass. "To perception, then."
"And to reality," Julia added, raising hers. "Whatever it might be."
They clinked glasses and laughed, the conversation going on to politics and the simple pleasure of good company. Whatever side of the debate they fell on, reality, at least for tonight, was rich, complex, and tasted pretty damn good!