Philosophers Can’t Handle Infinite Worlds: The Modal Realism Rejection

By Unknown author – Immediately from ; originally from a 1962 Swarthmore yearbook., Public Domain,

Philosophy is full of wild ideas. Big, chaotic theories that claw at the edges of existence like a drunk poet trying to find his keys in the dark.

But David Lewis’ modal realism? That’s the theory that wakes everyone up at 3 a.m., sweating, muttering, “This can’t be right.”

The idea is simple: all possible worlds exist.

Not just as ideas, but as actual, concrete realities. A world where I write this article sober. A world where Nietzsche moonlights as a lounge singer. A world where your dog is president, and he’s doing a damn fine job.

These aren’t hypotheticals; they’re real. That’s what Lewis said, anyway.

Philosophers hate it. Not because it’s too complicated. Oh no, they hate it because it’s too big. Too bold. Too much like staring into the cosmic abyss and realizing that you, me, and everyone else are just one tiny blip in a sea of infinite possibilities.

Philosophers vs. Lewis: The Endless Fight

So, why do most philosophers treat modal realism like it’s a bad rash?

Let’s walk through the objections—one by one, like flipping through a catalog of disappointed stares.

The Incredulous Stare

The first response to modal realism isn’t an argument—it’s a look. Wide eyes, mouth slightly open, like they just walked in on their parents having sex.

The idea of infinite worlds where every bizarre scenario plays out—talking donkeys, infinite pizza toppings, you name it—feels like philosophy has overdosed on bad sci-fi. It’s not logical, they say.

It’s lunacy. But let’s be honest. Philosophy doesn’t have a great track record with common sense. The same crowd that recoils at infinite worlds will happily wax poetic about brains in vats, ethical dilemmas involving trolleys, and whether chairs are real.

The incredulous stare? That’s fear disguised as skepticism.

Occam’s Razor: Death by Simplicity

Philosophers love a clean, simple theory. Occam’s razor—don’t multiply entities beyond necessity—is their favorite weapon.

And Lewis’ theory? It’s a forest of entities. Lewis said that positing infinite worlds is actually simpler than assuming ours is the only one.

Think about it: instead of explaining why this world exists, you just say, “All of them exist.”

No special treatment. But critics argue it’s too much to swallow.

Infinite entities? Infinite donkeys? Infinite yous? That’s not simplicity—it’s madness.

Table 1: How Philosophies Measure Up (According to Simplicity)

TheoryKey AssumptionsSimplicity Score (1-10)
Modal RealismAll possible worlds exist3
Common-Sense RealismOnly the actual world exists8
IdealismReality is mind-dependent6

The “Humphrey Problem”: When Philosophy Hits the Rocks

Picture this: Humphrey, a failed presidential candidate, sits alone in a smoky bar. His tie’s undone, his campaign pin is tossed on the counter, and his glass of whiskey trembles in his hand as he mutters to no one in particular, “I could’ve won.”

The bartender doesn’t care. The few stragglers at the other end of the room don’t care. And let’s be honest, the universe probably doesn’t care either.

But according to David Lewis’ modal realism, somewhere out there in the infinite sprawl of alternate worlds, Humphrey did win.

There’s a Humphrey who carried the swing states, shook all the right hands, kissed all the right things, and now sits in the Oval Office, smug as hell. And yet, here we are—stuck with this Humphrey, cradling his drink, stewing in regret.

Lewis claims the Humphrey who won isn’t this Humphrey. It’s a counterpart—another version of him in a different world. Kind of like a knockoff Humphrey. Imagine a bootleg movie you find in a back-alley shop, where the dialogue doesn’t sync with the actors’ lips, and the colors are just a little off.

That’s how critics see these “counterparts.”

Sure, it’s Humphrey, but it’s not our Humphrey.

Critics: “This is Nonsense.”

Philosophers are, at their core, nitpickers. And this Humphrey business makes them bristle. The biggest complaint? It’s absurd to say the victories or failures of some alternate Humphrey have anything to do with the poor guy sitting at the bar.

Let’s break it down:

Humphrey A (the guy at the bar) is drowning in his sorrow. He lost. He knows he lost.

Humphrey B (the winner in some alternate world) is sipping champagne in the Rose Garden, congratulating himself on a hard-fought campaign.

Lewis wants us to believe that the success of Humphrey B somehow justifies saying that Humphrey A “could have won.”

But how does the existence of a victorious Humphrey elsewhere in the multiverse help the one sitting in that dingy bar?

Critics argue it doesn’t. At all.

It’s like saying your identical twin’s victory is your victory.

Your twin runs a marathon, wins gold, and stands on the podium while you’re at home eating chips and watching reruns of low IQ TV shows. Do you get the glory? No. You didn’t run. Your legs are still glued to the couch.

The same applies to poor Humphrey.

His counterpart’s triumph in another world doesn’t erase his loss in this one. It’s like slapping a Band-Aid on a bullet wound and calling it good.

Why It Feels Wrong

Critics aren’t just being grumpy here—they’ve got a point. Part of the issue is identity. What makes you, well, you? Is it your physical body? Your experiences? Your memories? For modal realism, identity becomes a slippery slope.

Lewis’ counterparts are similar to us, but they aren’t us. Maybe they look like us, talk like us, and share some of our traits, but they don’t share our exact histories.

Humphrey B didn’t shake the same hands or give the same speeches as Humphrey A.

Humphrey B didn’t spend this evening at a bar.

These differences make them fundamentally distinct individuals.

And yet, Lewis claims that what happens to Humphrey B in another world gives us grounds to say Humphrey A could have won.

Critics argue this makes no sense. Success isn’t some cosmic vapor that rubs off on your counterparts.

If you didn’t win, you didn’t win. Period.

A Practical Analogy: Clones and Credit

Let’s say a mad scientist clones you. The clone has your face, your laugh, even your bad taste in TV shows.

Now imagine your clone goes out and accomplishes everything you’ve ever dreamed of—wins a Pulitzer, marries your crush, solves climate change. Are you suddenly more successful?

Of course not. You’re still here, living your same old life.

The clone’s success doesn’t magically spill over to you. That’s the heart of the Humphrey problem.

Saying that Humphrey A could have won because Humphrey B did is like saying you’re a Pulitzer-winning genius because your clone is.

It’s wishful thinking.

Table 1: The Problem with Counterparts

QuestionHumphrey A (Actual)Humphrey B (Counterpart)
Did he run the campaign?YesNo (different campaign entirely)
Did he lose the election?YesNo
Are they the same person?NoNo
Does one’s success affect the other?NoNo

What It Means for the Rest of Us

The Humphrey problem is more than just a philosophical nitpick. It’s a stark reminder of how we cling to the idea of alternate possibilities.

When life gets hard—when we fail, lose, or fall short—we console ourselves with “could haves” and “what ifs.”

But if Lewis is right, those other versions of us aren’t really us.

They’re strangers who happen to look like us, living lives we’ll never touch.

So the next time you’re tempted to say, “I could’ve been a rock star,” remember Humphrey.

His counterpart might be rocking, but he’s still here, hunched over his whiskey, thinking about what might’ve been.

Life isn’t about the worlds where you could’ve won. It’s about the one where you’re sitting in the bar, deciding whether to order another drink or finally go home.

Photo by Zetong lu on Unsplash

Explaining Modal Realism to a Kid (or Someone Acting Like One)

Imagine a box of Legos. In one world, you build a castle. In another, you build a spaceship. In yet another, you eat the Legos because you’re three and don’t know any better.

Now, here’s the kicker: modal realism says all those worlds are real. The castle world? Real. The spaceship world? Also real. The Lego-eating world? Yep, that too.

It’s like every choice you could ever make gets its own world.

Pretty wild, right?

“So,” you ask, “all the worlds are just… out there?”

Yep. Floating around, doing their own thing. You’ll never visit them.

You’ll never meet your alternate selves.

But they’re there, as real as this one.

The Cultural Critics: Enemies of Infinity

Lewis doesn’t just get flak from philosophers. Writers, filmmakers, and existentialists hate his guts too.

Let’s talk about the loudest voices in the anti-modal realism camp:

Books:

  • “The Stranger” by Albert Camus: Camus says life is already absurd enough without adding infinite absurdities. If every world exists, what’s the point of fighting for meaning in this one?
  • “1984” by George Orwell: A grim reminder that one bad world is more than enough. Who needs infinite nightmares?

Movies:

  • “The Truman Show”: What’s scarier: living in a fake world or realizing there are infinite fake worlds, and none of them care about you?
  • “No Country for Old Men”: In a multiverse where anything can happen, randomness still finds a way to crush your soul.

Philosophers:

  • Immanuel Kant: Modal realism is speculative fluff. Reality is what we experience, not some infinite catalog of what-ifs.
  • Simone de Beauvoir: She’d probably call modal realism a distraction from real-world struggles. Alternate worlds don’t liberate you; they trap you in a maze of irrelevance.

The Existential Fallout: Why It Hurts

If every possibility exists, what’s the point of anything? Your successes, your failures, your deepest loves—they’re all reruns playing out somewhere else.

A world exists where you save the day, but also one where you screw it all up.

It’s like Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence, but worse. Not just one life repeated infinitely, but infinite lives, infinite mistakes, infinite triumphs. A kaleidoscope of meaninglessness.

And yet, there’s a sliver of hope in all this madness. If every world exists, this one matters more. It’s the one you’ve got. You don’t live in the world where you became a rock star or the one where you got eaten by a shark.

You live in this world, with its heartbreak and beauty and stupid, small victories.

The Final Word: Choose Wisely

Here’s the deal: modal realism forces you to confront the infinite.

Most philosophers can’t handle it. Hell, most people can’t handle it. But maybe that’s the point. Facing the abyss isn’t about finding answers—it’s about making choices.

Because if every world exists, the one you choose to live in is everything.

Don’t wait for meaning to find you. Build it. Fight for it.

Even if it’s small and doesn’t make sense. Especially then.

Comments

Leave a Reply