A Boltzmann brain, named for physicist Ludwig Boltzmann, is a hypothetical, self-aware entity that manifests itself out of random fluctuations in a state of chaos. To put this more simply, suppose you existed, with all of your memories, in a void -- in nothingness made real. You could remember things that had happened to you, but without anything around you it would be unclear how these things happened. You would be a Boltzmann brain. But, what happens if we take the "brain" out of the void? How would it change? We can say that life remains fairly constant in some ways and wouldn't change someone more than they would change themselves. For example, there is an ocean between the Americas and Eurasia, it is hot in the summer and cold in the winter, and when it rains and the water hits my window just right I think someone is at my door; but these things don't impact me psychologically. By this logic, we can imagine a singular person walking around an Earth similar to ours without drastic change in their makeup. And we can fill in other, less predictable things; dogs tend to act in a way that we like, and mosquitoes tend to act in a way that we don't. So now, our "brain" is walking around an Earth that matches ours biologically as well. Likewise, can we add in people too? Or are their actions unpredictable enough to change our "brain"?
To constrain Ellison's idea of invisibility to merely his narrator in Invisible Man, or even black people in general, is a dastardly misunderstanding of several of his points in the book. The vet himself points out how Mr. Norton and the narrator are both invisible to each other in different ways. But, does this mean that we all exist invisibly to each other, no more than the simple "brain" walking around our biologically similar Earth with only caricatures of each other to share it with? The answer, of course, is no -- we share ourselves with a choice few of these caricatures (calling them such odd terms as "friends" and "family") and, in so doing, lose our invisibility. However, it's important to remember that everybody is invisible to somebody. At times, lives can even depend on this. Let me explain.
In chapter fifteen, the narrator's antics trying to rid himself of his package reminded me of a story my mother occasionally tells. Back when she was only a wee lass in high school, she dated a boy who, for simplicity's sake, we'll call Johnny. Johnny was a good kid himself, but his father had a few ... quirks. Johnny's father didn't like it when people walked behind him or when he otherwise couldn't see them around him, and so he'd always let them pass. Occasionally, Johnny's father disappeared for a while, and neither Johnny nor the rest of his family ever talked about it. Once a month or so, a man would drive up to Johnny's door, drop off a paper bag, and drive off. Johnny's father would come out and pick up his cash (for that, and not flaming fecal matter, was what lied inside every time). But, when my mother saw this happen, she was warned to not tell anyone about it, just as Johnny's family didn't. You see, Chicago exerts its power even down in Danville, where they lived; Johnny's father was connected with the mafia. His entire existence hinged upon his ability to stay invisible. Should the feds or anybody who would do him and his family harm discover him (or any member of the mafia), he would have to flee. So, letting others fill in their own images of him instead of shouting the truth from the rooftops was the easiest way to survive.
Still, going back to our original question, does adding humans invalidate our Boltzmann brain? Would they somehow intrinsically change it? And here is where "invisibility" truly comes into play. Just like our dogs and mosquitoes could be considered relatively constant above, the cardboard cutout of the man we don't see doesn't change. That is, what we see of them stays the same until we go back and actually see them. Real live humans are all over the place psychologically. The odds are small that one random person will perfectly match up to another random person ideologically. Due to this, our "brain" will start to be influenced by all of these different people. Without any other people, to the "brain," an empty room as no different intrinsically than a vibrant forest. The "brain" fills it in with ideas it comes up with itself, yet this is nothing more than it confirming its own ideas. On the other hand, even with other people, only the people we actually see matter, like our friends and family. And this is where the narrator in Invisible Man gains his total invisibility from; nobody knows the true him anymore. When the Brotherhood assigns him a new name, he dies to his family and the few people he could call friends; now he has only colleagues and responsibilities. While his personality was earlier defined by what he thought others wanted of him, it was also what he wanted. Now, what he wants and what others demand of him are not necessarily the same, and he is beginning to disappear behind this new persona because of it. And as this happens, he becomes more like the Boltzmann brain; walking around where nobody even knows his name, the people around him become a canvas on which he can demonstrate his emotions and feelings, but doing nothing to him in return.
Very interesting stuff--keep all this in mind as you get to the end of the novel, where Ellison finally fleshes out his trope of invisibility. Because you're right, we absolutely should not view invisibility as something unique to this narrator, or to racial minorities, but as a potential constant of human social identity across the board (and you describe that compellingly--and head-spinningly!--here). Remember, the narrator says he "discovered" his invisibility, as if it had been there all along. It's a matter of consciousness, of awareness, or maybe even a kind of enlightenment. And as you say, the vet lays this all out near the start of the novel--and Norton is just as invisible as the narrator, in his formulation.
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