by Paul Anlee
"We still haven’t been able to develop a protein to digest the silicene filaments or degrade the semiconductor nanoparticles. The team was working on several ideas, but when Sharon…when she passed, her team lost direction. The whole project lost momentum, Paul. They were….we all were…just lost without her. We nearly shut down the whole project. It was her students who convinced me that her work was important, that the only way to make her death count for something was to continue the work.
“So we did. We started picking up the pieces; and we're still trying to catch up. We've developed a couple of failsafe protocols to shut down dendy processing, but it doesn't get rid of them. Even if we could, we’re not sure how disassembling an established lattice might affect the brain. That’s a study we hope to do in a few years.” Nick took a breath and gathered his thoughts. “Paul, you’re an engineer. You know that some systems are hard to turn off.”
“I can pull the plug on any of my systems.”
“Can you?” Nick challenged. “Look at the internet. Sure, you can turn it off, but the ramifications to our connected society would be catastrophic.”
Paul stared at him, “They’re not the same.” His hand trembled as he sipped his coffee. “You said you can shut down their processing. Will that help Darian? Will it prevent another seizure?”
Relieved from defending himself, his research, and Sharon’s actions, Nick focused on the fact that there was a problem to solve and a boy's life to save. This was something they could deal with.
“Well, the modern dendy lattice is chemically restricted to certain sections of the brain. It’s too late to change Darian’s lattice; the dendies are already resident throughout. Sharon was working on a self-replicating version before the accident. Darian’s had that version in his system a long time now, so we have to assume that they’ve had plenty of time to reproduce and get established.”
“I still don’t understand how you can move from theoretical pencil scratches and computer models into the real world, without first having worked out multiple, redundant fail safes. This is my son we’re talking about. Darian wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t made the dendies self-replicating.”
“We stopped using that version once NANOSERPA was passed. You know, the Nanotechnology Self-Replication Prevention Act.”
“Talk about closing the barn door after the horses have escaped!”
“I know, I know. Let’s just stick to the problem at hand, shall we? The lattice itself shouldn’t cause any harm. All the components are completely bio-compatible. It must be the software causing the problem.”
“Is there something wrong with their operating system?”
“No, not per se,” replied Nick. “But, if the dendies are interacting with the RAS, then whenever they're faced with a barrage of new information, they could shut down the whole brain and retreat into batch processing mode.”
That was too much for Paul to follow. “RAS?”
“The brain’s Reticular Activating System. The RAS connects brain activity to the body. When the system is turned off, brain activity is largely disconnected from a muscular response. It’s why you don’t physically act out every action when you dream. When you looked at Darian’s x-ray, did you see any dendies in his brain stem? What about in the claustrum, thalamic, hypothalamic, or mesencephalic regions?”
Paul’s blank stare pulled Nick back to reality. “Sorry. Let’s assume the dendies have spread everywhere in his brain by now, and that they shut down the RAS whenever they need to process a lot of information. For example, after reading a bunch of technical or scientific articles. That’s good news. We can work with that. We can alter their programming so they don’t go into hyper-processing shutdown mode unless the RAS is already in the ‘off’ state.”
“Which means what?”
“Which means, we can alter their operating system so the dendies only re-organize when Darian’s asleep. When he dreams, they’ll go to work.”
17
“I DON’T THINK I CAN GO TO CHURCH ANYMORE.”
Paul nearly choked. What in Heaven’s name? He finished chewing, swallowed, and looked at his son. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”
“I think I’m an atheist now.”
"Is that so?" He didn’t expect that.
The previous six months had whirled past. Once Nick reprogrammed Darian’s dendy lattice to coordinate its hyper-processing with the boy’s sleep cycle, the seizures stopped, and Darian’s learning accelerated exponentially.
The boy sailed through middle school and high school course material as fast as his heightened reading speed would allow. The only things impeding his progress were the school’s bureaucratic compulsion to test him at each level, and his counselor’s resistance to advancing Darian before he was emotionally and socially ready.
When they finally deemed him ready, they set a graduation date. He considered his options, and accepted an invitation from the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science at MIT. He was healthier than ever and had been adjusting well. His future looked bright.
Paul sighed. It wasn’t hard to imagine how Darian might attribute his good fortune to his dendies and to the scientists at Neuro Nano, rather than to God’s plan for him. God works in mysterious ways. Darian was proving to be one of His greatest mysteries ever.
He put down his fork, and gave the conversation his full attention. “I understand that everything is coming pretty easily to you these days but, trust me on this, everyone needs to have faith in a higher power to help carry them through the tough times.”
“I can see that having faith is useful,” Darian acknowledged.
Paul was having a difficult time keeping up with his son’s thinking these days. The boy was venturing down intellectual avenues his father was more and more often unable to follow.
“When your mother died, my faith was the only thing that enabled me to carry on. I knew that God must have a plan, though it wasn’t at all clear to me, and I knew that she was in a better place.”
Darian laughed. “Oh, Dad. Your belief system is based on too many unproven and wild assumptions to list in a reasonable amount of time.”
Paul was taken aback by his son’s tone. “Perhaps. But, I am still your father and you will treat me with respect.” It had taken considerable conscious effort to keep his voice level.
“Sorry,” Darian offered, unconvincingly.
Paul held his son’s steadfast gaze, asserting silent parental authority. Only when his son looked down did he pick up his fork and resume eating.
But Darian wasn’t done. “The thing is, since I no longer find it reasonable or rational that God exists, it would be a sham to attend church services. I can't worship something I don’t consider real.”
Paul placed his fork gently and deliberately on the rim of his plate, and folded his hands in his lap. He’s just a teenager–he reminded himself. He may have an immeasurable IQ, but he’s still a teenager. Rebellion is his duty. “Okay, so tell me, why have you stopped believing in God?”
“It’s not so much that I don’t believe in any specific god, say the Christian one or the Muslim one. It just seems that the concept of any god doesn’t fit with what we know about the universe. Under those circumstances, I would think that the burden of proof for something so improbable should rest with the claim of the believer of the particular deity.
“Even if one were to dismiss a fundamental interpretation of the Bible or Quran as being provably incorrect, and were to argue in favor of a more complex version of a hypothetical god, that god can be demonstrated to be a logical contradiction and therefore not to exist.”
“And how do you get that, exactly?” They had never broached this subject before and he needed a moment to wade through the complexity. “Maybe you could simplify it for me; you know, me being a mere mortal and all.”
Darian responded without hesitation, “The Bible says that an omniscient and omnipotent God created the universe, not God is the universe, righ
t? In fact, pretty much all creation stories say that God is not of the universe but is formless and timeless, outside the universe He created.”
“I didn’t know you read your Bible or listened at church, for that matter.”
“Oh, I listen to everything. I don’t believe what everyone says, though, just because they say it’s true. Anyway, that definition of God is self-contradictory.”
“Oh, really? How do you figure?”
“What would it mean to be the Creator?”
“The standard definition? To have made the stars, the planets, all life.”
“So, to have formed the various forms of matter and energy based on the pre-existing natural laws of the universe?” Darian asked.
“Well…no, not exactly.”
“No, that wouldn’t work. The Creator can’t operate solely within the natural laws of this universe, or we’d have to posit an even higher intelligence that made the natural laws in the first place.”
“Okay. I’ll give you that.”
“So, in fact, God the Creator can’t be just any higher intelligence or power but rather THE highest intelligence or power possible. One that is capable of making the natural laws that govern matter and energy in the universe?”
“I guess…” Paul knew he was being maneuvered down a logical path he didn’t want to follow, but he couldn’t see an off-ramp. He’d have to tag along for now. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say, yes.”
“So, who made the natural laws that permit the existence of God?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody makes natural laws that govern God! He is all-powerful and eternal.”
“He just exists, right?”
“That’s what I’m saying. God exists.”
“How do you mean He exists? What’s He made of? How does He work? What does He think with?”
“God is a nameless essence, beyond human fathoming.”
“Well, if He exists, one would think He’s composed of something rather than nothing, right? Maybe not the same stuff of this universe, maybe some kind of spiritual energy or something like that, but not nothing.”
“No, he’s not nothing.”
“Okay, we can agree: if God exists, He’s something rather than nothing.”
“Yes, we can agree on that.” Paul felt a logical trap closing in.
“Then, what are the laws of nature that govern the something that God’s made of? Where did they come from?”
“They didn’t come from anywhere. They’re eternal, like God.”
“So there are laws of nature, somewhere outside of our universe, that God didn’t make?”
“The eternal laws of God’s essence? Maybe.”
“Can God alter the laws of nature that govern God’s existence? Could he make a copy of himself, for instance?”
“That one makes my brain hurt,” Paul complained.
“Because if He can’t, then He’s not omnipotent. Not if there are some other laws of nature He didn’t determine, the ones that govern His existence. He didn’t make those laws.”
“Maybe not those. But, in the context of this universe, He’s all-powerful.”
“But then, we’d have two ways that laws of nature could come about. There’s one set that governs God’s existence—that determines how His essence works—and there’s another set that He made for our universe.”
Paul grasped for theological straws. “Maybe God is just the Creator of this universe, not all universes. Maybe God has His own God.”
“And maybe that God also has a God in His universe. And then that God has a God who created His universe,” suggested Darian.
Paul frowned.
“If that’s the case, why don’t we just cut out the middlemen, and worship the God at the top of the heap? Oh, wait. There is no top. It’s just Gods all the way up.”
“Darian, this argument is getting ridiculous. It’s impossible to make natural laws. They’re just there. God used the natural laws to make all Creation.”
“The natural laws just exist?”
“That’s right.”
“And they always did?” Paul could feel the trap closing in.
“Yes.”
“Therefore, no one made the natural laws; they weren’t created. Therefore, there is no ultimate Creator, for there was something before Him, some set of natural laws. Therefore, God the Creator, or at least God the ultimate Creator, doesn’t exist!”
Paul couldn’t help but follow the logic. At the same time, he wasn’t about to give up his faith so easily. “You’re just playing semantics with me. Even if the natural laws just exist, God would have always, necessarily, existed alongside them.”
“Then, we can say they are equivalent, even equal? God is natural law, and natural law is God?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about that for a second.”
“But if they’ve both necessarily existed together, forever, it would be impossible to have one without the other.”
“Yes, impossible.”
“So, together, they are a single thing?”
“I think I see where you’re going.”
“If by God we mean natural laws and vice versa, then either you have to conclude that natural laws are intelligent and intentional, or you have to conclude that God is just another way of saying Nature.”
“Maybe that is all I’m saying. God is another way of saying Nature.”
“Even more, God is Nature.”
“Okay, sure. God is Nature.”
“And Nature just is, without intelligence or intention. God the Creator is not a conscious entity, just Nature at work.”
“I guess you’re right,” Paul had never been unhappier to be led to a new way of thinking about something. “Nature is God, and God is Nature. There is no Higher Intelligence in the sky with a Plan for humanity. Or if there is, He’s not an all-powerful ‘God’, just someone a lot smarter than us.” He looked miserable.
Darian suddenly realized that, although he was winning the argument intellectually, he was taking something important from his father. “Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Well, I hope being so damn smart helps you be happier, and to find meaning and purpose in life without any guidance from God.” Paul pushed his food around his plate. Why did his chest feel so heavy? Maybe a little resentment at being bested? Sure, maybe a little. At the same time, he felt a reluctant twinge of pride in how well Darian had argued.
He let the flood of uncomfortable questions wash over him. If the kid is right, then what happened to Sharon’s soul after her death? How can we find purpose in life if not through doing God’s work? How could the universe have popped into existence without anyone creating it? He was too tired to discuss it any further, and he had no answers of his own. At least, none that would satisfy Darian.
No longer sure that it would help, Paul said a quick prayer that Darian might someday find the answers he sought. For all his years of bible study, he still couldn’t find the answers to his own questions.
Darian finished his meal in silence.
Later that night, before heading to bed, Paul couldn’t stop himself from launching back in, “Do you hate religion, or just us Christians? Are we just some inferior species to you? Fools?” He regretted his words as soon as he heard them but there they were, spoken.
As brilliant as his lattice made him, as full of knowledge, and as understanding as he’d become, Darian was still a sensitive teenager and capable of being hurt. His confident young face crumpled, and he looked like he would break. “No, I don’t hate anyone, and I don’t think you’re all fools.”
“Do you hate people who can’t see the Truth the way you do, or do you just feel sorry for them?” Paul couldn’t stop himself; the words kept tumbling out.
“Dad, I don’t hate people because they don’t know everything. I don’t know everything. If people find strength in some belief system that doesn’t make sense to me, that doesn’t make them bad or inferior, just human.”
�
��I see, just human. Poor creatures.”
Darian didn’t bite. “Look, I’ve been reading a lot of biology these days, and clearly a behavioral trait as deeply ingrained as unreasonable faith, faith in something without any good evidence, must have some inheritable advantage in order to have survived in the species so long.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine that we were all machines with great computational power but no emotions. What principles would we use to guide our activities? How would we decide what to do with ourselves? How could we distinguish good activities from bad? Useful from useless? Our computers are machines and they can only do what they’re told. So what motivates us otherwise? What gives us inner strength? Our irrational emotions. And faith is one of those emotions.”
“So having faith provides motivation?”
“Sure. Faith has given people the courage to explore the world when fear of the unknown incapacitated those around them. It has driven people to pursue their ideas in business, science, technology, and the arts despite disbelief and derision from their family and peers. When we're fighting a losing battle—whether individual or full-scale war—and rational assessment would suggest we stop struggling and give up, faith gives us the motivation and inner strength to carry on. Faith is very powerful. Historically, great confidence has led humanity to great achievements.”
Paul smiled wryly. “Maybe that big brain of yours is good at something besides science and technology, after all.”
“Thanks…I think. But faith can get carried away and lead people to believe things that are completely untrue, just because someone claims it to be true. It's like we're wired to trust people who express great confidence in their ideas.
“The thing is, psychos, sociopaths, and charlatans can express great confidence as well as true leaders. And people can’t always tell one from the other. Some profess such strong faith that others think they must be divinely inspired and will give up wealth and family to follow someone like that on their crazy journey.
“But confidence is a sign that someone believes they’re right, not that they are actually right. In fact, sometimes, the more outrageous the person's belief, the greater the confidence and fervor it's expressed with. This has helped a lot of extremely improbable claims become widely accepted.”