by I K Dirac
“Not exactly. From what I remember it’s more about where gods come from. They’re all out there somewhere, although most of the time we can’t see them. A lot of sums in it. Always was useless at sums. Are you any good at sums, Jim?”
Jim acknowledged that mathematics had been his favourite subject.
Culpepper seemed impressed.
“Maybe you could try reading yourself, but if you want my advice, try just a bit at a time. It's very long and not easy going. Not easy going at all. Found myself going to sleep after a couple of pages.”
Jim felt undeterred by any possible soporific effects. Culpepper went over to a terminal in the corner of the room.
“Take a look at this.”
He made a couple of gestures. The screen flickered into life and a rather curious diagram appeared on it.
The Bell Curve of Cognition
In A Mathematical Theory of Cognition1 Taneist De'neev showed that understanding was an emergent property of knowledge in sentient organisms. Accumulation of knowledge enabled a sentient, either by intuition or reasoning, to form a theory of cognition,2 enabling the anticipation or explanation of events and thus the accumulation of further knowledge.
In The Evolutionary Limits of Intelligence,3 De'neev's co-worker Derbil Strengupan demonstrated that feedback effects placed limits on the level of intelligence produced by any evolutionary pathway. De'neev further demonstrated that, given reasonable boundary conditions, the Strengupan limit approached asymptotically the theoretical limit of understanding capable of being generated by any physical system.4
Consequently, beyond a certain point, understanding was independent of knowledge accumulation. Any further accumulation did not add to understanding. That point was defined by De'neev as the point at which everything that could be understood was understood, now referred to as the De'neev maximum.
In the theory, De'neev further defined the gnoston,5 the unit of understanding. The De'neev–Strengupan Diagram which plotted the gnoston number over time for organizations of sentient organisms showed that it was not linear but was, to a first approximation, Gaussian. For any rate of knowledge accumulation, the gnoston number initially increased, but then deviated from linear, reaching a maximum before returning to a level similar to what it had been initially. It is often referred to as The Bell Curve of Cognition.
The reason, De'neev showed, was that as understanding increased, its results would be progressively encoded algorithmically and transferred to Inference Engines (IE)6 and these would increasingly handle all organizational aspects of their societies.
As the De'neev maximum was approached, virtually all understanding was transferred and there was no point in its further pursuit. It has now been shown that there is no stable solution to the De'neev equations at or near the maximum.7 Since all their physical systems were operated through Inference Engines, without the impetus for further understanding, sentient societies would inevitably drift back to earlier modes of thought.
The diagram shows a typical De'neevian development. In very primitive societies, supernatural aspects would be ascribed to much of the natural world and animistic or polytheistic beliefs would be the norm. Following that, belief in some guiding principle generally led to some form of monotheism, initially heavily bound by ritual and supernatural beliefs, but gradually mutating into a more generalized theism as knowledge and understanding of the physical world developed. Near the De'neev maximum, religious belief would be seen as mere superstition and devoid of any explanatory function. Once the pursuit of knowledge and understanding was unnecessary, societies initially tended to adopt types of spiritualism but since these usually lacked form or ritual they were vulnerable to religions that offered certainty and rejected the intellectual basis of belief. They would concentrate instead on mystery, ritual and adherence to doctrine. Often, too, such societies would strongly identify with an all-knowing, all-powerful deity who demanded obedience and punished idolaters. That would lead inevitably to conflict.
Principia Ontologica*, vol ii, ch 75, pp 3458-9
*This excerpt is from the 9th edition, the last to be edited by Sreedanath Mandragore before his untimely demise and, as such, the last that can be considered reliable.
References
1. T. De'neev, A Mathematical Theory of Cognition, Aldebaran Monographs.
2. The need for cognition (NFC), and hence the development of a theory of cognition, has been variously defined as "a need to structure relevant situations in meaningful, integrated ways" and "a need to understand and make reasonable the experiential world". Higher NFC is associated with increased appreciation of debate, idea evaluation and problem-solving.
3. D. Strengupan, The Evolutionary Limits of Intelligence, Aldeberan Monographs.
4. De'neev showed that the Strengupan limit was connected to, but not identical with, the Bekenstein bound, the upper limit on the entropy S, or information I, that can be contained within a given finite region of space which has a finite amount of energy. This implies that there is a maximum information-processing rate for a physical system that has a finite size and energy.
5. For more detail see Chapter 6, “Gnoston and Information Theory” in De'neev, op. cit., pp 430-521. The gnoston number is normally taken as the planetary wide mean.
6. In very ancient texts this is sometimes referred to as Artificial Intelligence, a misnomer since it is neither artificial nor intelligent. Instead it depends on statistical techniques to draw inferences from accumulated data. Strengupan showed that such algorithmic methods can deal only with those questions that are, at least in principle, computable, while cognition involves the ability to handle non-computable questions. Consequently an inference engine, however sophisticated, could never possess cognition or be conscious.
7. The reason why no stable solution exists near the maximum is that, as knowledge and hence cognition increases, it becomes the preserve of fewer and fewer individuals while more and more of the organizational aspects of society are taken over by inference engines. All solutions to the De'neev equations show that such a situation can last only a short period of time before the knowledge priesthood is overthrown by individuals or cabals, jealous of their privileges, who often rise to power by manipulating the prejudices of bigoted and ignorant masses.
Jim reread the text several times in an effort to understand it, but could not entirely convince himself that he did.
“Is he saying that we have forgotten everything we once knew?”
Culpepper’s chuckle returned.
“Well I’ve certainly forgotten plenty and a jolly good thing, too. There’s no end of things I don’t wish to know. Who wants their brains filled with a load of useless knowledge? That’s what the Informatrix is for. It takes care of all that stuff so we can get on with doing what we fancy.”
“Surely there are some things you would like to know, some questions you would like answered?”
The Doctor shook his head.
“How do I know what I don’t know, Jim? And whatever it is I don’t know, the Informatrix knows far more about it than I ever could, so why should I bother? Haven’t you heard the expression ‘Ignorance is bliss’? There are far more important things to fill your mind with than knowledge. Too much knowledge addles the brain. Trust me. I’m a doctor. I know about these things.”
8
De la Beche ran his fingers absent-mindedly over his favourite brooch as he contemplated the scene. The officers of the Bountiful’s crew had been summoned to give their ideas on how the Kwokkah might be recovered. As well as Mister Betelgeuse and Dr Culpepper, they were the helmsman, Blind Pete, the signals operator Gobby, and the ordinance master, Gunpowder Jack Black. He had dubbed them the “brains trust”, although on further reflection some of them were distinctly lacking in either quality. Detailed planning was not normally required in the privateering business. Short, sharp actions, with a large admixture of low cunning, unscrupulousness and brio, were usually enough to secure a gratifying outcome.
The long silence was broken by Mister Betelgeuse.
“If I may state the problem simply, Captain: we do not know what we are looking for and we do not know where it might be.”
“In a nutshell, Mister Betelgeuse, in a nutshell. The one thing we do know is that the Orsonians say they have it. Frankly, I am very doubtful. I never believe a word any of them say. You only have to take one look at the way they dress to know they are lying. Perhaps that font of all misanthropic wisdom, McTavish, can help.” He raised his voice, “McTavish!” The tartan hologram appeared before them. “Ah McTavish. What do you know about Orsonians?”
McTavish grimaced.
“D’ye ken whit a bargepole is, Captain?”
“I don’t believe I ‘ken’ anything, McTavish. What are you talking about?”
McTavish made another face.
“It’s whit ye dinna want to touch them wi’, Captain.”
This time de la Beche expressed distaste.
“I don’t want to touch them with anything, McTavish. What about Kwokkahs? Ring any bells?”
McTavish turned red in the face.
“I canna go there, Captain.”
“Why ever not?”
“It’s religion, Captain. I canna do religion. The circuits willnae allow it.”
De la Beche shook his head in exasperation.
“We seem to be at a bit of a dead end.”
Mister Betelgeuse moved his head very slightly in what may have been a nod of assent.
“In the absence of any immediately obvious course of action, Captain, I would suggest that it might be appropriate to visit Orson.”
De la Beche surveyed the blank expressions facing him.
“If no one has any better suggestions, that is what we will do. Mister Betelgeuse and Dr Culpepper will come with me. We had better have a note-taker as well. You know what store Splenditheran sets by record-keeping. Someone get me Jim.”
9
The planet Orson, for those unfamiliar with it, would once have been described by most realtors as a difficult sell. It had a harsh climate – very cold winters and very hot summers over almost all of its surface. Its native flora and fauna were unprepossessing and of little economic value and its vistas uninspiring. It did, however, have some advantages. It occupied a strategic position on one of the inner arms of the Galaxy; it contained copious quantities of all the materials necessary for technological development, and its original ruling class, probably by dint of the climate, were disciplined and warlike and quickly acquired an empire in the surrounding environs once they had mastered the techniques of space travel.
Most of the riches of the empire flowed back to Orson. It became one of the most affluent planets in the Galaxy. Much of the planet was air-conditioned, ameliorating the harshness of the climate. The Orsonian rulers quickly gave up making or growing things for themselves. Everything necessary for their very luxurious lifestyles was imported. Only the finest quality food and drink were allowed to be consumed. The Orsonian market for luxury goods was larger than the rest of their empire combined.
No extravagance was considered too great, no luxury excessive. As a result, the original warlike and disciplined nature of the elite was transformed into one of extreme peevishness and utter self-indulgence. All menial and service jobs are now performed by imported labour. All top positions are reserved for the elite, while the lower orders are either engaged in the military or in its vast and unwieldy bureaucracy.
The Orsonian elite are also utterly contemptuous of almost all who have the misfortune not be them. They do, however, make an exception for the wealthy of the Galaxy, who flock to Orson to enjoy experiences, sensory and aesthetic, that are unavailable anywhere else in the empire, while, naturally, being relieved of a great deal of their wealth. Visitors are not allowed to set foot on Orson until they have passed through alien processing, which is held on a large space station orbiting the planet. Visiting craft have to certify that any armaments are in non-operational mode. They are not allowed to dock. Instead, a ferry is sent to transport visitors to the station and then to the planet itself, if they pass muster. Only the hyper-wealthy, on payment of the appropriate consideration to well-placed Orsonians, are allowed to keep ferries for their personal use.
An extract from“Lonely Planets”, the memoirs of Gaudi Brandeschi, interstellar traveller and troubadour. The book is banned in most Galactic jurisdictions on grounds ranging from salacious recitation to lèse-majesté. Several arrest warrants for Brandeschi are extant. His current whereabouts are unknown.
The crew of the Bountiful found themselves facing a large, portly Orsonian in a tight-fitting uniform. He clearly viewed de la Beche, who was wearing a coat of loose, asymmetrical organza ruffles in a combination of black and white with a ribbon tie opening in the front, with a mixture of disbelief and distaste.
“Going somewhere, are we?”
De la Beche gave him a smile.
“I do hope so, darling. We are here to enjoy the delights of your splendid planet.”
The Orsonian frowned and then his expression turned into a smirk.
“You look as if you think you’re delightful enough already. Why should I let you in?”
De la Beche leaned towards him and examined the badge on his chest.
“Now, Alien Processing Officer 7621, if that really is your name, I am Sir Sechaverall de la Beche, bart, Captain of the renowned HMS Bountiful. We have performed signal deeds for the great and good of your empire, a fact that you can easily ascertain if you bestir yourself. We are here to enjoy the well-deserved rewards of those deeds and I am sure you will be only too pleased to assist us.”
The Orsonian stared at them and then swallowed.
“Alright then, I’ll let you in, just this once. But watch your step. Go to Waiting Dock 12.”
De la Beche beamed.
“And you watch yours, Alien Processing Officer 7621.”
Their ferry finally arrived several hours late, due, it transpired, to the antics of a party from one of the empire’s minor planets, whose celebrations were still in full swing. They tumbled out of the airlock doors still inebriated, singing incomprehensible songs of a clearly bawdy nature, and were immediately seized by Orsonian guards who, after kicking several of them unconscious, carted them off to nearby cells. The detritus from the party was all around when the Bountiful crew boarded the ferry. Cheap souvenirs, discarded clothing, remnants of meals and objects of an indeterminate nature littered its interior. De la Beche wrinkled his nose.
“I’m told they were celebrating the impending nuptials of one of their number. Oblivion is always preferable to contemplating the unendurable.”
The ferry descended towards the planet’s capital, Orsonopolis, which covered a huge area of one of its continents. Many of its innumerable districts were enclaves for visitors from other planets who needed a respite from the delights of the city. The huge, sprawling centre contained some of the most magnificent buildings in the entire Galaxy, as well as places of culture, gastronomy and entertainment catering for every conceivable taste. De la Beche pored over a screen that listed the best hotels in the city, not liking what he was seeing.
“They are all so vulgar. ‘This opulent suite glimmers in gold leaf, stucco, ivory, silver, ornate mirrors and furniture, and Aldebaran marble floors.’ Have you ever seen anything so hideous?”
His eyes almost glazed over as the screen flashed up ever more affronts to good taste. Suddenly he thought he saw something more to his liking.
“Ah, now that is more like it: 'The Syllabbubian Palace Hotel offers Regency furniture, ornate antiques, coordinated colour themes, and silk and damask accents.' It's run by Syllabubbians. Some of them have taste, I believe, unlike the appalling Orsonians, who can always be relied upon to pile the vulgar upon the banal. We shall stay there.”
A taxi took them on the long and expensive trip from the ferry port to the hotel. The driver, belying the Orsonian reputation for sullen aloofness, was all t
oo chatty.
“Going to the Syllabubbian Palace, eh? Interesting choice, if you don't mind me saying so.”
“Really, darling?” said de la Beche. “Why do you say that?”
“Well it's not your usual tourist joint, is it? The rich have all got their villas, but the ones that come for a bit of fun, they all want something a bit louder, a bit more lively. They come here, get pissed, get laid, get skint and get out. That's the way it usually goes, but you don't look like that sort, if you don't mind me saying.”
“Well you have said it, whether we mind or not, but as it happens, you are right. We are here for entirely different reasons. We wish to imbibe the culture of this great city of yours. Where do you suggest we start?”
The driver thought for a few seconds.
“The big thing this week is the Triumph. You could start there.”
“The Triumph?”
“Yeah. The High Admiral of our fleet, he's just been given a Triumph and appointed Triumphicator on account of his great victory over the Mandrinians. They're part of the Empire now. About time, if you ask me. They were always getting uppity, causing trouble. They needed a good hiding and that's what they got. You must have heard of it.”
“I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up with the news lately. So what happens in this Triumph?”
The driver gave a big smile.
“You name it. It's one big party. There's shows and dancing; all the food and the booze is laid on free and then there's the Parade.”
“The Parade. Do tell me more.”
“The High Admiral will be in a great big gold coach drawn by four white Gryphodons, the only ones on Orson. Cost a fortune so they say. Never seen one myself. He’s top dog now. Everyone has to kowtow to him. He’ll be sitting in his carriage, soaking it all in and waving to the crowd. Everyone will be in the parade – all the high and mighty, all the military top brass. They’ll parade the prisoners, the Mandrinian bigwigs, who won’t be long for this world or any other, and wagon-loads of loot that they captured. It'll be a fantastic sight. You don’t want to miss it.”