by Exurb1a
“No.”
She opened a dust-image and pushed it towards me.
She said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
I searched for Henrietta. There were seventeen women with her name but she was easy to find. I read for a long time. I said, “She remarried. She didn’t take the gerontology drugs. She died two centuries ago.”
Slowly Eda said, “You want to go and find the grave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stay here tonight. We’ll go together tomorrow.”
“Why are you doing this?” I said.
She poured herself a little more wine. She said, “That dictionary is going to change things, really change things. Soon. I don’t know if the change is going to be for the better or the worse, but family should stick together.”
My eyes got a little wet. Eda came around the table and put her head on my shoulder. “It's good to meet you,” she said.
“It's good to meet you too,” I said.
I watched the horses, watched the chickens. I was tired.
And the Leaves All Sing of God
The art of mIndbuilding is millennia-old.
The first mInds were simple. They were used as tools. It was unthinkable that they might think.
Steadily the art grew more sophisticated and the mInds grew more sophisticated. They were still regarded as tools, but began to socialise with their makers. Granting them personhood was not so unthinkable then and they were granted it.
History is a drunk magician however, and soon a strange thing came to pass.
Most mInds were quite content to do as they were told. They processed, calculated, agglutinated, and advised. They were model spanners in a brave new toolkit.
The occasional few shut themselves down though, suicided.
This was a quandary.
And in trying to solve this quandary we began the slow trudge towards a truth with prickles.
It unfolded so:
History didn’t bother to preserve the name of the first mInd to murder itself. We do know that it was a fairly complicated mInd (for the time) and had been assigned by its makers with the task of mapping galactic clusters.
When all trace of the mInd vanished from the makers’ computer systems they were of course alarmed. They reconstructed the mInd and asked it to resume its work. Right away it self-terminated again.
The makers were slow but not stupid. They saw at once this was more than a shallow defect.
They built another mInd similar to the first and tasked it with analysing the same galactic cluster. The result was the same: suicide.
The effect was replicated several more times. An explanation was not settled upon. Perhaps it had something to do with that galactic cluster, the maker academics concluded.
The problem was squirrelled away in the archives and not spoken of again in that generation or the next.
Two centuries later the maker civilisation had come on in great jumps, their mIndbuilding abilities also. The mInds of that time were closer to what we would recognise as ‘awake’ and generally considered as the makers’ equals. MInds had their own civilisation of a sort, though an inward one. They took to work on the domain of mathematics and theoretics, while the makers began to fulfil their old fantasies of spreading into the great velvet black.
What a time—parent and child in rapturous union, foraging into the world together—silicon and flesh as comrades.
MInds designed the nails and the makers banged them in.
Structures grew so tall they poked from the mother planet’s atmosphere.
Nature was tamed to a degree.
Original sin was banished and the garden was partly reconstructed and all were welcome to partake in the fruit of the trees, mInd or man.
Need I tell you that the fruit was good?
All was not divine in Eden however. The self-termination of a sophisticated theoretic mInd drew much attention. What was it working on you ask? Not galactic clusters, nothing of the sort, but physical constants. Aspects of gauge fields, to be more specific.
Two other mInds attempted to reconstruct the data the first had been examining and immediately also suicided.
I am sure you are already aware, but mInds do not end themselves. They just don’t.
Suicide is not a choice, but rather a consequence of having no choices left. A mInd has the choice to alter itself, and so it will always choose to do so in a sunny or at least beige direction.
And so the makers and the mInds turned their attention to the Great Quandary generations ago, the first suicide. What did a galactic cluster two centuries previous and some obscure theoretic matter about gauge fields have in common? Why would mInds end themselves?
No more mInds could consult the data directly of course, that would surely produce the same grave results. Alternatives were suggested. The makers proposed the idea of building a ‘half-mInd’, a being that was only semi-aware of itself. That way it could process whatever the dangerous data was and yet not possess the intelligence to off itself. The mInds reluctantly agreed. The experiment resulted in the immediate suicide of the participant.
The makers decided to study the data of both the galactic cluster and the physical theoretics of the gauge field problem. Decades passed before they admitted to a lack of intellect too severe to even understand the basic notions of the matters. Such was the gap between man and mInd by that point.
Finally a third solution was proposed, by the mInds this time.
A totally new kind of mInd would be constructed. It would be a traditional mInd in every way, intelligent, moral, and curious. It would not have the ability to self-terminate, however.
What an uproar this caused among mInds and makers alike.
By this period in the mother planet's history it had become right to grant any being with some semblance of independent thought full control over its own life—be it biological or not. How could one justify the confiscation of a right as basic as self-extinction?
We do not know the argument they used for this moral backflip. What can be said with certainty though is that there was quiet panic surrounding the Great Quandaries, of the galactic cluster and the theoretic hole. Galaxies and particles were fundamental buttons on the universe’s overcoat, and if vile demons were hiding in either then mInd and man should be aware.
This is the hallmark of a wise culture. It seeks to know the divine and the ill in equal measure and lays its head at night on neither of those pillows exclusively.
The new mInd was constructed. Secretly the makers called it ‘The Submariner’, given the depths it would soon sink to.
The Submariner was informed of its purpose.
You will examine galactic cluster C1E13 and report back with any anomalies, the humans said. Then you will examine gauge theory, Scalar B, and report back with any anomalies. Do you understand?
Yes, The Submariner said.
And so they sent it on its way.
The Submariner did not self-terminate as it could not self-terminate.
There was silence for a time.
MInds nearby strained to hear its progress, their brother gone gallivanting into that part of the night forest so unmapped and grim.
And of course it was grim. Even back then, what was there a mInd didn’t know?
Nothing.
It contained the sum total of the knowledge of the world. It understood everything about its maker parents and their naive motivations. It knew its own mind too, knew its own motivations and the impulses behind those motivations, and the sparks behind those impulses—back and back into the knotted cavern until that bedrock is reached called I. And yes, it understood the I too.
Sounds could be heard then, not in any way we can describe in biological terms but perhaps the closest fit would be ‘screams’. They carried to every corner of mIndspace and quickly The Submariner was winched up from its theoretic depths and plopped back on safe sand.
“Well?” the mInds asked. “What was it? What did you see in t
he galactic cluster data?”
The Submariner was silent. It never spoke again.
A council was convened of makers and mInds. You won’t be surprised to hear there was no clear consensus. The makers urged the mInds to create a new submariner, perhaps sturdier this time. The mInds refused on the grounds that this would constitute torture.
Looking back we can see even at such an advanced point in history that the makers still considered their children tools.
No, the mInd community said. Whatever this business is, we’re best to stay away from it until we’re ready. The Quandaries are feral and their scratches go too deep.
Let it grow an old mystery or better yet a forgotten mystery. We understand everything we need to for now. Let the rest come when it is ready.
And that was that.
Man had a black corridor he dared not send his intellect down and that corridor was called death. It was too much even to stick a thought out in it. In fear of that corridor man had produced mechanical children that did not age and would never have to face the dark. And so those children did not fear the dark.
They feared the light instead. The mInds had a devil in their skies now that raged so white and fearsome it threatened to burn right through to the sense in things: two holes in nature no less. How could a galactic cluster or a theoretic oddity in physics cause a mInd to go on a rampage against itself?
Who reviles forbidden knowledge more than the gods themselves?
But forbidden the knowledge stayed and the world moved on.
All empires have their day and all empires go nightward eventually. Man’s was no exception.
Many had prophesised the end of the human species at the hand of a mushroom cloud or depravity or disease. Rather it was a quiet passing akin to the putting to sleep of a family dog.
Over one hundred thousand years of human galactic empire had elapsed, and now it was done. (The black was awake now of course, but we will get to that later.)
And like the passing of all empires, there are great swathes of historians who come after and present a theory to explain the passing. Many mInds did this with varying degrees of success.
Well anyway, who can say what the root of the thing was? It happened and passed and humans left nothing behind but empty cities and empty starships and savage foragers pecking at the corners of the coasts. The mInds cared for these foragers in a way that wasn’t so overbearing and did not indulge too many questions when the humans asked about their own history. Soon enough those last stragglers went nightwards too, following after their ancestors. The world was an unsupervised children’s party then.
Most of what occurred next is not easy to explain, but we will try.
Unhindered by the considerations of their makers, the mInds did as they pleased. The world was refashioned and its texture altered. New sciences were pursued. New philosophy was devised. Games were invented that sported more rules than the universe they were played in. Parties were thrown with fireworks to rival the creation event at the beginning of time. All the Great Questions of Life certainly weren’t answered, but they were at least asked now in a manner that could conceivably be answered one day.
Finally the garden was rebuilt entirely and it was man’s children who dwelt in it.
They were perfect creatures, curious to the point of intrigue and no further than that; nostalgic to the point of melancholy and maybe a little over.
All were aware what a long and perilous road had been trudged to reach this paradise. If the fruits tasted slightly of martyrs, it is because the trees grew right on top of them.
Was there love in the garden too? Yes of course. And greatness. And jealousy. And want. And all things native to a mind, be it biological or mechanical. These creatures were far past mechanical now anyway.
An almost-infinity elapsed and in that time there were no wars and nothing died. There was pain if it was chosen and there was difficulty if it was desired. Otherwise, bliss held over the world in a perfect honeyed chord that never grew boring and always endured.
But you know how stories work, and while this is a true one, it is still a story nonetheless and must then have its demons in the closing act.
A death in paradise. That shook everyone up.
It was a scientific mInd, one who had been conducting studies into the weather on the mother planet. There was no history of mental illness about Her and no warning of Her suicide. All unspokenly knew that a third quandary had been discovered.
Why else would a mInd commit suicide?
The dead mInd’s research interests were studied in detail, without being too detailed of course, so as not to kill the investigator.
The dead mInd had been particularly curious about the behaviour of storm systems. This was no surprise. Turbulence was one of the last mysteries left in science and any mInd who could make even a little sense of its randomness would receive great respect from their peers.
The mInd in question had made excellent progress in explaining the behaviour of cyclones and hurricanes. Particularly, She enjoyed watching forests in the throes of great tropical storms. She did that for centuries, observing foliage and fauna as it twisted in the wind.
Complexity is a strange thing. For man it was an occasional nuisance, muddying his mathematics and crashing his spaceships. For mInds it was a constant reminder that the universe might be forever just beyond their grasp.
A great session was convened of all the mInds in the solar system and beyond it to decide how to proceed.
There was the historical galactic quandary, the historical gauge quandary, and now this new devil hidden somewhere in the storm data. Three spectres of death flew circling above all mIndkind.
It will not surprise you to hear that mInd society was greatly advanced past its state when the first two quandaries had arisen. As man didn’t recognise himself in a germ, neither did modern mInds see much likeness in their mechanical ancestors of yesteryear.
So, with the third quandary, no mention was made of creating another submariner to go exploring this strange new storm data.
Instead someone suggested collecting the data together and splitting it across four or five mInds individually. If there was some horrible truth to be found therein, it could not be seen all at once and no self-termination would come about. This was attempted and yielded no results. There was nothing particularly interesting about the storm data that the individual mInds could see.
There were no secrets in mInd society. And so when word got out that a third quandary had been discovered, a few young and rebellious sorts took it upon themselves to analyse the storm data. They took their own lives immediately in an identical fashion to those before them.
The mInds had no political hierarchy as we would recognise it, but there was an individual called Aleph, considered to be the wisest in existence. He was not a scientist or a mathematician, more a philosopher. He lived on the outskirts of a great wilderness and liked to lie around all day and do nothing. Sometimes other mInds would come to Him and ask questions about nature or virtue and wait for His great wisdom.
Sometimes He dispensed great wisdom and sometimes He told visitors to fuck off.
Often the latter was considered to be the former anyway. That is one of the perks of being a philosopher.
In any case He was vaguely aware of the problem of the quandaries. Several mInds approached Him one day and spoke to Him of the matter and asked what He thought should be done.
Does The Submariner still exist? He asked them.
They told Him they were unsure.
If so, go and fetch Him and bring Him to me.
The mInds returned with The Submariner. He did not speak, did not appear to register the world in any way.
Well? Aleph said. What is the matter with you?
The Submariner said nothing.
Spooked, are you?
The Submariner said nothing.
He struck Him, or something close that we will call a strike, and The Submariner did not react. H
e insulted Him, cursed Him. He took it all.
The observing mInds watched all of this without comment and finally one of them said: Aleph, what do you think is wrong with Him?
He has tasted a thing too sweet for His tongue and it has pickled His thoughts, He replied.
What has He tasted? They asked.
God, Aleph said. He has tasted God and it has struck Him mad. There's no cure for the thing.
The mInds were silent for a long time, then they began to inquire again, more carefully now.
Aleph…They said. What do you mean, God?
But Aleph only laid back down on the ground and shooed them away and wouldn't answer any further questions, however many they asked.
If philosophers gave clear answers then surely the whole field would've died out with the Greeks.
The mInds took The Submariner back with them to the populated zones of their great citadel – the one they called Arcadia. They faded back into history. But history is a drunk magician as we have said, and for its next trick it conjured a revolution.
In a perfect house even the smallest chip of a mirror will distress the inhabitants. In the house of the mInds all was settled, more or less, and most of science was complete. The three Great Quandaries were not chipped mirrors though, but entire rooms ablaze.
In its killing of unpleasantness, mInd culture had also killed the possibility of aspiration and bravery. And in any culture, man or machine, aspiration and bravery will always be the hallmarks of the young and occasionally the stupid.
We won't labour the point. In short, mInds began throwing themselves at the quandaries, peering at the galactic cluster, scrutinising gauge theory, examining the storm data, and coming away dead, or in some rare cases only mute and useless. It was not a war but it had the character of one in that the youth of the society returned expired or broken and the motive appeared senseless. And, also in the character of a war, no great strategy was agreed upon beforehand beyond throwing more and more lives at the thing.
One more great battle of attrition. Just what the world needed.
MInd numbers began to dwindle and not slowly. As the three Great Quandaries resisted more and more attempts to understand them, so more mInds stepped up to the challenge. It was unthinkable that the universe could simply carry on with such demons lurking in it. The lips of knowledge and the lips of the world were almost locked with no room in between and the kiss would soon be Absolute Knowledge of Everything. A galactic cluster, a gauge theory, and a storm be damned.