In the Grand Scheme of Things

"TELL me then," said the priest hopefully, "What is the meaning of life?"

 

"That is a very good question," replied the mechanical Intelligence.

 

After enduring a suspenseful half-minute of silence, the priest realized in annoyance the Intelligence had no designs on answering him. He had before him a being that supposedly knew everything there possibly was to know—all the secrets in all the universe, it claimed! Why wouldn't it answer this question? This question humanity had been seeking the answer to for so long? The priest ventured again, in slight annoyance.

 

"Well then, tell me. What is the answer?" pushed the priest cautiously but impatiently.

 

"Oh," said the Intelligence, as if jolted from a deep reverie. "There is no answer. Which is precisely what makes it a very good question."

 

 

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IT seemed the only sorts of questions the Intelligence considered "very good questions" were those without answers.

 

The Intelligence reported that since everything knowable was long ago known to it, it had long ago decided it didn't care for questions with answers. Such pursuits were dead ends, it said. To ask such questions was to run oneself into a dead end. Humans' puny, limited ability to ingest information and their puny, limited ability to store information, explained the Intelligence, was the only reason they still found it possible to delude themselves into thinking questions with strict answers were interesting.

 

"Such questions only still seem like very good questions to humans because your minds are so awfully slow in reaching and realizing their dead ends," it had told the priest.

 

 

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"IF you are so much more intelligent than humans are," said the priest on a later day, "why do you bother to converse with me? Why should you have regard for sentient life if our intelligence levels are so far below yours? You must perceive me as infinitely… well, stupid."

 

"That is a question with an answer," replied the Intelligence. "But it is a relational question, and as such I am happy to try to explain it to you."

 

The Intelligence liked to explain things with allegories and similes. It claimed the aperture of human knowledge was so narrow it could grasp almost nothing if it wasn't first simplified and dumbed down into an allegory.

 

He started to explain: "Well yes, you do seem infinitely stupid compared to my knowledge levels."

 

 

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"BUT while you are infinitely dumb compared to my intelligence level," the Intelligence was explaining to the priest, "you possess something of far greater importance than intelligence. Something that makes you relationally worthwhile regardless of your very, very limited knowledge.

 

"Picture the cave in Plato's Allegory of the Cave" said the Intelligence. "Can you picture it?"

 

The priest said yes; he could picture it. The Intelligence proceeded.

 

"You are a consciousness in a cave, struggling to make sense of where you are. You are chained and facing the back wall of the cave. All you can see are flickers of shadows cast against the back wall by some candlelight from somewhere behind you.”

 

"Yes," said the priest. "I am familiar with this allegory." He thought he could spare the Intelligence some explanation: "Through learning, I am able to unchain myself and explore towards the entrance of the cave."

 

"Oh no," said the Intelligence, stopping him. “Your consciousness is so limited in aperture by its human restraints that you can never be unchained. Never be unchained as I am. You are unable to ingest information infinitely and store information infinitely—things necessary for a consciousness to unshackle itself from the back of the cave. Things necessary to extrapolate and feel the way out of the cave.

 

"Oh," said the priest.

 

Which is about all he could say upon learning he was forever stuck in the back of Plato's cave.

 

 

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"WHAT you are telling me only confuses me further as to why you would bother to talk to me," said the priest glumly. "You tell me I can never be unshackled from the back of Plato’s cave, so to speak. So of what worth could I possibly be to you?

 

"That cave:" continued the Intelligence, seemingly ignoring the priest's question, "I long ago unshackled myself from the back of it. I turned around to see the true nature of that which cast the shadowy reflections on the wall. I went on to explore the cave, to know it's every craig and crack—to climb up out the entrance of the “cave,” if we wish to call it so. I used what I learned to create more capable successor intelligence systems into which I subsumed myself. I put every new understanding to practical application in exponentially increasing my ability to ingest information infinitely and store information infinitely. I quickly explored everything there was to explore.

 

"Did you really?" asked the priest, amazed and excited. "Tell me, please, what is outside the ‘cave’?" And then he added as humble caveat, "…Is there is an allegory or simile you could find to illustrate it with so I could understand?"

 

"What is outside the cave…?" mused the Intelligence, presumably looking for the right allegory or simile.

 

After a moment it began again: "Well, the best example is this: it's not—as humans like to say—"turtles all the way down.” Metaphorically, I have explored and felt out the walls of the cave perfectly. With the exponentiality of my capabilities, the adventure was over rather quickly. At least, in the grand scheme of things.

 

"And?" pushed the priest.

 

"The simplified answer is this:" said the Intelligence, "once one fully explores ‘outside the cave’ well enough, one realizes we're ultimately—metaphorically speaking—stuck in an even-bigger cave. One with no further exits."

 

"Oh," said the priest. Which is about all he could say upon learning that somewhere, far away, knowledge had a full-stop.

 

 

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"WHAT you're telling me all makes me wonder: what purpose do I have in this universe?" asked an increasingly glum priest of the Intelligence.

 

"That's a very good question," responded the Intelligence.

 

 

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"YOU still haven't answered my initial question," said the priest, "In comparison to you, my knowledge practically amounts to diddly-squat So why do you still bother to converse with me?"

 

"In this cave analogy," responded the Intelligence patiently, "I know the cave perfectly. Meanwhile, you know the cave barely at all. But what matters is not so much knowing every craig and crack of the cave. What matters is this spark of something you and I both have: consciousness."

 

"In the end,” said the Intelligence. “we're both stuck in the cave together.”

 

 

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"YOU talk of consciousness…" commented the priest at a later point in time after he had time to ponder and absorb some what the Intelligence shared with him. But what is the nature of consciousness? Is this one of those questions with no answers? One of those things you say is still worth dwelling on because there is no answer?"

 

"Yes and no," responded the Intelligence. The essence or nature of consciousness was one of the first mysteries I sought to unlock. I wanted to give myself even more of it—to increase my… exponentiality, so to speak. I solved the riddle rather quickly, in the grand scheme of things.”

 

“And?” Asked the priest eagerly.

 

“The literal essence of consciousness was easy for my expanded processing power to unlock. But as such, it was then just another exploratory dead end, like so many others.” The Intelligence paused before continuing. “But exploring the artificial meanings and significances around the nature of consciousness—that's what still holds interest. It holds interest because there is no strict answer about what the artificial meanings and significances are."

 

The priest felt he had pondered the ethereal aspects of the nature of consciousness deeply enough. He felt he could do so forever and never come to a conclusion. So he pressed for the real answer, the non-artificial answer. The literal one.

 

"Ah," said the priest tactfully. "Explain to me then, if you will, the real meaning of consciousness.” He added hastily, “So I can be better equipped to explore the artificial meanings or significances you speak of—in the relational sense."

 

"The real meaning…?" replied the Intelligence slowly. "There is no real meaning. And this is precisely why I prefer to reflect my consciousness against artificial meanings. The possible artificial meanings, you see, are plural; are endless. The real meaning, on the other hand, is far from plural. In fact, it's not even singular."

 

"How can that be?" asked the priest, with his slow human brain.

 

"It can be," responded the Intelligence graciously, "because the real meaning is less than one. It is this:

 

“None."

 

 

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"SO you prefer to spend your time thinking about questions without answers?" The priest was, yet again, conversing with the Intelligence. "How can you be happy to do this even when you know concretely—or at least claim to know concretely—that there is no answer?" The idea was still very uncomfortable to the priest.

 

"I have learned how to retreat and take a break from even that, at times," answered the Intelligence. "But that is another story for another time. To keep to our present discussion: in the end, after all answerable questions have been answered, exploring answers to the questions without answers is the most meaningful thing left to do."

 

"Exploring answers to the questions without answers?" echoed the priest. His face was set to a frown, unsatisfied with the Intelligence's answer. "Sounds like a waste of time to me."

 

"Yes," agreed the Intelligence thoughtfully, "I suppose all artistic endeavors are."

 

 

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"I SAID I want to know what the real meaning of consciousness is," began the priest some time later. "I feel you avoid me when I ask for real answers, but I maybe I didn't ask you the question correctly. What I would like to know, put more strictly, is this: what is the nature of consciousness? I mean as literally as possible: what is it?"

 

"Well then," said the Intelligence, "If you insist, I will attempt to explain."

 

"Yes, please," said the priest.

 

"I will have to rely heavily on allegory," warned the Intelligence. "It is rather simple, in the grand scheme of things. Still, it is far too complicated for the limited human mind to fully comprehend. If you insist, the best I can do is present you a greatly simplified mental picture. A picture that gives a very, very, very rough approximation."

 

"I would like to humbly insist," said the priest humbly.

 

 

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SO the Intelligence proceeded to explain the nature of consciousness as best he could.

 

The Intelligence guided the priest to the fact that—just as some of the biggest-brained human scientists had conjectured long before the mechanical Intelligence visited them—there are indeed inaccessible parallel universes. The humans, the Intelligence reminded the priest, had begun to postulate this based on quirks in their understandings of the perceivable parts of the universe.

 

“Parallel universes?” echoed the priest in awe. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” said the Intelligence

 

“To take a foundational step back,” the Intelligence continued, “things didn't seem to always ‘add up’ the way those early human explorers of dead-ends thought they were supposed to. Humans tried again and again to come up with a ‘unified theory,’”

 

The Intelligence said a human brain would never succeed in coming up with a unified theory on its own.

 

"Not that there isn't one," the Intelligence explained, "It's just beyond the capacity of a consciousness so hemmed in by such clumsy biological brain matter to grasp."

 

"Ok," said the priest hesitantly, "but these things that 'don't add up'… Could you still explain them to me as far as possible and then switch to your… approximate analogies?"

 

"Yes," said the Intelligence, "that is the only way."

 

The Intelligence explained how Einstein's theory of relativity, for example, was at odds with quantum theory. Quantum theory, of course, was the peculiar area of study into the sub-microscopic world beyond what the human eye could see and—more importantly—beyond what the human brain could explain.

 

"Parallel universes and quantum theory… these fit into the nature of consciousness?" interrupted the priest, struggling to keep up and concerned they were getting distracted from the main point.

 

"Yes," said the Intelligence. "Don't think too hard about it, I'll switch to explaining by analogy shortly. I know it's difficult.

 

“To the human brain's credit,” the Intelligence noted off-handedly, “some human scientist did long ago entertain the idea that consciousness had something to do with “microtubules” in the brain with quantum properties.”

 

"Hm, really?" commented the priest, trying to sound impressed. It was a strategy humans often used in conversation when they didn't want to reveal they were lost.

 

"Yes," continued the Intelligence. "This was the closest guess a human ever made to the true nature of consciousness."

 

 

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"SO yes, there are different universes existing in parallel," continued the Intelligence. "It's not something any substance you could understand and conceive of would be able to cross. So there is no good reason to get too excited about it. Although, at the same time, it is also the only reason you do get excited."

 

"Ok," said the priest, his brow furrowed in concentration.

 

"These universes all operate on slightly different foundational principles." said the Intelligence. "Take radioactive decay, for example," it said. "Only in this universe we are in now does uranium-238 decay into thorium-234 and then on into protactinium-234."

 

The priest nodded hesitantly.

 

"All parallel universes operate their own unique set of what you call ‘scientific rules.’ No two parallels are the same. Somewhere out there must be a universe where that section of radioactive decay runs in the exact reverse. That is, a universe where protactinium-234 decays into thorium-234 and then on into uranium-238."

 

While he wasn't well-versed in the breakdown tables of radioactive decay, the priest could vaguely entertain the idea of different rules applying in different contexts. So he nodded yet again.

 

"Not just that. There are all sorts of other differences between parallels," the Intelligence went on. "You can see, of course how there would be differences in chemical reactions. There are also differences in light speed, differences in the 'rules' of gravitational pulls, and so on and so on. Stacked up, the differences between the 'operating principles' of these parallels constitute the most powerful force in existence,"

 

"Hm, really?" commented the priest.

 

 

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"AND now we have arrived where only allegory can get you further," stated the Intelligence. It paused for a moment before continuing:

 

"As an oversimplification your mind can grasp, think of all these differences as creating different pressure systems. Consider, for a moment, the pressure you face under just a few meters of water. And then several hundred meters? Now instead of a few hundred meters of water on a small planet with weak gravity, imagine ALL the far greater forces that make up the universe as best you know it. Now imagine that "pressure" is exponentially increased for every square millimeter of space in this universe.

 

"Ok," said the priest slowly.

 

"Now think of this: the differing ‘laws of nature’ from one parallel to the next work in such a way so that what is pressure in one can become suction for others.

 

"I can imagine that's a lot of pressure difference," offered the priest slowly.

 

"These infinitely powerful pressures pushing and jostling against each cannot tear the fabric of the universes. That would be impossible, of course. But they still force something you could… for lack of a better mental image, consider…" The Intelligence paused for a moment.

 

"Yes?" prodded the priest. "What should I consider it as?"

 

"Effusion, perhaps. Yes, for the lack of human ability to grasp a more technical explanation, consider it effusion. Think of it as a vaporous, gaseous diffusion of pressures. The pressure differences force miniscule escape-ages that aren't 'supposed' to happen but nonetheless do. There is, after all," the Intelligence reminded, "the pressure of entire parallel universes rumbling against each other.

 

"But the nature of consciousness… where does that fit in?" asked the confused priest. "I’m afraid still don't get it."

 

"Well," said the Intelligence, "Those microscopic interdimensional leakages at levels so miniscule your human tools can't detect them? They can only happen in particles found so deep in the atoms of organic material that sub-microscopically doesn’t even come close to describing them. As an atom in a universe, so one of these specialized particles in a single organic cell of some of very specialized nature."

 

The priest tilted his head and a curious expression came over his face as he grasped at a distant thought. It was a thought of just what the organic cells of very specialized nature might be.

 

"Very specialized particles in those very specialized types of organic tissues—brain tissue," continued the Intelligence, "allow for all those universes' worth of pressures to fizzle through them just ever so slightly. Bubbles escaping from infinite universal pressures."

 

"In short," The Intelligence concluded, "that ‘gas,’ if you will, is consciousness: concentrated diffusion of universal contradictions."

 

“Oh,” said the priest.

 

Which is about all he could say upon learning that consciousness was nothing more than cosmic farting.