Pooteeweet?

pooteeweet?

Freedom in chaos. Unstuck in meaning and free of frames of moral reference.

These old greeks and romans, terrified their short glimpse of the rational would be torn away by plague, warfare, a mad king. What comfort can be found other than in something great? A creator.

Seneca begins his treatise by arguing that there must, inevitably, unarguably, inescapably, simply must be a god.  Socrates goes happily into death, in his knowledge of a comforting eternity and just rewards. Render unto ceasar and all will be well.

Bravery is seeing the bleak and not looking away.

Why is the term disillusionment layered with negative connotation? Freedom from illusion, otherwise expressed, is clarity. Liberty from delusion.

Eyes open you see the immensity of space, and our infinite irrelevance. Nameless, you are born into whatever name you choose. Freedom, unstuck in space and time.

pooteeweet?

A few options

The stalemate: we are in need of a revolution, yet revolution is horror.

The progressive bound in paradox. Educated in economics and politics, aware of the fundamental flaws of current economic and political structures and the need for revolutionary change. Educated in history and politics, aware of the inescapable progression of revolution from ideological overthrow to death camp.

Option: alternative modes of social being exist beyond our limited politics and economics. Technology is the birthmother of some, others organic. Some borrowed. Some created.

·       Relativistic: Alastair Reynolds, Revelation Space, proposes interstellar humanity, segregated into the planet bound and those who live on “lighthuggers”, ships that travel at a fraction below C. No FTL. Humanity temporally segregated, strung out between the stars, dependent on the merchantment of the void.

·       Extrapolated Relativistic: Again Reynolds, House of Suns, humanity vastly more segregated, by space and by evolutionary multi-bifurcation. The star dwellers now spend thousands of years in their ships, at C, distended through time. Ageless as the human ages pass around them, adrift as around them galactic civilisations furiously boil away from birth to culture death. Alone, amongst the songs of spaceborne humanity.

·       Quantum simulated: Addressing the question of social cohesion, direction, use of resources. How to decide as a society? Quantum computers allow multiple simulations of intricate complexity to be run, considering all potential futures, modelled and examined. The simulations are of sufficient systematic and mathematical complexity that they are considered alive. Their creators observe, using the modelled outcomes to inform their decisions, acting as custodians of this quantum simulated life. Symbiosis. But there need be no end to a sufficiently complex simulation, nested realities being fractal in nature.

·       Anarchistic: Ian M. Banks, the Culture, post scarcity anarchistic. Economic production of the social corpus is focused, lased, directed and overseen. Humans being the purpose of this humanoid pan galactica, but are also the vassals of transcendent AI Minds. A materialistic heaven, the end of war and suffering. But the vestigial carbonaceous, watched over, managed, manipulated. The playthings of the silaceous. The creators who created their own custodian.

·       Embedded: The cyborg reality, a mycelia of quantum computing material exists through all humanity, symbiotic and inextricable. Sufficient systemic complexity, a species mind emerges. The I in I, within and without us = there is no need for AI as we birth our own species being. God is in the system. We school, a swarm of mind, a torrent of life.

·       Observed: Arthur C Clarke and Stephen Baxter, The light of other days.  A new technology = wormhole cameras, allows all humanity to be observed, by anyone, at any time. The end of privacy and revolutionary change. The end of shame = fucking in the streets, why bother closing the blinds? An extrapolation = resistance arises = those who use the wormhole tech to connect mind directly to mind. Again, emergence, the hive, species mind.

·       Fermi: We are alone. The first. The terror and freedom. The colours out of space. Again, alone among the stars. Or just unaware, mewling and blind, surrounded by grinning jackals.

More…

Oma

My grandmother died a few months ago. It’s taken a while to get used to the concept of her absence. The fact of that patient voice now silent remains difficult to comprehend.

One of the things she always said was that everything happens for a reason. I don’t know if I believed her then and I don’t know if I believe her now. She was a deeply religious person and had a strong faith in God. Not the dull Catholic / Anglican God or the handclapping God of the Evangelicals. Rather, her view of God was of an all encompassing, wise and ultimately interventionist being.

Everything happens for a reason. Towards the end, when she had to move into a home, I sat opposite her and we talked about causality and purpose. In her patient way, she explained that there was purpose but that it wasn’t always obvious to see how the connections were made. In her mild accent, eyes still clear despite the ravages of entropy, she insisted that God had a plan and that it was not always possible for us to see that plan. She said this full in the knowledge of her own limited time, which several strokes and illnesses had made increasingly apparent.

She smiled at me and said “I know you don’t believe me now, but you will” (That sounds paraphrased and sentimental, but it’s nevertheless the way the conversation went.)

I don’t understand and I dont think I believe, yet. Perhaps one day it becomes apparent.

Right now, however, I suspect it may just be chaos, barely constrained by probability.

Maybe that’s a kind of freedom. If there is no purpose, no meaning beyond a temporary inversion of entropy, then we are free to do what we please without fear of retribution. We make our own purpose, and are also wholly responsible for the causal effects of our actions.

The challenge would be to maintain that view in the face of death.

According to Plato, Socrates faced his mortality with an exposition on the nature of the soul. Socrates posited that if nature is a circular process of constant flux and change, and the alive inevitably one day become the dead, then it follows that the dead must one day become the alive. Given this circular continuation of the alive to the dead to the alive, after death the soul must transition to a different plane, a realm of clarity where it waits before transitioning back again to the muddy complexity of the real.

This concept of circularity is comforting. The concept of purpose is comforting. What I can’t quite make myself believe is that any of it is true. I miss her calm confidence in that purpose and the reassurance that it provided, even if I didn’t believe it.

Most of all, I miss that wise voice on the other end of the crackling phone line. Regardless of any greater concepts, that voice, the complexity and beauty and extent of that voice, is gone.