Conception: Book One of Human Dilemma

by Scott Sibary

  “Meaning what?”

  “I’m not sure, but it sounded wise,” he said, chuckling again.

  Solveig turned away, muttering, “At least you didn’t cheat.”

  On the architecture surrounding them, different forms and faces began superimposing themselves in a rush of imagery: palaces, temples, cathedrals, stately halls of bureaucratic power, and distant swarms of people, fleeing or being crushed like insects. Some fled to cloistered monasteries to avoid the worldly corruption, but there the cycle would repeat. She saw religion combining with government and each corrupting the other until their architecture presented a dirty face, like coal dust and acid rain on hallowed marble. Straying from their creeds and losing reputation, the institutions were emptied of their ideals.

  Looking skyward, she chanted the benediction to herself, “Oh, for compassion, humility, and integrity.” The glare from the hazy sky began to burn her eyes. She closed them, tears forming at the corners.

  “Are you OK?”

  She turned to him and nodded, “Yeah.” Her fingertips brushed away the drops. “Were they blind to what these buildings signified,” she asked. “Reminders to later dynasties that they too will fall sooner than they plan.”

  AnDe stood, looking complacent about the pattern of history.

  “You tell me,” she demanded, “how is it that intelligent people fail to see their plans in perspective? When they drive their system too far, like we see today with our climate and natural resources, why don’t they fear collapse?”

  “You’ve known people who refuse to recognize a risk, haven’t you?”

  “People who aren’t using their heads and are just following their impulses. But people who are able to gain and keep power, they must be clever and not too foolish. They mustn’t take unnecessary risks. Otherwise, how could they hold on to power when other extremely clever people are competing for it? And yet they overexploit their systems to the point of collapse.”

  “They aren’t like you; they’re not skeptics. If they were, they wouldn’t have power. Taking risks got them rewards, and they had good luck. Maybe holding on to power right now is the only thing important to them. Maybe they enjoy danger, or maybe they see themselves as the most talented. Do you expect them to question their success?”

  “But, AnDe, if you don’t question your success and examine it, if you don’t ask what it means to you, how do you truly know that it is success?”

  He paused and seemed to examine her suddenly content expression. “I wouldn’t. But I don’t think such introspection is the practice of most leaders. Maybe they just yield to the enormous pressure to focus on short-term pragmatics.”

  “Ugh,” she said, grunting, “we all feel that pressure.” She turned away and they began walking towards the west end of the ramparts.

  “You know the cliché,” he said. “ ‘History repeats itself.’ Things get better and then worse, but overall less violent.”

  “It’s the exceptions we’re terrified of,” she said. “When you create dividing lines between people—classes or castes of any kind—it’s easy to dehumanize those not in your group. If we don’t manage this well, history suggests the impacts will be horrific.”

  He moved to her right, where he was silhouetted by the sun and difficult to read. The breeze chilled her back while her chest began to feel hot. Discomfort in her body spread to her mind, and she didn’t hold back the challenge in her voice.

  “If we’re going to add a powerful new actor to the human drama, we must be honest about ourselves. What we are as a species? How we interact as societies? Isn’t that the key?” She bounced her closed fist once on the marble block of the ramparts beside them. “We can’t afford the jingoism that lures people into confrontation and war. Not even the irresistible ‘my country is better than your country’ kind of mantra.” She gave him an unyielding stare.

  “OK,” he said, meeting her stare with patient eyes. When her look softened, he continued. “I would add that first we should understand what we are as individuals, and how one exists as a cognitive process, and build from there to the social behavior. Then maybe there’s hope for altering the cycles of history.”

  “Yes!” She turned around, and with their shoulders aligned they began to walk side by side back towards the east.

  AnDe seemed taller and more energized. “As I see it, almost all improvements in quality of life come from technological innovations—those that assist but don’t control us. They’ve allowed us access to more ideas and expression, and comfort and longevity.”

  “Agriculture didn’t improve the quality of life for most people; it increased populations. With industrialization, life again got worse for most people.”

  “The last two hundred years have been different.”

  “Only because our economic systems have valued people as productive assets,” she said. “That’s changing, and we’re part of it.”

  “Don’t you believe we—I don’t mean just you and I, but society—can do better, make a better system?”

  “To go beyond ourselves, beyond our repeated behaviors? We like to think so. We like to think our conscious self-awareness empowers us to choose our behavior.”

  “We learn from the past. Doesn’t that make a difference?”

  “Our intellect pretends that much. But our choices are governed by our emotions: instincts that are trained by our environment.”

  AnDe held up a tentative finger. “You just said ‘trained.’ Doesn’t that allow us to improve?”

  “OK, I’ll explain how I see it. Something coordinates our thought processes—I just call it our ‘ego’ or ‘ego-system’ rather than our operating system. It limits our ability to overcome our passionate, primal feelings. It must be a process that emerges from our biology.”

  “Biology again.”

  “There’s no separating the two; all behavior is a matter of biology and environment.”

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “This ego-system seems to be as greedy for control of the entire ‘self’ as an amoeba is for food in its environment. Know what I mean? It interferes with the expression of other voices, or lines of thought, within the self. I’m thinking of feelings other than passions. Like the voice of compassion, what Buddhists call Avalokiteshvara. And then there’s the voice of curiosity and the desire to understand. That thirst is never fully quenched.” She drew a sharp breath, and felt the burn of pollutants. “I suspect the ego is threatened by these other mindsets. The ego fears the logic of equality.”

  “Logic of equality? Ha! Sounds like a phrase from a politician.”

  “I mean, there’s no objective basis—a basis outside oneself—for claiming a general preference over other people. The ego-system could see that idea as a threat to its preeminence. It might keep such thoughts from moving from the unconscious to the conscious mind, even to the point a person never becomes aware of them or only hears them as a tiny voice in the back of her mind.”

  “You mean,” he said, “that’s how you explain lapses of judgment by intelligent, rational, educated individuals on certain matters relating to basic drives and strong emotions?” He wore the suggestion of a naughty smile.

  “I suppose so, yes. One could put it that way.” The image of a fellow researcher’s hand, inappropriately touching her, reached out from the past, and her mouth felt dry with disgust.

  “But are you also saying we can’t learn from our mistakes?”

  “Of course we can, as individuals, but our life spans are so short. The same deceptions and the same methods of social control can be employed generation after generation. Biology can’t change fast enough to protect us from this. And the experiments with changing our biology have been disastrous.”

  AnDe gave a whistle like the sound of ascending fireworks. “When they try to mess with human thinking, yes. Maybe we’re lucky the attempts failed so badly.”

  Solveig noted that her toes stayed pointed forward, while his steps showed a leisurely swing to the s
ide.

  “Others,” AnDe said, looking down. He seemed lost in thought as he repeated some words she’d said: “Experience of others. Other people; other peoples. People from other countries, speaking the other languages we are hearing right now. Others.” He faced her and raised his voice. “OK, then what drives the cycles? Why do whole societies rise and fall?”

  “They don’t—not exactly. Power structures do.”

  They stopped at the far end of the rampart, leaned against the wall, and looked out.

  “I’m not trying to determine exact causes,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not my field. We need to find ways to avoid another catastrophic failure, and we need to find them fast.”

  “Doesn’t a better understanding help us with that?”

  “Time may be running out; the opportunity is now. The world is still rebuilding after the Collapse.” The fingers of her far hand drummed assertively on the top of the stone wall, as if the soft would eventually overcome the hard.

  AnDe nodded patiently. “Still, what do you think? Why do collapses happen?”

  Solveig shot him another challenging stare. “We’re looking at it! Those with power and wealth typically seem unable to decide rationally how much privilege and luxury is enough, and they let their selfish side pursue greed at any cost. They try to squeeze more and more from the rest of society. And then there’s in-fighting over position within the hierarchy. You must have read about this.”

  The wagging of his head suggested he partly agreed.

  “They feel threatened and suppress competing ideas, including creative expression. Corruption increases, and the society becomes vulnerable to civil war or invasion.” With her hands held up she glared at him, realizing that his prodding had led her to give a performance.

  “Then is there a solution, Professor?” His face twisted for an obvious tease, and the end of his scarf flickered in the wind.

  She wanted to shout at him, demand to know what the hell he thought they were working on. But then the joke about her being a professor would still be on her, when he had suggested a way out. She lowered her voice and made it resonate as she spoke. “That is the assignment for your term paper.”

  “And I’m working very hard on it. If I may suggest my thesis for your comment and approval, I’d like to say I believe the answer will be found through technological developments.”

  “Very good,” she replied.

  They turned back and resumed their slow pace. Escaping the inner churning that had worked her into a froth, she played her role by holding her hands behind her back, gazing down at the tiles they walked upon and nodding approval. “And the form of this technology?”

  “A loyal, devoted artificial general intelligence!”

  “And how is that supposed to help?”

  “By taking over some of the tasks that burden the human mind and reduce its creativity. It will give honest advice. Leaders will no longer be greedy, world-eating amoebas!”

  Her cheeks puffed out as she held back her laugh. “And when could this marvel come to pass?”

  “As soon as I learn how it is that the AI could be guaranteed to be devoted!” He widened his eyebrows, as if to announce this was a new idea.

  She flashed a glare at him, then caught herself. Her voice vibrated with exaggerated solemnity. “I suggest you finish your term paper without waiting for that information.”

  As they descended the stairs to the base of the gate, they allowed the trappings of their skit to fall off.

  “AnDe,” Solveig said in her natural voice, “is there a less-crowded place nearby, maybe a park or somewhere in the shadow of the wind, where we might get some tea or refreshment?”

  “Yes, if we go outside the walls to the moat. There is one just adjacent to the museum complex.”

  They arrived at a kiosk beside the waterway encircling the Forbidden City. AnDe purchased two cups of tea, and they sat on a cast-concrete bench with their backs to the high walls of the palace complex. In front ran a broad walkway, a narrow strip of grass with a row of trees, and then the murky water. They watched families who seemed, judging by their slow gait or picnic blankets and food, to be there only to enjoy each other’s companionship in the gentle weather. A perambulator rolled past.

  “You know, Solveig,” AnDe said, “my parents make it clear to me that they think I am overdue providing them with grandchildren. But if this AI eventually becomes something we could call ‘living,’ then we could claim to be its parents!” He laughed with self-satisfaction.

  “An interesting idea,” she replied, avoiding his eyes.

  “Oh,” he said, “in China everyone who’s over thirty and still single gets that message from their parents, in case you didn’t know.”

  “It’s likely the same everywhere,” she said softly. She gazed at some tulips a few meters away. The intensely colored blossoms were beginning to show on the swollen buds. She thought of the tulips that bloomed in front of her grandparents’ house, where the previous year she had been interrogated along the same lines.

  “I hope I help you to understand people here,” he said, “not just for our work, but for yourself too.” Then he added, “Solveig, you must be quite hungry by now. Shall we go to dinner somewhere?”

  “Thanks, but I’d prefer to return to my apartment; I’m just feeling run down. But hey, what an incredibly nice day it’s been. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “We’ll do dinner another time. It’s been a very enjoyable day for me too. I’ll be proud to show you even more of the beautiful things around the city.” His eager voice sped up. “And here’s another idea: this summer, when the city gets hot and muggy, I could take you to the Yiwulü Mountains. It’s a beautiful nature reserve in the north. I went there on a walking excursion before I got so busy.”

  Names, places, ideas, propositions, relationships: it all piled up in a noisy jumble in her tired mind. Rather than speaking, she gave him a look of apprehension. He seemed to read it, and he looked down contemplatively for a long moment before speaking.

  “Look, Solveig,” he said without his usual joviality, “I’m not trying to court you. And I’m not trying to trick you into revealing information you wish to keep secret. There are those who wish you’d disclose more; but, to the extent I have a say, it will be asked for openly. The decision to share will be yours.” He paused to swallow. “And all the time I spend with you, it’s my attempt to be a good host of a project that requires close collaboration.”

  Her unguarded expression had changed from apprehensive to startled, but her mind tumbled as it bounced between skepticism and acceptance. She found no words to reply.

  AnDe reached his hand up to her shoulder but let it drop back. “I also want to say, I have enjoyed your company and getting to know you. Must I admit openly that I respect, even admire you? We have much in common. Years from now, when we’re no longer working together, I believe we will remain friends.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But please, do have something to eat soon. You’ve eaten very little today. That may be why you’re tired. I’ll call for a car.”

  I have other things to digest as well, she thought.

  In the lowering light of the afternoon, with rays of sunshine filtering through the branches above, she felt her feet coasting slowly along the row of trees. As she passed in and out of the patches of light and shade, her vision sought focus in the uneven light. At the end of the row she stopped blinking. The full sun shone on them, and she noted that she and AnDe took different strides.

  Of course, she said to herself.

  “Thanks for now,” Solveig said as AnDe walked her to the security portal outside her apartment building, where protocol forbade him from proceeding further.

  “For now? Oh." He looked confused. "How do you say that in Norwegian?”

  “Takk for no. It suggests there will be something beyond just today.”

  “Interesting! Sounds like ‘talk for new.’ ” He chuckled.

 
; “You asked!” She laughed back.

  He held up a hand to wave goodbye, turned, and walked away. The metal gate in the fence surrounding the residential complex gave a dissonant clang as it closed behind him. He ambled out to the street in no apparent hurry, becoming smaller and smaller as he receded. Or, she asked herself, was it she who was receding from him? AnDe, she thought, and the meaning of his name finally came to life: PeaceVirtue. Even Andy—Andrew meaning “strong”—would fit.

  She found herself disoriented on her own doorstep, and her stomach growled. She felt more lost than he’d claimed to be when reading Virginia Woolf, and she asked herself whether she was using this unusual character as her only lighthouse.

  A welcome fatigue flowed through AnDe's freshly scrubbed body. His lined, pseudo-silk bathrobe hung loosely on his frame. He went into the kitchen to reheat a package of prepared food and was reaching into the refrigerator for something to drink, undecided as to which, when a call sounded. He left the door to close by itself, filled a glass with water, and used the four-second stroll across his apartment to his desk to prepare himself.

  Facing the screen on his desk, AnDe sat alert, as though he’d anticipated the late-evening call. “Good evening, Division Director Liu,” he said, addressing the older man whose face looked out from the screen.

  “Good evening, Senior Project Manager Deng. How are you?”

  “I’m well, sir. I had a very pleasant outing to the Forbidden City today. Now I’m at your service. How are you doing, sir?”

  “Very well, thank you. I’d sleep better if I still did engineering rather than administration. People are not like the machines we design.”