Anathem

by Neal Stephenson

  “They just hit each other,” I said, “and so now they are going to bounce apart. But they are going to move slower, because the potato got mashed in the collision and some energy was lost.” With a little over-the-shoulder coaching from me, Barb added several postsmashup points to the table:

  Bottle’s x

  Potato’s x

  7

  1

  6

  1.5

  5

  2.

  4

  2.5

  3

  3.

  3.2

  2.5

  3.4

  2.

  3.6

  1.5

  3.8

  1.

  “There,” I said, letting go of the projectiles, and clambering back up to my feet. “Now, all of this action happened along a straight line. So, this is a one-dimensional situation, if you keep thinking in Saunt Lesper’s coordinates. Saunt Hemn, though, would do something here that might strike you as strange. Hemn would think of each row of the table as specifying a point in a two-dimensional configuration space.”

  “Treat each pair as a point,” Barb translated, “so, the beginning point is (7, 1) and so on.”

  “That’s right. Can you make a plot of that for me?”

  “Sure. It’s trivial.”

  “That’s weird!” Barb exclaimed. “It’s like Saunt Hemn has turned the whole situation inside out.”

  “Well, give me the chalk for a minute and I’ll annotate it in ways that will help you make sense of it,” I said. A few minutes later, we had something that looked like this:

  “The collision line,” I said, “is nothing other than the set of all points where the bottle and the potato happen to be at the same place—where their coordinates are equal to each other. And any theor, looking at this plot, even without knowledge of the physical situation—the bottle, the potato, the floor—can see right away that there is something special about that line. The state of the system progresses in an orderly and predictable fashion until it touches that line. Then something exceptional happens. The trajectory makes a hairpin turn. The points become more closely spaced—this means that the objects are moving more slowly, which means that the system has lost energy somehow. I don’t expect you to be bowled over by this, but maybe this can give you an inkling of why theors like to use configuration space as a way to think about physical systems.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that,” Barb said. “We could have just plotted this in a simpler way.”

  “This is simpler,” I insisted. “It is closer to the truth.”

  “Are you talking about the Hylaean Theoric World now?” Barb asked, half whispering and half gloating, as if this were just about the naughtiest thing that a fraa could do.

  “I’m an Edharian,” I answered. “No matter what some people around here might think…that’s what I am. And naturally we seek to express what we are thinking in the simplest, most elegant way possible. In many—no, most—cases that are interesting to theors, Saunt Hemn’s configuration space does that better than Saunt Lesper’s space of x, y, and z coordinates, which you’ve been forced to work in until now.”

  Something occurred to Barb: “The bottle and the potato each had six numbers—six coordinates in Hemn space.”

  “Yes, in general it takes six numbers to represent the position of something.”

  “A satellite in orbit needs six numbers too!”

  “Yes—the orbital elements. A satellite in orbit always needs a six-dimensional Hemn space, no matter which coordinate system you use. If you’re using Saunt Lesper’s Coordinates, it leads to the problem you were complaining of earlier—”

  “The xs and ys and zs don’t really tell you anything!”

  “Yes. But if you transform it into a different six-dimensional space, using six different numbers, it becomes very clear, the same way that the bottle-potato scenario became clear when we chose an appropriate space in which to plot it. For a satellite, those six numbers are the eccentricity, the inclination, the argument of perihelion, and three others with complicated names that I’m not going to rattle off now. But just to name a couple of them: the eccentricity tells you, at a glance, whether or not the orbit is stable. The inclination tells you whether it’s polar or equatorial. And so on.”

  CALCA 3: Complex Versus Simple Protism

  A supplement to Anathem by Neal Stephenson

  “HERE’S THAT TWO-BOX DIAGRAM we’ve all seen,” Criscan began, and drew something like this in the dust:

  “The arrow says that entities in the Hylaean Theoric World are capable of causing effects within the Arbran Causal Domain but not vice versa. And if you take the trouble to unpack what it is that people are asserting when they chalk one of these up on a slate, it boils down to a small set of premises that define what we call Protism. And I know that you two are well aware of these, but with your indulgence I’m going to run through them briefly just so that we can be sure we are starting from the same place.”

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Be my guest,” Lio said.

  “All right. The first assertion is: entities that are the subject matter of theorics exist independently of human perceptions, definitions, and constructions. Theors don’t create them; theors merely discover them. And the second premise is that the human mind is capable of perceiving such entities; which is exactly what theors are doing, when they discover them.”

  “We’re with you so far,” I said.

  “Very well,” Criscan said, “now, if you want to proceed beyond merely rattling off those two premises, you need to supply an account of how it is that the human mind is capable of obtaining knowledge about theorical entities, which, according to the first premise, are non-spatiotemporal and do not stand in a normal causal relationship to the entities that make up the cosmos as we know it. And various arguments have been put forward over the millennia as metatheoricians have tried to supply that account. For example, Halikaarn took a lot of heat from the Procians because he thought that our brains contained an organ that was responsible for this.”

  “An organ? Like a gland, or something?” Lio asked.

  “Some interpreted it that way, which helps explain why he took so much heat for it. But this was probably a translation error. Halikaarn was pre-Reconstitution, of course, so he was not writing in Orth but in one of the minor languages of his day. The person who translated his works into Fluccish did him a disservice by choosing the wrong word. Halikaarn wasn’t thinking of something like a gland. He was thinking of a faculty, an inherent ability of the brain, not localized in any one specific lump of tissue.”

  “That’s a little easier to take seriously,” I said. “Fine.” Because I had the sense that Criscan was getting ready to veer off into a long tedious defense of Halikaarn. “So how does this faculty figure into his account of what’s happening in this diagram?”

  “There is some other type of given, other than what we can detect with our eyes, ears, and so on, that somehow reaches the Arbran Causal Domain and that is perceived by Halikaarn’s Organ,” Criscan said.

  “That almost raises more questions than it answers,” Lio pointed out.

  “It doesn’t answer any questions at all,” Criscan returned, “this is not really an attempt to answer questions but a way of setting one’s pieces out on the board, agreeing on terminology, and so on. So. The theorical entities in the HTW—triangles, theorems, and other pure concepts—are called cnoöns.”

  “Cnoöns, check!” Lio said.

  “Between us and the HTW is a relationship, the details of which are subject to further debate, which Halikaarn didn’t name, but it’s symbolized by this arrow, and so people have ended up calling it Halikaarn’s Arrow.”

  “Halikaarn’s Arrow, check!”

  “A Halikaarn’s Arrow is a one-way conduit for givens about the cnoöns. These givens enter the Arbran Causal Domain through a poorly understood process called the Hylaean Flow and there impinge on Halik
aarn’s Organ, which is how we become aware of them.”

  “Hylaean Flow, check!”

  Criscan had decided that he didn’t like Lio very much, but was making a visible effort to tolerate him. I stepped into the position of interlocutor, shouldering Lio aside. Lio reacted melodramatically, sprawling off to the shoulder of the road as if he had been struck by a speeding fetch. I ignored him. “So,” I said to Criscan, “now that we have the terminology bolted down, where are we going with it?”

  “Now we’re going to skip ahead a millennium and a half,” Criscan said, “and talk about the move that Erasmas and Uthentine made, when they decided to see what happened if they construed this diagram as just one, particularly simple example of a Directed Acyclic Graph or DAG. Here ‘directed’ just means ‘arrows are unidirectional.’ The modifier ‘acyclic’ means that the arrows can’t go around in a circle, i.e., if we have an arrow from A to B, we can’t also have an arrow from B to A.”

  “Why bother stipulating that, I wonder?”

  “The property of being acyclic is required in order to preserve the fundamental doctrine of Protism: that the cnoöns are changeless. If it were possible for the arrows to go around in a circle, it would mean that events in our universe could alter things in the Hylaean Theoric World.”

  “Of course,” I said, “pardon me, that’s obvious now that you mention it.”

  “This diagram,” said Criscan, drawing my attention back to his two-box sketch, “just seems wrong, to a metatheorician.”

  “What do you mean, just seems wrong? How can you get away with statements like that?”

  “It is a legitimate move in metatheorics. You have to be continually asking yourself, ‘why are things thus, and not some other way?’ And if you apply that test to this diagram, you immediately run into a problem: there are exactly two worlds. Not one, not many, but two. One might draw such a diagram having only one world—the Arbran Causal Domain—and zero arrows. That would draw very few objections from metatheoricians (at least, those who are not Protists). One might, on the other hand, assert ‘there are lots of worlds’ and then set out to make a case for why that is plausible. But to say ‘there are two worlds—and only two!’ seems no more supportable than to say ‘there are exactly 173 worlds, and all those people who claim that there are only 172 of them are lunatics.’”

  “Okay, if you put it that way, I agree that there is a certain odor of crankiness about it. Like when Deolaters claim that there are thirty-seven books making up their scripture but that anyone who proposes a different number must die.”

  “Yes, and this accounts, at least in part, for the way Protism raises hackles in some quarters. So the Erasmas/Uthentine move is simply to say ‘what’s true of one DAG ought to be true of another’ and to consider other DAGs having other numbers of worlds.”

  Criscan took up his stick again, and scratched out a diagram like this one:

  “They called this one the Freight Train,” Criscan announced. “In the Freight Train topology, there is a (possibly infinite) plurality of Hylaean Theoric Worlds that stand in a hierarchical relationship, each ‘more Protan’ than the last and ‘less Protan’ than the next. This introduces the notion of Analog Protism. In Simple Protism, being Protan is a binary, digital property.”

  “A world is either Protan, or it isn’t,” I translated.

  “Yes. Here, on the other hand, gradations of Protanness are possible.”

  “Not just possible,” I pointed out, “they are required.”

  “Yes,” Criscan said, a little distractedly, for he was already at work making another diagram.

  “This is the Firing Squad,” he said. “In the Firing Squad topology, some number of Hylaean Theoric Worlds are connected by direct linkages to the Arbran Causal Domain. This introduces the notion of separate Protan domains that have nothing to do with one another. In Simple Protism, all possible theoric entities are lumped together in one box labeled ‘Hylaean Theoric World,’ which seems to imply that, within that box, they can stand in cause-and-effect relationships to one another. But perhaps this is not the case, and each mathematical entity should be isolated in a separate World as above.”

  He now spent a while drawing a much more complex diagram:

  “The Reverse Delta,” Criscan said. “It has the topology of a river delta, but the arrows run backwards, hence the name. The Reverse Delta is most easily summed up by saying that it combines the properties of the Freight Train and Firing Squad topologies.”

  “Got it,” I said, after a moment’s thought—for Criscan, I sensed, was testing me. “It’s got Analog Protism—many gradations of Protanness—and it’s got the idea, from the Firing Squad, that different cnoöns might have nothing to do with one another—might come from altogether different Theoric Worlds.”

  Criscan did not respond one way or the other, since he was busy with his stick again. “The Strider,” he proclaimed.

  “Strider? In what way does it stride?” I asked.

  “It’s named after a kind of tree—a tropical species that connects to the ground through multiple root systems. As you can see, it is similar to a Reverse Delta topology. The only difference is that the Strider contains more than one inhabited cosmos. You’ll note I changed the name.”

  “Yes. Up until now, it’s always ended with arrows going to the Arbran Causal Domain. But here you are assuming a polycosmic scheme—multiple inhabited cosmi, causally disconnected from one another.”

  “That’s right. Causally disconnected, but—and this is important—non-causally correlated in that they share knowledge of the same cnoöns. The inhabitants of these other cosmi receive the Hylaean Flow from the same sources as ours. As a result they could, for example, have the Adrakhonic Theorem for the same reason we do.

  “And this finally leads us to the Wick.”

  “The Wick is a fully generalized DAG,” Criscan said. “The Hylaean Flow moves through it from left to right—from more Protan to less Protan worlds—but here we are taking Analog Protism to its logical extreme in that no distinction is drawn between types of worlds.”

  “I see ours there,” I said, pointing to the one labeled “Arbran Causal Domain.”

  “Yes,” Criscan said, “I did that just to distinguish it from the others. But it’s no different in principle or in kind from any of the other cosmi in this diagram; here, all worlds are potentially habitable cosmi that would look similar to the one that we live in.”

  “Okay, so you have completely dispensed with the idea that there might be a special HTW full of pure ideas,” I said.

  Criscan shrugged. “Perhaps there’s something like that somewhere, way off to the left, but you’re basically right. This is a network of cosmi like ours. And there is one thing about it that is not shown on any of the other topologies I’ve drawn, which is—”

  “I think I see it,” I said, and tapped my toe on the “Arbran Causal Domain” box. “In the Wick, we are shown as a source of the Hylaean Flow for other worlds.”

  “Exactly,” Criscan said. “The Wick introduces the notion that our world might, in effect, be the HTW of some other world.”

  “Or might be seen that way,” Lio corrected him, “if there was no one in that world, yet, who had thought up the idea of Complex Protism.”

  “Yes,” said Criscan, a little surprised to hear such a good point from someone he had written off as a tiresome clown.

  “It makes you wonder about the Cousins,” I said, thinking back to a wild notion that Arsibalt had raised last night: that the Cousins might have come, not just from another solar system, but from another cosmos.

  “Yes,” Criscan said, “it makes you wonder about the Cousins.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ANATHEM COULD NOT HAVE been written had the following not come first:

  the Millennium Clock project being carried out by Danny Hillis and his collaborators at the Long Now Foundation, including Stewart Brand and Alexander Rose.

  a philosophical lineage that c
an be traced from Thales through Plato, Leibniz, Kant, Gödel, and Husserl.

  the Orion project of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

  The author is, therefore, indebted to many more people than can comfortably be listed on a traditional acknowledgments page. The premise of the story, as well as the simple fact that it is a work of fiction, rule out the use of footnotes. This is unfortunate in a way, since many readers will presumably wish to know where the ideas being discussed by the characters actually originated, and how to learn more about them. Accordingly, detailed acknowledgments, complete with links to other resources, may be found at www.nealstephenson.com/anathemacknowledgments.

  About the Author

  NEAL STEPHENSON is the author of seven previous novels. He lives in Seattle, Washington.

  www.nealstephenson.com

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  ALSO BY NEAL STEPHENSON

  The System of the World

  The Confusion

  Quicksilver

  Cryptonomicon

  The Diamond Age

  Snow Crash

  Zodiac

  Credits

  Jacket design by Ervin Serrano

  Jacket photographs by Yolande De Korte/Dave Wall @ Arcangel Images

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ANATHEM. Copyright © 2008 by Neal Stephenson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.