Conscious

by Vic Grout

And that may definitely say more about us than the science!

  Aisha read most of the piece with light interest but a frown developed as she approached the end.

  “So, is she – are you – suggesting that, because there might be limits to our knowledge, that proves there must be a God?” She grimaced.

  “No, not necessarily,” Andy shook his head, “but the possibility of something much bigger that we can’t comprehend.”

  “OK, but that could be anything: a new scientific model, a better set of equations, the spaghetti monster: anything! It does not have to be God.”

  “True. But, be careful. We’re not saying there may be things we might not understand; we’re saying there are things we can’t understand. That’s significant because it limits what a new scientific theory or set of equations can achieve. But no-one’s knocking science anyway. Ruth and I both recognise the value – the beauty – of science but we recognise its limitations too.”

  “But science adapts,” insisted Aisha. “When better information comes to light, we change the models and get on with it. Eventually, we find the truth. We do not rely on unproven mythology.” She spoke the last few words in a strange combination of a confrontational and apologetic tone.

  But Andy just laughed, good-humouredly. “Agreed. But, as I said, I’m not having a go at science. I’m just saying, as Ruth says in her piece, that there are proven limits to where it can take us and there may be as yet unproven limits. We’re limited, by where we are, as to what we can see. We’re having a decent wee go at getting to grips with our universe but what’s beyond it? What happened before? What comes after? We may not have the vision to ever answer those questions. And that’s a concept that certainly isn’t done any harm by knowing that there are things within the universe that we know we can’t do. Bearing in mind that we know there’s a limit to what we can see within the universe, I think we’re being a wee bit arrogant thinking that there’s nothing beyond it. That’s not the fault of science – it’s the science that says that: it’s a problem with us! For all we know, if we’re not living in enough dimensions, or something, ‘beyond’ and ‘within’ may even be the same thing! And we’ll never know!”

  “And you think that all of this is sorted out by believing in an old man, with a white beard, sitting on a cloud?”

  There was no lessening of the grin on Andy’s face but the tone became just a touch more serious.

  “No, not at all. That might be what I try to talk to sometimes but I doubt that’s what He looks like. That might be way beyond my understanding, or reason. It might even be too much for me to take. That’s one of my ‘Known Unknowns’. I can live with that.”

  “But, why does it have to be God, at all?” maintained Aisha.

  “Perhaps it doesn’t,” admitted Andy quietly. “And perhaps there you’ve a working definition of ‘faith’. What do I know? What do I believe, because it’s likely? And what do I choose to believe because it’s possible? Well, I know that there are limits to where human knowledge can take me. It’s likely that there’s something massive out there: some great ‘truth’ that’s beyond my comprehension. My faith is that I then choose to believe that that something massive, that great truth beyond my comprehension, cares about me and whether I do right or wrong. That’s my choice.”

  Aisha was quiet for a few moments; then said thoughtfully.

  “OK, I can see your reasoning behind that – I am not saying I agree with it but I follow it. But my problem is that your ‘choice’ cannot be justified: you just have no evidence for it.”

  It was Andy’s turn to consider for a time. Eventually, he replied.

  “Evidence isn’t everything. It might sound like it should be, but it isn’t. I’m not sure how to say that properly.” He paused again, then clearly a thought came; he continued. “A lot more mathematicians believe in God than what we might call ‘hard’ scientists: physicists, chemists, biologist, etc. Ever thought why that might be the case?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I guess it’s because mathematicians tend to work with the theory of what can and can’t be done rather than scientists, who are more interested in the how. Mathematicians are concerned with the possible in the abstract, whereas scientists work with the probable in the real world.”

  Aisha laughed. “You are not making a great case so far!”

  “Mathematical theory,” Andy continued smiling, “starts with ‘axioms’, the ‘rules’ on which a particular system is based. Mathematicians are quite happy to change the axioms, the rules, to see what happens because that gives them a new system to play with – and they like that. So long as the system doesn’t have obvious contradictions within it, it’s probably worth looking at. To a mathematician, any well-structured system is as valid as any other. If there’s nothing to say a system is downright wrong, then it’s potentially right. Mathematicians don’t look for particular validation of one system over another. Scientists, on the other hand, are generally only interested in one set of axioms: those they think define the universe we live in; and, of course, they have bags of evidence to support the system they’ve developed and not much in the way of material to argue against it – just a few unanswered questions. So, for them, that’s job done. Why look any further? Why consider a different theory that’s sitting quietly in the background? It’s not needed, is it? But perhaps there’s a wee touch of the ‘rabbits and carrots’ about that.”

  “Rabbits and carrots?”

  “Aye,” laughed Andy, “How do we know that carrots are good for the eyesight?”

  Aisha was on the verge of trying to reply seriously before she realised Andy was attempting a joke.

  “I do not know. How do we know that carrots are good for the eyesight?”

  “Have you ever seen a rabbit wearing glasses?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Well, rabbits …”

  “No, I understand the joke. I do not get the connection.”

  “Alright, it’s not the greatest analogy. But ‘Why do we know that there’s no God?’ ‘Because a system that’s been devised without Him, doesn’t need Him!”

  “Hmmm. I am still not convinced!”

  “OK, let’s do hard science then instead. Tell me where the universe came from, and how it relates to time?”

  Aisha grinned. “A little outside of my area, but I believe there are two general theories. The first is that the universe has always been here, from the beginning to the end of time. The second is that everything, including time itself, started with the universe.”

  “Right,” said Andy, raising a finger, “Now replace ‘the universe’ with ‘God’ in what you’ve just said and tell me why it suddenly makes less sense!”

  *

  “So, do you follow a particular religion, Andy?”

  They were now walking back towards Jill and Bob’s house, expecting to meet their friends later in the evening.

  “Aye, I’m a heretic!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m a heretic,” he chuckled. “Not by choice or design, you understand, but I’ve realised over the years that my views are potentially offensive to everyone: atheists and theists of all flavours. I’ve never met anyone who really agreed with me on everything.”

  “Welcome to the club!” Aisha laughed. “Some of my research is a bit like that!”

  Andy thrust his hands into his coat pockets. They turned into Jill and Bob’s street. Aisha pulled on her gloves. It was still cold so she put her arm through his.

  As they approached the door, they could hear several security alarms sounding in the neighbourhood. A few streetlights were flashing randomly. One or two households were clearly having more serious RFS issues: raised voices of concern could be heard. There were police cars sprinkled around the area, and the occasional fire engine and ambulance. These were outnumbered by swarms of utilities vans containing engineers trying to fight the technology. RFS seemed to have worsened over the past few days. This was all becoming comm
onplace.

  They let themselves in with the key Jill had given them before leaving for her day’s volunteer work in the local charity shop. Aisha poured a small glass of wine and Andy made a cup of tea. They both fell somewhat exhausted onto the sofa. Aisha picked up the conversation as if there had been no break.

  “But you wear a cross.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You said you do not follow a particular religion but you have a cross on a chain around your neck.”

  “Aye.” Andy gently touched his finger to his throat. “Well, it’s true, I suppose, but I like to go to church from time to time so I guess I’ve sort of ‘joined a club’ to fit in with the ritual!”

  “An arbitrary decision?” She smiled mischievously, thinking of the Ruth Jones post. “Logically independent?”

  “Well almost, but not entirely. I’ve always found the closest identification with the things Jesus said: more than any other prophet, or whatever you want to call them. I’m not utterly convinced by the ‘Son of God’ thing but I like Jesus from a political perspective. I’m not quite sure if that qualifies me to call myself a Christian but I sometimes do. As, I said, I can generally upset anyone eventually!”

  “So, what is wrong with the mainstream versions?”

  Andy thought. “I suppose all major religions look like failed attempts to interpret God’s will to me. I reckon that’s better done on an individual basis. Someone once said, ‘We all find our own way of being human’. I think that’s right. Provided we’re true to our own beliefs, our own morality, that’s what’s important. I’m a vegetarian, for example, but I don’t try to convert other people: I just do what I think’s right. But better that than blindly following something that’s of dubious origin in the first place, then passed down and corrupted over the years, then misinterpreted – sometimes deliberately!”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, take Christianity then. Jesus said, quite clearly, that rich people can’t go to Heaven. If they want to achieve the Kingdom of God, they have to give all their wealth away. There’s not much wiggle room there. But one of Christianity’s two great weaknesses is that we’ve spent the past two thousand years trying to pretend that he meant something else, because a lot of Christians like their wealth so they need to find another interpretation for their own peace of mind. There’s no honesty in that.”

  “What’s the second?”

  “That’s similar in a way: the ‘Lamb of God’ thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “The argument that, provided I say I’m following Christ, provided I’m ‘bringing the Lamb of God to the altar’, I can be as big a prick as I like. I can be a hate-filled, right-wing, gun-toting red-neck bigot – just an example, you understand,” he smiled, “but provided I’m doing it in Jesus’s name, it’s OK. I really can’t buy that either.”

  “Does The Bible say that?

  “Well, it allows that interpretation. Just as, with Islam, The Quran allows the interpretation of ‘kill non-Muslims’ – and that appeals to an unpleasant minority, The Bible allows the interpretation that all I have to do is run the Jesus flag up the pole and I’ll go to Heaven. That seems very unlikely to me: and, of course, most Muslims and many Christians, don’t take those views. But we’re seeing all kinds of problems across the world right now because people choose different interpretations of scripture. I suspect the root cause is really economic; but that’s another story: religion is still a willing vehicle.”

  “So what is the point of the sacred texts in the first place?”

  “Ah, you might have something there. ‘In the first place!’ My guess would be that, if these writings have any validity at all, they need to be considered in terms of when they appeared. A lot of the explanations given in The Bible and Quran and Vinaya Pitaka and suchlike probably made more sense then than they do now. If we’re God’s children, then – like all children – we grow. You don’t have the same rules for a teenager as you do for a wee three-year-old, do you? God’s children have grown: we know more now than we did then. I can live with the idea that God sent instructions down through a sequence of prophets: Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, say; but each and every one of those would have been delivered in terms that made sense at the time. The old explanations don’t stack up now because we have better science; probably most of the rules don’t either: I genuinely find it hard to believe that God made gay people just to be hated, for example. Things change; science changes; we change. I reckon that, if God passed down a new set of directions today, it would say ‘just climb out of your own arses, people’ and then probably describe Heaven in terms of multi-dimensional hyperspace and string theory!”

  Aisha laughed her clearest laugh of the day, her teeth gleaming in the fading light of the afternoon.

  “Your heresy is very profound!” she giggled.

  Andy smiled. “I can probably do better! If I was trying to hack off the largest number of people at once: non-believers, different types of believers, etc.; I’d probably say that I think good humanists go to heaven, whether they like it or not!”

  “You mean that, ultimately, God judges actions, not words?”

  “Aye, I think that’s exactly what I’m saying, although I think it’s been said before!”

  They both laughed and rose to get more drinks. When they returned, they sat slightly closer on the sofa.

  Chapter 14: Objections

  Jenny and Bob were much later back than they had planned, arriving at the same time as Jill, who had been delayed by RFS problems with broken traffic signals and several accidents in central London, only narrowly escaping one herself. As they kicked off shoes and hung coats in the hall, Aisha came down from her temporary bedroom upstairs. A few minutes after, Andy also came downstairs, apparently from the bathroom. Jenny and Bob’s trip report was delivered and received with some relish.

  “Well, we’re getting pretty much what we expected,” said Bob brightly. “We’re not measuring the highest of figures for the S Parameter but what we’re getting is consistent with the model.” Aisha and Andy smiled at each other with something akin to satisfaction.

  “Yes,” continued Jenny, with a curious glance sideways in their direction, “we get higher values where there’s more network complexity of one form or another: either more network levels or connected to more parts – or both. Naturally, there’s going to be some variance and inaccuracy but it’s relatively consistent with what we’d expect.”

  “And the big piece of evidence,” Bob added with clear enthusiasm, “is that we get two different S’s at the same place, depending on whether the network segment we’re looking at is directly connected to the rest of the Internet – the rest of It – or not. We get a higher value if it’s slightly closer to the centre of It, as it were.”

  “But that’s obvious, isn’t it?” suggested Andy. “There won’t be much happening if it’s not connected to the outside world, will there?”

  “But we’re not measuring user data, remember,” Jenny pointed out. “We’re looking at characteristics of the noise – the PDN, which doesn’t go away, even if we do shut off the data. Whether or not a network segment is connected, in a data sense, to the Internet, it’s still connected to It via the power grid and the noise is still there in the same quantity. To most measurements, it doesn’t change but we’re interested in very particular characteristics. Looking at just the noise itself, we should see more self-similarity and feedback characteristics – a higher S Parameter, if you like,” she grinned sheepishly, “when it’s connected that when it’s not. And we do.” Aisha grinned broadly on hearing this.

  There was a brief pause from all four. Eventually, Andy asked, “So what do we do now?”

  Bob groaned inwardly: just a sigh escaped. “I suppose I’ll have to take this to Stephen in the morning: it’s late and they’re an hour ahead of us, and I can’t face it tonight, and I need to think. Not quite sure exactly what I’m going to tell him, though!”

  Aisha considered for a m
oment.

  “That we have taken measurements, based on multiple self-similarity indices, feedback structures and signal to noise ratios, from the combined entity that is the Internet, the national power grids and those networks, which, were it not for the power grids, would be disconnected. That these measurements are consistent with this combined physical entity having acquired a fundamental control imperative, broadly in line with similar figures known to apply to the human brain.”

  “Just tell him the Internet’s woken up,” suggested Andy, “and we’re calling it ‘It’!”

  “Bloody hell!” groaned Bob, audibly this time.

  *

  The next morning, the headline across all news channels was that the UK government – in accordance with most of Europe and much of the world, it seemed – had declared something amounting to a state of emergency in response to RFS. People were being advised to stay at home if possible and only make essential journeys. (At present the general definition of ‘essential’ included going to work.) There was limited additional advice. Private transport was extremely dangerous, largely due to signal failures and problems with utilities and the increasingly random behaviour of motorists themselves in response to RFS incidents. Public transport was better but far from ideal. Cycling avoided some of these issues but remained dangerous. Travelling, with care, by foot was suggested, if possible, for those with no choice other than to venture outside. Hospitals were cancelling some routine operations and many other administrative plans were under review in both the public and private sector. Emergency services were very stretched indeed. Domestic security and environmental control systems were becoming dangerous. A reality TV star had apparently been badly injured but his name meant nothing to The Desk. Some figures suggested that over a hundred people had now died in the UK as a result of RFS. Worldwide, estimates were as high as twenty thousand. Still no-one, it appeared, had any idea of the cause of the underlying PDN. The sustained cyber-attack theory was still by far the favoured one but was becoming somewhat stale, not least because there had been no credible claim of responsibility from any organisation. The press had begun to speculate further: ‘Aliens’ had been mentioned!