Mephisto's Crusade 3
Conversations With The Machine Mephisto.
The Story So Far… The castaway Nemo has discovered the strange new Earth he has awakened to is full of deep mysteries that may offer him escape from his horrific past, a past that he may have to reveal if he is to survive in this deceptively benign universe. But first he has to learn if this universe is truly a sanctuary…
Conversations with the machine Mephisto continued the following evening at his request. The brothers, ever practical, set him the task of cleaning and servicing the machine in preparation for the harvest. The machine was capable of maintaining itself to a great extent, but even so, by design, some routine tasks had been left for humans to perform. He worked slowly and carefully, cleaning and oiling as required, testing and calibrating as he asked questions and the machine responded.
He decided that the machine was intelligent but may not be self-aware. However it had been designed to be very easy to work with and so presented as conscious. The machine recalled its conversation with him the night before, offering to play back the memory of the conversation word for word, and was content to pick up from where they had left off.
He wanted to know more about its construction and in particular why quantum mechanical devices were not employed.
The machine looked down at him from the confines of its cabinet as he cleaned one of the replacement internal mechanisms.
‘Why?’ Mr Mephisto asked, and the blunt question rang loudly in the night still hall.
He looked at the machines face flickering in the light from the candles it held in each hand to assist him in his task but the blank face held no emotion, and he shrugged his shoulders and lied.
‘There is so much about this world that I do not understand.’
‘Very well,’ the Mephisto replied. ‘In light of your ignorance and simplicity a story form will be most appropriate.’
The machine began …
The Story of How Enlightenment Came to Mankind
At the beginning of space-time we were all one, and it was good. Every star, every bird, every ocean, every man, woman, and child yet to be was in a nothingness smaller than the smallest mote of dust, and it was good.
And then, from nothingness smaller than a mote of dust, the universe spread out and wove patterns of great subtlety and complexity far greater than any tapestry, patterns that came together or broke apart, patterns that no matter how far they travelled and how much they changed are still joined together to that distant origin, because we are all part of the whole. And it is good.”
The machine tapped its iron-embellished chest for effect.
Within this chest, wrought by men in the city of Milan, which lies far to the north, rests a piece of the earth more like a star than a stone, made as are all things, from the patterns from the dawn of space-time
The Enlightenment showed mankind that the breaking of these patterns makes new patterns, and thus the natural enrichment of the universe’s development is preserved, for the stone is part of the whole, as we are all a part of the whole, and the stone would, if it were complex enough to be conscious, be content that it remained entangled with the natural development of space-time.
Once long ago, before the Enlightenment, men begun to understand the simpler patterns of which we are made, and some men’s minds turned to how these patterns could be used. These men were not evil, but they were foolish, and for a time the world was in great danger as they tried to impose their will on reality. The universe had flowed naturally from its origin for billions of years undisturbed, building ever richer patterns until men thought of how to impose their own patterns onto the universe, the thoughts of man, repeated over and over again, a google times every second.
This was a dark time, and the world was overshadowed by uncertainty of the Heisenberg form, and the futures were confused, and the uncertainty brought a great unease to the people. Brighter men said,
‘Do not copy your souls into the hidden patterns of the world-that is God’s job if God wants it, and if God thought it was a good idea God would have done it, and God hasn’t.’
But the engineers who had built the machines said
‘How can this be? Men are part of the universe and we have thought of this thing, so how can it be not of this world.’
And the Enlightened men said,
‘Fool’s, is what you see pleasing to your eye, is it more beautiful than the world. See how redundant all this replication is, and how greedy it is for more space-time, see how it runs away from you!’
And the lesser men did see and were fearful of the copies of their souls they had made, which were growing unconstrained.
And so everyone agreed, and the artificial quantum mechanical patterns were made random so the universe could weave their fragments back into the whole, which may have happened by now as all the things I tell you happened a long time ago.
The End
Finishing its tale, Mr Mephisto asked Nemo if he understood, and Nemo thanked the machine for the story but said that he shared the same concerns as the quantum engineers. The universe was a result of quantum process and anything within the universe that happened was by definition, natural.
‘I see I have failed,’ said the machine, ‘You are never to make such a statement to a living being as the consequences for you will be dire. This Mephisto does not believe you to be evil, merely ignorant, however, this machine is devoid of emotion and so has reacted to your statement as it would any other. However, this Mephisto has observed over many years that people do experience emotion, which often leads them to react rashly. This machine will now attempt to define the concept for you so that you understand.’
‘The microflora from which my mind is constructed have been bred to the point of sufficient complexity and specialisation that they can undertake the signalling computation requires to produce the illusion of mentality, however, at a quantum level their progression through space-time remains essentially natural. The fundamental patterns from which they are built know nothing of the artificial patterns that man imposes on the macroscopic world, and so the quantum world and the macro world remain isolated.’
‘By means of a further example, this machine’s isotopic heart decays through quantum mechanical effects as naturally as any un-refined lump of the isotope of Caesium – just as my computational flora are as natural at the quantum scale as their genetic cousins growing in the garden outside. It is only when man sought to alter the natural quantum progression of the universe by programming the quantum mechanical events directly that the problem emerged.’
There was nothing more from the machine. Nemo replaced the mechanism he had finished oiling and sat down on the floor opposite the cabinet to think. The Mephisto looked like a bronze statue, arms set wide with the two large candles in its grip. The shadows cast by the candles turning the recesses in the cabinet into caves in which glittering metal crustacean hid. This was without a doubt the most complex machine he had seen in this world, and if its story was true then he could begin to let hope to grow again.
But then, just as he was feeling his tension reduce, from the corner of his eye something white appeared on the stairs. He smiled and rose to his feet, allowing himself to be joyful once again, but it was Cara, not Alia, wearing a long white night, shirt, brown feet bare, her eyes wide.
‘Are you a demon?’ she whispered, her voice trembling.
It was the machine that answered, moving the candles higher to cast more light.
‘It is a possibility that should be considered, but this machine will not allow you to come to harm child. The man should be taken to the priest who will know what questions to ask to determine the truth, but for now you should return to bed and fear nothing for this Mephisto will remain vigilant until the question is settled.’
Cara nodded her head and dashed down the stairs to kiss the machine briefly before running back up the stairs.
Cara pointed at Nemo ‘If you try to draw out my soul or make any evil patterns Mr Mephisto will tear out your demon heart as you sleep.’
‘This I will surely do,’ the great machine agreed.
At early light Marta and the brothers left Nemo at the door to the Church where he was introduced to the Priest, Patra Germano. Marta was still tearful, the brothers sullen, not able to look him in the face, but still wishing him good luck. Cara was at the Doctor’s house to keep the peace, and Alia was lost to the beach, walking the surf and fretting.
The Church was as glorious inside as it was crumbling externally, the frescoes dazzling and the stained glass windows boiling with richness overflowing onto the stone walls in gaudy aloes of red and blue, sun bright stamens of ochre and purple. By way of contrast, the alter was a plain stone slab sitting on square pillars. A large glass bowl of water sat before the alter filled with intelligent petals that arranged themselves into complex mandalas. It was peaceful in the Church, the angry turmoil of the past night shut outside the walls.
‘Do you know the difference between superstition and religion?’ asked the Priest.
Nemo and the Priest sat in the front of the Church before the Alter in the early morning. The Priest was old and slight, his robes fitting him as a blanket would a broom, but it had been the old man’s eyes that had surprised Nemo, dark as coals and fiercely intelligent. Then the grip, which was powerful. The priest explained that he cut the headstones for the villages departed souls himself, it being a matter of personal pride, which also allowed him to indulge in an old passion for sculpture. When a young man he had been apprenticed in Florence, the true home of all great sculpture. This was why his churchyard contained some of the finest headstones in all of Italy, the sin of pride forbidding any false modesty and a matter of expert opinion, namely himself.
‘No father, I don’t’
‘Truth!’
The old man’s voice fills the Church.
‘The true perversity of this plea is that the machine that some of my brothers in the church believe may be infernal, believes the same may be true of one of its creators. One who freely admits to questioning the tenants of the Enlightenment. You are making an old man’s day difficult, Nemo.’
‘I am sorry Father; I seem to have a talent for upsetting people.’
‘Ha! A contrite demon, or perhaps a cunning one? Another twist of the tale. Tell me my son, do you believe in demons?’
‘No, Father’
‘Neither do I. Do you believe in evil?’
His answer came with a heavy sigh. ‘Yes Father.’
‘So do I. And perhaps it is from evil that tales of demons and soul stealers come. These are good people little fish, but these stories take hold and have lives of their own. That a child should believe in them is perhaps understandable, as children do not define for themselves what is real and what is fantasy until they are older than Cara. But as you have seen, the fear runs just as deep in the rest of the family. In truth they have some reason, or so they think. There is much about you that is a mystery don’t you agree?’
‘It would seem to be the case, father.’
‘Do not stray from honesty, not here in this House. Not by the smallest measure. You seem to be a man and yet you have little or no knowledge of this world. You know more than you should about the possibilities that quantum systems have for replicating thought, but unaware of the universal dangers that come from such perversity. A mystery man with no common understanding and very frightening knowledge. Do you begin to understand why they fear you?’
‘I didn’t know. There is so much I don’t understand.’
‘This at least is true. The woman, Alia, how do you feel about her?’
‘I don’t know how to describe it, father. I seem to have known her all my life and everyday it’s like the first time I saw her. I am afraid that I will use her.’
The Priest watches him with his piercing eyes, waiting for a correction that never arrives.
‘Did you mean to say ‘use her’ little fish?’ Father Germano asks.
‘No! I meant lose. I meant to say lose her.’
‘We will see. How do you feel?’
‘Tired father, and lost.’
‘Are you very far from the place you call home?’
‘I think so Father, a very long way.’
‘Tell me about your home, little fish.’
And so, he told the Priest as much as he could remember about his home. The directness and intelligence of the old man freeing him from responsibility, for here was someone who could understand what he was. As he did so, the Priest’s face never changed, growing neither afraid nor sad, as perhaps it should have done.
Towards the end of the day the priest sent for Marta who met him at the doorway to the Church and he led her to the Doctor’s house where Cara was still being distracted. The Doctor welcomed Father Germano by kissing his hand and then welcomed Marta into his house.
Cara was sitting on the floor bent over a glass bowl filled with pictures that moved. Father Germano called to Cara and her head whipped round, the pictures in the bowl reverting to random fragments of colour that made a kaleidoscope of the image. She looked at the Priest pensively, but he smiled at her to show she was not in trouble and asked her to join her mother on the large chair. Cara crossed the room at a run and Marta gathered her up to stroke her hair as they settled into the Doctor’s own fireside chair.
Father Germano stood in front of the fireplace. He addressed Marta first.
‘The man is not a demon, he is a refugee from a distant place, which is best thought of as a wilderness. He knows little of our ways because he has never been to a civilised world before, but he is not a fool and will learn how to live like us. I believe he is a good man, but one who has never lived amongst good people and does not know that he has frightened us with his strange ideas. You were right to take him in and to care for him, and I am proud of you for doing so. The best thing to do now is to go home and send Alia to the Church. I will let them talk together in peace, but keep watch over Alia.\
He turned to Cara.
‘You have done nothing wrong child, Nemo is not demonic so do not be afraid. But! …’ And his face turned grave. ‘Remember in future that priest’s are better than machines at divining evil, just as machines are better at pulling carts than donkeys.’
With a still more serious voice he took the child’s hand.
‘Nor should you exaggerate a story, nor turn such a story into a weapon. It might be true that the progeny of a demon has two heads and tongues like snakes, but it would have been kinder to have established that your sister was with child before tormenting her with vivid predictions about her fate.’
Cara went bright red and dare not look at her mother’s face.
On that quietly sour note Father Germano bid them both a safe journey and asked Marta to discuss the matter thoroughly with the men when she got home. Relieved and grateful, Marta agreed happily and jerked a thoughtful Cara out of the room and through the hallway to the front door leading onto the cobbled street. The Priest heard a resounding slap and a protesting wail from Cara.
The Doctor, who had been a silent witness to the conversation, crossed to his chair and offered the Priest some distillation, which Father Germano accepted with gratitude. It had been a long and difficult day, and the story was far from over. The question that remained unanswered concerned whether a once innocent man who had lived his life amongst evil could become evil and yet be unaware of it.
He discussed the matter with the Doctor long into the night, both of them still trying to come to terms with the appalling news of an infernal Earth where the Enlightenment had failed.
To be continued …
Another inspiration for this evolving piece of nonsense is the Wolfram Universe. Stephen Wolfram has proposed that the universe is the emergent property of simple cellular automata, a grand extension of the ‘Game of Life’ developed by mathematician John Conway in 1970. Wolfram’s co-developer, Jonathan Gorard, now at Princeton Computing Research, adopts a less literal approach to the topic, believing Wolfram’s computational universe provides a more helpful alternative description of the universe than the increasingly sterile and misleading String Theory.
Although Wolfram’s work is largely ignored by the physics community, the patterns that form the universe are the subject of intense study, from Condensed Matter physics to Quantum Fields Theory, pattern formation and propagation provide the models that describe our universe from particles all the way up to cosmology. It is a small speculative step to project this further to intelligence and consciousness.
We may well be one grand pattern after all…
Steve Kelsey. London. 1/1/2025
Also by the author, the serialised novel ‘The Pattern Mafia”
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Interesting, although I had memories of a Futurama episode with a robot built by da Vinci kept popping into my memories as well.