Read Online Tomorrow Happens by David Brin, Deb Geisler, James Burns - Free Book Online Page A
Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction - Short Stories
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powers of foresight that would have stunned our ancestors. But I felt confident I could model the reifers' models. At least thirty percent of my povs should manage to outmaneuver our opponents. When the representations finish running, I ought to have a good idea what strategy to recommend to our clients.
A formula for success against an extreme form of hyper-tolerance mania.
Against a peculiar kind of lunacy.
One that could only occur in Heaven.
There is an allegory about what happened to some of us, when the Singularity came.
Picture this fellow—call him Joe—who spent his time on Earth living a virtuous life. He always believed in an Episcopal version of Heaven, and sure enough, that's where he goes after he dies. Fluttering about with angels, floating in an abstract, almost thoughtless state of bliss. His promised reward. His recompense.
Only now it's a few generations later on Earth, and one of his descendants has converted to Mormonism. Moreover, according to the teachings of that belief, the descendant proceeds to retroactively convert all his ancestors to the same faith!
A proxy transformation.
All of a sudden, with a stunned nod of agreement, Joe is officially Mormon. He finds himself yanked out of Episcopal Heaven, streaking toward—
Well, under tenets of Mormon faith, the highest state that a virtuous mortal can achieve is not blank bliss, but hard work! A truly elevated human can aspire to becoming an apprentice deity. A god. A Creator in his own right.
Now Joe has a heaven all his own. A firmament that he fills with angels—who keep pestering him with reports and office bickering. And then there are the new mortals he's created—yammering at Joe with requests, or else complaints about the imperfect world he set up for them. As if it's easy being a god.
As if he doesn't sometimes yearn for the floating choir, the blithe rhapsodies of his former state, when all he had to do was love the one who made him , and leave to that Father all the petty, gritty details of running a world.
It is not working , said oracle . Our opponents have good prognostication software. Each model shows them countering our moves, with basic human nature working on their side. Our best simulation shows only moderately success at delaying reification .
From my balcony, I gazed across the city at dusk, its beauty changing before my organic eyes as one building after another morphed subtly, reacting to the occupants' twilight wishes. A flicker of will let me gaze at the same scene from above, by orbital lens, or by tapping the senses of a passing bird. Linking to a variety of mole, I might spread my omniscience underground.
Between buildings lay a riot of foliage, a profusion of fecund jungle. While my higher brains debated the dour socio-political situation, old cortex mulled how life has burgeoned across the Earth as never before—now that consciousness is involved in the flow of rivers, the movement of herds, and even the stochastic spread of seeds upon the wind. Lions still hunt. Antelopes still thrash as their necks are crushed between a predator's hungry jaws. But there is less waste, less rancor, and more understanding than before. It may not be the old, simplistic vision of paradise, but natural selection has lately taken on some traits of cooperation.
And yet, the process is still one of competition. Nature's proven way of improving the gene pool. The great game of Gaia.
Oracle turned back from an arcane discourse on pseudo-probability waves, in order to comment on these lesser thoughts.
Take note: Cortex has just free associated an interesting notion!
We may have been going about the modeling process all wrong. Instead of presetting the conditions of each simulation, perhaps we should try a Darwinistic approach.
Looking over the idea, seer grew excited and used our vocal apparatus.
"Aha!" I said, snapping my fingers. "We'll have the simulations compete! Each will know how it's doing in
A formula for success against an extreme form of hyper-tolerance mania.
Against a peculiar kind of lunacy.
One that could only occur in Heaven.
There is an allegory about what happened to some of us, when the Singularity came.
Picture this fellow—call him Joe—who spent his time on Earth living a virtuous life. He always believed in an Episcopal version of Heaven, and sure enough, that's where he goes after he dies. Fluttering about with angels, floating in an abstract, almost thoughtless state of bliss. His promised reward. His recompense.
Only now it's a few generations later on Earth, and one of his descendants has converted to Mormonism. Moreover, according to the teachings of that belief, the descendant proceeds to retroactively convert all his ancestors to the same faith!
A proxy transformation.
All of a sudden, with a stunned nod of agreement, Joe is officially Mormon. He finds himself yanked out of Episcopal Heaven, streaking toward—
Well, under tenets of Mormon faith, the highest state that a virtuous mortal can achieve is not blank bliss, but hard work! A truly elevated human can aspire to becoming an apprentice deity. A god. A Creator in his own right.
Now Joe has a heaven all his own. A firmament that he fills with angels—who keep pestering him with reports and office bickering. And then there are the new mortals he's created—yammering at Joe with requests, or else complaints about the imperfect world he set up for them. As if it's easy being a god.
As if he doesn't sometimes yearn for the floating choir, the blithe rhapsodies of his former state, when all he had to do was love the one who made him , and leave to that Father all the petty, gritty details of running a world.
It is not working , said oracle . Our opponents have good prognostication software. Each model shows them countering our moves, with basic human nature working on their side. Our best simulation shows only moderately success at delaying reification .
From my balcony, I gazed across the city at dusk, its beauty changing before my organic eyes as one building after another morphed subtly, reacting to the occupants' twilight wishes. A flicker of will let me gaze at the same scene from above, by orbital lens, or by tapping the senses of a passing bird. Linking to a variety of mole, I might spread my omniscience underground.
Between buildings lay a riot of foliage, a profusion of fecund jungle. While my higher brains debated the dour socio-political situation, old cortex mulled how life has burgeoned across the Earth as never before—now that consciousness is involved in the flow of rivers, the movement of herds, and even the stochastic spread of seeds upon the wind. Lions still hunt. Antelopes still thrash as their necks are crushed between a predator's hungry jaws. But there is less waste, less rancor, and more understanding than before. It may not be the old, simplistic vision of paradise, but natural selection has lately taken on some traits of cooperation.
And yet, the process is still one of competition. Nature's proven way of improving the gene pool. The great game of Gaia.
Oracle turned back from an arcane discourse on pseudo-probability waves, in order to comment on these lesser thoughts.
Take note: Cortex has just free associated an interesting notion!
We may have been going about the modeling process all wrong. Instead of presetting the conditions of each simulation, perhaps we should try a Darwinistic approach.
Looking over the idea, seer grew excited and used our vocal apparatus.
"Aha!" I said, snapping my fingers. "We'll have the simulations compete! Each will know how it's doing in
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