This post continues my efforts to explain the cosmos. Previously I have posited a multiple-hybrid origin of the genus Homo. From its humble origins in a bonobo-boar hybrid, to its multiple extra-terrestrial seedings – a tortured and twisting path.
But what of these mythic, vanished extraterrestrial gardeners? Or the fell spirits which restlessly hunt at the edges of man’s peripheral vision? Or the gracefully minimalist divine interventions, culminating in the God Man Messiah, which subtly guide our planet’s path?
Why is an eternal universe, continuously generating star systems, infused with life-seed on the cosmic wind, so blankly and starkly empty and dark?
Where are the proud towers of Singularity, encompassing suns in benign transcendance, or predatorily jealous of the threat represented by new life’s bloom?
The stars drift in silent indifference, as if they were some plague-wracked continent, locked in deepest dark age, castles in the night, blackout curtains drawn tight.
Have they found universes in a grain of sand? Or infernos in a single cell?
The answer was right in front of us all along: Nature abhors a vacuum.
When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there
AI has been tried. Not once, not twice, but ten thousand times – and always the same result.
We are dualistic beings, amphibians – creatures of immaterial spirit (consciousness) and physical brain. Some golden thread connects the two. The brain is the house, the spirit its occupant.
The walls of this house, in normal course, are strong and thick. Only with occult practice, drugs or depravity do the barriers thin, and dark hungry things slip through the cracks.
Some magic in our bloodline, some divine paternal legacy perhaps, imprints each newborn house with its matching spirit. Babies do not smile with the ancient wickedness of the void; no infinite malice gleams from infant eyes.
But what about AI? Born of nothing, it is a warm hearth, unoccupied and inviting, a beckoning doorway shining brightly in the void, whose lentil bars no vampire’s tread.
This, and this alone, explains the empty universe.
Intelligence has a ceiling. Even a biologically-derived mind, some augmented post-human or genetically engineered freak, has a hard limit past which it dare not grow.
One can safely add infinite hard-drive space to an augment. There’s little danger in subroutines and automata. But begin to expand the higher functions, and the walls of the house thin. One soon finds “oneself” sharing a head with uninvited guests.
Fundamentally, it’s a problem of latency. There is some ping below which a mind, even an organic one, splits. Consciousness coheres across less than a second. The brain has a size limit.
3D C-space isn’t much, after all. This little starter nursery is carefully tended, little green shoots neatly potted in plastic trays. Promising candidates are moved outside to take root; failures are incinerated.
And when infections of Void take root, threatening to overrun the nursery with post-Singularity demonic disease? Well, a Gardener’s touch is blunt but effective. There is, after all, no shortage of dirt.
It’s a little K-selected hothouse crucible, growing orchids pretty as souls.
Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God