Artificial Wisdom: A Novel

by Thomas R. Weaver

That was the thing about the truth. Sometimes you were judged more harshly for revealing it than for concealing it. Some bastard running for president hired a hooker, and they called the reporter “salacious” for writing about it. “The responsibility lies with those who did the deed and those who prop them up, not the ones exposing it.”

Maybe once upon a time, America would have clearly led the pack. But it had squandered that leadership over many decades. The rest of the world had munched popcorn while the country became irretrievably polarized. They’d elected ever more extreme leaders on both sides, until the electorate had fortified itself in two circles that almost never overlapped.

“Weather manipulation? A convenient conspiracy theory for those that couldn’t or didn’t want to understand the science.” “Sure, but what happens when the conspirators get elected?”

“They hoped and prayed it would hit the sea, but hopes and prayers weren’t enough.”

That was the thing about the truth; it only came out when the cost of lying became too high.

He’d told the truth, and once you’d set truth free, you couldn’t control what roads it then took. Whatever happened, happened, and it was just the price you had to pay.

Too many had been displaced—the politicians’ term for the loss of their homes and livelihoods, as if it was just a temporary thing—as the waters and the temperatures had risen these past twenty years, pushed into new ghettos only to move on again as those too flooded or baked.

“You can’t convince those who don’t want to be convinced. They’ll see what they want to see, hear what they want to hear, and studiously avoid anything that challenges their ‘truth.’ I know what’s right and what’s wrong.”

That, of course, was the thing about truth. Those who hid it always believed it was colored in shades of grey; those who revealed it always saw the black and white.

“Bolivar, that’s the thing about the truth. It’s not our job to decide whether it should be told or not, only to tell it. Let others decide what to do about it.

He had written the truth. Regardless of what Bamphwick and the others claimed, halfway around the world a mayor had used his authority to order an attack on vulnerable protestors, people who’d lost their homes to a catalogue of natural disasters. He’d written about it, and those who had also lost their homes in the last decades—in the crush of waves, the pounding of hurricanes, the drenching of rains and mud, and the blast of wildfires—had come out to say Enough, it was time for authorities to act, to work on their side, not to treat them as the problem.

“Why do you do it?” she said at last. “Do what?” “Take in strays. This guy. Lottie. Randall.” She sniffed. “Me.” For a while he didn’t answer. Then he sighed and shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was on the verge of cracking, as if years of pent-up emotion were bubbling out and he was fighting to stop the imminent eruption. “The street,” he said, “is a horrible place to die.”

“Jake, I’m saying no matter how great the technology is, it’s been created by imperfect humans who can’t predict the impact their algorithms will have on the world.

We should be putting the resources into turning around the current situation instead of creating safe bubbles from which the rich can watch the poor die.”

“Do you have hope in our human leaders?” There was a roar of disapproval, born of generations of despair for the future.

There is no time left: we squandered it in petty arguments with those who deny, even now, that there’s even a problem. But we’re not talking about the end of the world. Earth will survive us, believers and deniers both, and she will not mourn our loss. We’re talking about the end of our world. The end of humanity.” She smashed a fist on her open palm. “Unless we act! Unless we finally make the hard decisions!

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Tully said. So this was what billions could buy. A view as the world drowned.

To lose one person you were close to was heartbreaking. To lose two, in separate incidents within the space of half a week, was a pattern.

“I’m not saying he’s the most stable pin in the bowling alley.”

And yes, I sometimes use those compromising positions to get to a bigger truth because it’s the lies and misinformation from politicians—from back when I was a kid—that have almost destroyed our society, polarized us, stopped us from addressing the biggest issue of our time because people simply didn’t believe in it, like the climate was some kind of fucking religion.

The truth is not a luxury. It’s not disposable. It’s the bedrock of a civilized society.”

I just think we have to be very careful that the technology we use as a tool to help humanity communicate better isn’t used as a weapon against us, to control us or spy on us.”

“World’s burnin’ and everyone’s just sittin’ here enjoyin’ mocha in safety, delivered by little flyin’ machines ’cause they’re too fat-assed to get up and get it themselves. They’re the people who’re supposed to do something, the smart and the rich. How’re they gonna help if they’re just sittin’ inside a big-ass bowl?”

Yes, he decided what the most important truth was. Sometimes you had to prioritize. That was his job. News about minutiae wasn’t news. And yes, he sold it to the public. That was how he made a living. And yes, doing good work elevated his reputation. So why had he felt so attacked? Because, while she’d captured the transactional nature of his business, she’d missed the moral duty that came with it, the need for the public to have a champion for the truth. That was why he did what he did.

the poetry of a place was off the beaten track, in the places where people were living, not just passing through.

“Hey, as long as I’m with you,” he’d told her, “I’ll happily walk down the most boring streets in the most famous cities in the world.”

“You want to ask a highly advanced AI to develop weaponry? What could possibly go wrong?”

“If a blacksmith built a hammer and used it to create a sword, would you say the blacksmith or the hammer created the sword?” “But the hammer still needed the blacksmith to wield it.” “True, but Martha didn’t make that distinction. She created the tool and gave it the ability to wield itself.

“Can an AI experience friendship?” “An artilect can experience anything it’s programmed to.

Emotion and logic have the same purpose. They’re both tools for guiding your choices and decisions, and for understanding the world. And emotion is important; it’s like a depth gauge for how important a choice is.

People seem to live in both the past and in the future, two big overlapping circles, but rarely focus on the intersection and enjoy the moments given to them right now.”

“My understanding is that humans have a unique capacity to solve problems when they’re not focused on them.”

“Do you really think you can save us? Humanity, I mean? Did we leave it too late? There seems like so much to solve.”

“Conspiracy theorists don’t hide. They thrive on attention. They proclaim their horseshit as loudly as they can, and the smellier the shit and the more confidently they proclaim it, the more people eat it up and tell each other how delicious it tastes. How other people should be eating it too. How anyone not eating it is simply a sheep in a herd. This gives them power, Tully. Power over what people believe and how they think. That’s a heady high. They don’t grow in the moldy shadows like mushrooms and bide their time with a small group of recruits.

“I don’t know what to think. I’m just losing faith in coincidence.”

“We should always have doubt,” October said, “particularly when someone has gone to such lengths to cover something up.”

remember how bitter she was about people—especially politicians and corporations—attacking the press and accusing them of creating fake news. She’d tell me how important it was for good journalists to write the first draft of history, so that people like her could come and tidy up later.

“These men played roulette with the world. And lost.”

He told me he could save us, but that it would be hard. That a generation and more will go through hardships, so our descendants can survive. And you know what? This is exactly what we’re bad at. We’re short-term creatures. We continually screw over our own future selves to make our lives more pleasant right here and now—not to mention our children’s futures! He has a plan, but not one I think that a fellow human could make against other humans. This will require ruthlessness on a whole different level—something only he can do. But I do think he believes we are worth saving.”

As she heard her own words aloud, her thoughts became tumbling dominos, and as she always said, it was the smallest of dominos that started the thunderous cascade.