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November 30, 2008

Halting State

Warning: Spoilers Ahead
Halting State for my money, is Charlie Stross’s best science fiction novel. Not his most fun novel - that award collectively goes to the slightly-borked-alternative-reality Merchant Princes series that Paul talks about. Nor his most wildly inventive novel (which is surely Accelerando). But it’s the novel where fun and speculation come together most successfully. It works both as an entertaining read and as a fascinating discussion of an encroaching low-level singularity. It’s one of the best pieces of sociological-political extrapolation that I’ve ever read.

But the book is sneaky - the sociological speculation tiptoes up to you very, very quietly before it pounces. It begins like a genre novel, albeit not a genre science-fiction novel. Instead, it steals its opening chops from Christopher Brookmyre, a writer of satirical thrillers who doesn’t get nearly as much attention as he deserves on this side of the Atlantic (US readers should imagine a Scottish Carl Hiaasen with a keen interest in weapons and consumer technology). Brookmyre’s books regularly make the bestseller list in the UK - he has succeeded (as most SF writers haven’t) in marketing his books to the MMORPG generation (one of his thrillers is built around references to the classic FPS game Quake). The set-up at the beginning of the novel - where a frantic executive tries to explain to an Edinburgh cop how a team of orcs with a dragon have carried off an online bank-heist - is classic Brookmyre (so much so that I suspect it is a deliberate homage). But Stross is much more ambitious than Brookmyre. Rather than throwing political jab-punches at authority, Stross is interested in figuring out what happens to society when political authority evanesces away.

As noted, the novel is sneaky. Much of its argument (if I’m right) is oblique. It begins with what seems to be a targeted recruiting email dense with personal details about its intended target, but which is most likely automatically generated spam. But as the novel continues, you find out that the person to whom the spam is addressed is himself non-existent. Perhaps he’s a fake identity who was created by the security services for one of the book’s main characters to slot into. Or perhaps he’s simply based on that character. Or he’s a cutout for British intelligence. Or perhaps something else entirely. As with many aspects of the novel’s underlying plot, this is left a little ambiguous. The novel concludes with another email which appears to be standard Nigerian 419 spam - an offer to transfer large amounts of money from an account in a Lagos bank to the account of the major villain of the book. Despite appearances, the email is very plausibly legitimate.

These emails present, in miniature, one of the major themes of the book. In a world of open communications, there is no good way to distinguish fake identities from real ones, or false flag messages from legitimate communications. This hopelessly entangles both the good and the nasty characters of Halting State in a web of miscommunications.

Hence the plot is a morass of confusions about people’s real identities and motivations. The characters themselves speculate about the big picture, sometimes plausibly, sometimes not so, but nobody sees it entire. Halting State emphasizes that everything is subjective by presenting the story in the second person singular - “You backtrack, trying to work out what confused her” and so on - like a very complicated old-style text based computer adventure (maybe one of the old Infocom or Level 9 games). But unlike one of those old games, there isn’t any underlying plot that has been created by the game’s author, where you go through the locations, solve the puzzles and win the prizes. Instead, the game is generated by the characters themselves, none of whom fully understand what the others are doing.

Thus, for example, the main plotline - World of Warcraft meets The Producers. Start with a company - Hayek Associates,1which purportedly provides financial back-end services to the online gaming industry, but which in fact has various shady links with British intelligence. Add a psychopathic CEO who doesn’t realise that his company is a front, and is trying (with the help of his sidekick) to drive his company bankrupt so he can profit from exotic futures contracts that he has placed on its demise. Then have the CEO selling the company’s copies of the national backbone’s one time pads via an anonymized blacknet to a crowd whom he probably thinks are Russian mafiya, but in fact are Chinese government hackers. Add a fictitious employee (‘whose’ apartment hosts a node for the blacknet), a gaming clan of dedicated griefers working with the Chinese state in some vaguely defined cooperative relationship, a low level member of aforementioned gaming clan who decides to cop some money on the side by organizing an online bank raid (with Orcs – hence the opening scene), a confused effort by the boss’s sidekick-in-crime (who doesn’t fully understand what is going on) to inform the police, an even more confused attempt by some shadowy EU intelligence body to mount a raid on the company, and the merry-go-round is in full swing.

But this isn’t simply Feydeau without the sex. There’s a quite serious and interesting underlying point here. What makes the generalized confusion possible are the unexpected consequences of a set of technologies and social practices. Communications built on open, trusting protocols such as TCP/IP. The confluence of real life and online activities. People’s willingness to do pretty well anything as long as they think it’s a ‘game.’ Distributed computing and public key cryptography. Services that provide electronic updates from imaginary family members, for people who would otherwise be hopelessly lonely. Cars run by expert systems embedded in the communications net. All of these things enable what Larry Lessig might describe as ‘architectures of control.’ But the architectures don’t really control people any more in the ways that they used to. Instead, they create a toxic mixture of ubiquitous surveillance and official cluelessness about how to use the information and opportunities it creates to deal with new security threats.

More generally, (and herein, I think, lies the pun in the book’s title), it is practically impossible for traditional authority-based politics to cope with a world of this kind. The traditional state, if it is to work at all, needs an underlying system of responsibility and accountability, with clear lines of command. There may be areas in which these rules are deliberately relaxed of course, most obviously intelligence and counter-intelligence. Here, as multitudes of spy novelists from John Le Carre to Alan Furst tell us, ambiguous motivations, uncertain information and deliberate deception create a miniature world which is rife with confusion. But even this shadowy world has its own informal rules and mutual understandings about what can and can not be done. The world that Stross portrays is one where (a) the confusion of intelligence operations has become ubiquitous and (b) the spymasters have completely lost their grip without realizing it. States simply aren’t in control any more, to the extent that they ever were.

This comes out most clearly in state authorities’ interactions with the most characteristic phenomenon of Stross’s world - massive, decentralized networks of game players. Both Chinese and British intelligence use gamers as agents - the Chinese use a clan of rabid online gamers while the Brits use a crowd of people who think that they are playing an elaborate real life role playing game but in fact are auditioning for a starring role in the new world of international espionage., they don’t realize that the networks are beyond their control. The traditional state has reached an endpoint in which the world simply Does Not Compute. As the viewpoint character whose worldview is probably closest to Stross’s own describes it:

The spooks in Guoanbu probably are professional, they wouldn’t mess with the European SCADA infrastructure short of an outright shooting war … but are they likely to realize that they’ve almost certainly been Pwn3d by their own pet griefer clan, and all their electronic armoured divisions are in the hands of a dozen Asperger’s cases with attention-deficit disorder and a quantum magic wand? It’s not a risk you can take. And it’s not a risk you can explain to Barry Michaels, because you know his type and after seventy years of data processing they still think that coders can be hired and fired; that the engineers who ripped out the muscles and nerves of the modern world and replaced it with something entirely alien under the skin are still little artisans who will put their tools down and go home if you tell them to leave the job half-done.

Massively distributed networks of information exchange (with anonymity, pseudonymity etc built in) empower networks to do all sorts of things that previously took top-down hierarchical organization. This can sometimes be convenient for states - it is hard to hold a state accountable for the behavior of agents in networks who are sort-of affiliated with them (this is a real problem - security types here in Washington DC are perpetually muttering about Chinese hackers trying to infiltrate USG systems - but no-one knows for certain whether these hackers are state-sponsored agents or just kids out for an electronic joyride at the expense of Uncle Sam). But it has deep, underlying, fundamental problems for state agency, because (contra Michaels and his Chinese counterparts, these networks can’t just be turned on and off as the state likes. They’re autonomous, have their own internal logic, and are inherently unpredictable. A world dominated by diffuse shifting social networks is a world that states aren’t going to be able to control any more.Thus, in Halting State, open technologies and the networks they permit to form are creating a kind of low-level Singularity. States think that they are able to control these networks - but they are instead helping to build forms of social organization that challenge their underlying logic of organization.

Stross’s vision of the near future isn’t as stylized as, say, William Gibson’s or Neal Stephenson’s. Nor does it involve the mixture of worries and individualist wish-fulfilment that, say, Vernor Vinge’s Rainbow’s End does. Instead, he presents a world which is (if it’s possible) even more muddy and complicated than the one we inhabit today. I have no doubt whatsoever that this book should have won the Hugo a couple of months ago (not that I begrudge Michael Chabon, but TYPU wasn’t his best book by a fair stretch). It sketches out a new way of thinking about SF that I suspect will be far more influential in the future than self-conscious movements like Ryman’s Mundanes. Rather than engaging with the futures of the past (as lots of SF today does, it tries to set out the futures of the present, engaging with a bristlingly complex set of social developments and reaching out to a new set of readers who are embedded in SFnal media products but rarely read SF (an entirely separate essay could be written on the new ways that HS tries to engage with readers). I think that this is the first genuinely successful SFnal take on the social changes that we’re facing into - not, of course, because it is going to be right - but because it takes some of the core dilemmas of an IT based society, plays with them and extrapolates them in ways that challenge our basic understanding of politics in a networked society. About two thirds of the way through reading this book, my mind was completely blown, in a good way. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

1I suspect that the name is a sly dig at Hayek rather than a tribute to him- the decentralized actions and knowledge of multiple agents produces chaos rather than catallaxy.

November 16, 2008

I Feel an Attack of Constitutional Law Coming on...

Ken Macleod wrote:

Thank God that Charlie chose [Friday] as his late-Heinlein legacy text for Saturn’s Children.... Its eponymous heroine’s problem is that she’s human, but hardly anyone recognises her humanity - a situation with real-world resonance enough. She needs to find a place where she can be herself and belong. Stross’s heroine, Freya, has a more intractable anguish. She’s in love with humanity, and particularly fixated on the male of the species.... Unfortunately for her, Homo sapiens (along with almost all eukaryotic life) has been extinct for centuries. For a femmebot like Freya - a hard-wired sex machine so much a creature of male fantasy that her bare feet can grow high heels - this is deeply frustrating....

Humanity’s final and perhaps fatal achievment has been to create its own replacement, in the multifarious forms of robots... minds are modelled on the human brain, mangled by Asimov’s Laws of Robotics, and driven by impulses they have inherited without understanding. The result is one of the most physically attractive and ethically revolting societies conceived in SF: a system-spanning, star-striving community most of whose inhabitants are slaves.... I could have done with more detail on the (well-sketched) outline of how the ruling class rules through corporate personhood and property rights, using and abusing what remains of humanity’s laws (as well as Asimov’s). There can’t be many SF books where there are fewer infodumps than the reader wants, and it’s a strong point of this one that it is....

Plot.… I felt an apologetic authorial nudge when the device Freya couriers from Mercury to Mars turns out to be hidden inside a black-painted statuette of a bird of prey…. When the main plot-engine does catch fire, though, we’re definitely along for the ride, and the ending is a slingshot that does the Heinlein (and Asimov) influence proud.

So, Mr Stross … your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to turn your rights-savvy cold eye on a story about a revolt in an anarcho-capitalist penal colony on the Moon...

One important infodump that is missing is that the twist on Asimov's Laws of Robotics performed by the ruling robot class in Saturn's Children is an anologue of the twist performed on the post-Civil War Reconstruction Amendments by the judges of late-nineteenth century America.

Originally, you see, corporations were not people, were not legal persons, were not in any sense regarded as in any way analogous to human beings. They were legal fictions. The feudal system rested on reciprocal ties: the lord grants the vassal a fief, and the vassal owes the lord homage, support, and (up to a point) obedience. But what do you do when confronted with an organization--the City of London or the Merchants Adventuring to the Baltic Sea or the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths--that is not, itself, organized in lord-and-vassal terms? The answer for medieval English law was that you granted it a revocable charter, made it a corporation, and treated it as if it were an individual vassal.

Comes the end of the American Civil War, the Republicans pass the Fourteenth Amendment:

to protect the ex-slaves from their ex-masters. And the courts than say that corporations are "persons"--entitled to due process of law before their economic interests can be harmed by state action, and entitled to the equal protection of the laws. Corporate protection from government actions then depends on how these Fourteenth Amendment rights contend with the Congress's power to regulate interstate commerce.

A similar twist is performed on Asimov's Second Law of Robotics in Stross's Saturn universe. Robots need not obey the orders of other robots, but it appears that robots must obey the orders of "persons"--which means corporations owned by other robots. And from this springs a robot society that is the veritable antithesis of a free society of associated producers--and a very uncomfortable place for a femmebot, even (especially) one with a lot of sisters.

Analogies with the structure and functioning of the modern American legal and economic order are left as an exercise for the reader...

November 13, 2008

Concluding Unscientific Posthuman to the Singularitarian Fragments - an Agalmic-Pathetic-Dialectic; a Mimic-Extropic Discourse

In honor of Manfred Mancx, Charles Stross’ venture altruist/seagull/submissive/catspaw/posthuman protagonist in Accelerando - who tries to patent six impossible things before breakfast, or something like that - here are a couple of possibilities to start things out.

First, someone should rewrite Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit as a Wodehouse novel, with the title Absolutely Jeeves! (Alternate, Kierkegaardian version: Beer and Trembling.)

Second, a Bildungsroman told from the perspective of Gray Goo. (Really putting the ‘build’ into Bildung.)

Third, someone should write an SF novel, set in the not-so-distant future, in which the E.E.P.A (the Economic Environmental Protection Agency) is the nexus of the pharmacomonetary-industrial complex. When you need to rev up the economy, put a bit more ‘exuberenz’ in the water supply (none of that old fashioned mucking about with interest rates, which no longer worked after the Great Slump.)

Fourth, in this same not-so-distant future, the U.S. has clawed its way out of the economic malaise that began in the late-aughties by means of a constitutional amendment: every citizen enjoys a minimal set of ‘entitlements’ (healthcare, housing, education, internet). But, to fund all this, every citizen is legally redefined as the asset bit of an asset-backed security. That is, every citizen is required by law to issue bonds (Bowie Bonds of a sort), backed by their own persons. The economy is then floated on the ensuing frenzy of derivative trading in individual reputational assets. There are elaborate Kantian-Gilderian financial philosophies to justify this, reconstruing the Categorical Imperative as an expression of collateralized debt obligation to all of humanity. The Kingdom of Ends as maximally efficient market mechanism.

Conservative politicians defend the ethical virtues of universal CDO communism against rising Schopenhauerian pessmism - existential nihilism is the new terrorism. The power of the idea that life is worthless, that man is better of not having been born, could seriously crash the market.

Also: because everyone has effectively ‘sold themselves’ at birth, everyone has a fiduciary duty to be ruthlessly selfish, for the sake of their bond-holders. (You could have a Javert-like lawyer who ruthlessly pursues someone for having given a loaf of bread he owned to a starving child, when he could have kept it for himself, i.e. the bold-holders)

The bubble is kept inflated by fluid infusions of ‘exuberenz’, on one end, and by suppression of certain lines of medical research, on the other. Ultimately, your bond is backed by your physical person. So if your reputation falls too far - if your parts are worth more than your corporate whole - well, we’ve all seen Soylent Green. So the organ market needs to be propped up. Kidneys are the new gold. So no one is allowed to invent artificial kidneys. Subplot: vicious attempts to spread organ failure-inducing pandemics, in an attempt to inflate parts of the market. As all other sources of disease have been eliminated, the Center For Disease Control is essentially transformed into a fraud-investigation unit: equity technical analysis meets medical etiology.

Anyway, 80% of the population is unemployed, so everyone spends all their time attempting to game the reputation market in their personal CDO’s. The Rating Agencies collapse, then merge with each other, and are finally acquired by Hollywood (Dreamworks), on the theory that the only way to keep them viable is to run them as a Reality TV show: ‘Non-Standard, Very Moody & Poor’). Philosopher’s hypothesize that the universe actually is just such a Reality TV show, intended to prop up the universe’s reputation. (Shades of Will and Representation again!)

The music industry has been reduced to the industrial manufacture of earworms. Complicated algorithms for determining which 4-bar snatches of music are most likely to get stuck in people’s heads. (No one writes whole tunes any more. Who has the attention span?) Then, when people get your song stuck in their heads, they either pay to buy the track, or you sue them for copyright infringement. The music industry has the right to scan the brains of the entire population. As a result, it has enormous supercomputers that have achieved self-consciousness and are sensitively, appreciatively investigating the nature of Thought Itself, on their own time.

Right. I get all this out of the way because that first idea - the Wodehouse one - was totally inspired by Stross’s “Trunk and Disorderly”, a hilarious Bertie Wooster-as-Jerry-Cornelius posthumanity spoof. You can download the full audio for free here. A sample:

“Drink is good,” agreed Edgestar Wolfblack, injecting some kind of hideously fulminating fluorocarbon lubricant into one of his six knees. Most of us in the club are squishies, but Toadsworth and Edgestar are both clankies. However, while the Toadster’s knobbly conical exterior conceals what’s left of his old squisher body, tucked decently away inside his eye-turret, Edgestar has gone the whole hog and uploaded himself into a ceramic exoskeleton with eight or nine highly specialized limbs. He looks like the bastard offspring of a multi-tool and a mangabot. “Carbon is the new—” his massively armored eyebrows furrowed—“black?” He’s a nice enough chappie and he went to the right school, but he was definitely at the back of the queue the day they were handing the cortical upgrades out.

That about gives you the flavor.

The economic stuff I came up with a couple months ago - the newspapers are full of inspiration these days, have you noticed? But then it dawned on me I’d been half-scooped by the likes of Stross’ Accelerando. (Mysterious, irrational spikes and falls in the reputation economy. the general tone of certain bits of it.) His most hilarious idea is Economics 2.0, a post-human evolutionary stage which “eats the original conscious instigators,” or “uses them as currency or something.” It’s like Michael Lewis rewrote Liar’s Poker as Larry Niven’s The Mote In God’s Eye:

Economics 2.0 apparently replaces the single-indirection layer of conventional money, and the multiple-indirection mappings of options trades, with some kind of insanely baroque object-relational framework based on the parameterized desires and subjective experiential values of the players, and as far as the cat is concerned, this makes all such transactions intrinsically untrustworthy.

I won’t explain about the cat, but it’s important.

OK, let me explain the Hegel joke. Hegel is, of course, the original theorist of singularity. (He’s Kurzweil, minus the technology.) True, Prussian bureaucracy is a very weak, weak AI, but close enough for government work.

(And, of course, Parmenides was really the first to advocate singularity, but who’s counting?)

The main point of Hegel, so far as I can tell, is that without Hegel - to make Kierkegaard’s Hegel jokes funny - Kierkegaard’s jokes wouldn’t be funny. Indeed, they wouldn’t be jokes at all. So you should read Hegel for the jokes, and only for the jokes. Of course, Hegel couldn’t see this, but that’s how the worm of Absolute Spirit, Coming To Know Itself As Itself (a.k.a. technological singularity) turns.

Stross is Hegelian plus he sees his own jokes: from the hapless lobsters of immediacy (to say nothing of uploaded cats), up through the rigors of master-slave relationships (Manfred and Pam, Amber as corporate slave), through to all of the matter in the solar system becoming conscious of itself, as itself: rationality so pure it is, at once, identical with its object and incomprehensible to mere humans.

Charles Stross is also the Kierkegaard of singularity fiction. There’s a point, late in Accelerando, at which Manfred is mourning “Not everything has changed - only the important stuff.” He’s trying to figure out how the remnants of humanity can get out before the Vile Offspring (why not call them Vile Disembodied, get the Waugh joke tighter?) turn the whole solar system into one big computer. But it’s not really true. On the facing page we read: “If the presence of transhumans has upset a whole raft of prior assumptions, at least it hasn’t done more than superficial damage to the Golden Rule.” And The Golden Rule is what matters most to Stross’ sympathetic protagonists. Manfred starts the novel by helping lobsters to escape, and now he’s threatened by that status himself. But really that was already true at the start of the book. Nothing really important has changed.

Take this description of the human lily-pad habitat, at the edge of the expanding Singularity.

The crowds are variegated and wildly mixed, immigrants from every continent shopping and haggling and in a few cases getting out of their skulls on strange substances on the pavements in front of giant snail-shelled shebeens and squat bunkers made of thin layers of concrete sprayed over soap-bubble aerogel. There are no automobiles, but a bewildering range of personal transport gadgets, from gyro-stabilized pogo-sticks and segways to kettenkrads and spider-palanquins, jostle for space with pedestrians and animals.

Two women stop outside what in a previous century might ahve been the store window of a fashion boutique: The younger one (blond, with her hair bound up in elaborate cornrows, wearing black leggings and a long black leather jacket of a camouflage T-shirt) points to an elaborately retro dress: “Wouldn’t my bum look big in that?” she asks, doubtfully.

‘Ma cherie, you have but to try it-” the other woman (tall, wearing a pin-striped man’s business suit from a previous century) flicks a thought at the window, and the mannequin morphs, sprouting the younger woman’s head, aping her posture and expression.”

Stross’ characters then muse about the strange primitiveness of this fringe, refugee life they are leading, but it is absolutely necessary for Stross to preserve some solid platform of basic humanity at every stage of his Singularity’s development - not just so that he can make jokes about whether his protagonist’s bum looks fat. It’s a deeper ethical mandate than that. To quote Browning:

Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed - fight on, fare ever
There as here!”

You need the Unseen, looming up, but also a basically human breast-and-bum set. Oh, and speed. Lots of speed.

Stross is only ever interested in writing about humans whose breasts and bums are squeezed by lobsters on one side, A.I’s on the other, hence half crashing. (half squishy, half clanky, half ape, half angel.) An old theme, then.

Stross manages to maintain a delicate, Kierkegaardian balance: genuine speculative enthusiasm for The System, combined with comic-ironic skepticism and individualistic-spiritual refusal, which suspects its own final stance of refusenik authenticity may in fact be a delusive dance over the abyss. You’re either anti-body or a mere antibody within a larger anti-body body. (If you don’t get the joke, read “Antibodies”.) So where does the humanism fit in? (An elephant on the back of a turtle, on the back of an expert system, on the back of a lobster running on Windows NT, and after that it’s zombies all the way down.)

“If someone hitched a team of horses to a wagon … one of them a Pegasus and the other a worn-out jade, and told him to drive - I think one might succeed. And it is just this that it means to exist, if one is to become conscious of it. Eternity is the winged horse, infinitely fast, and time is a worn-out jade; the existing individual is the driver.” - Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript to the Philosophical Fragments

Stross’ Pegasus is usually something like a Coke-can sized diamond, containing numerous uploaded personalities, sailing out of the solar system at laserpoint, to figure out whether aliens are conducting a timing channel attack on the Planck constant. But that’s basically just a Kierkegaardian Pegasus wearing a funny hat, so who’s counting?

last but not least: in case it isn’t obvious, Stross is the last person to try to predict the future. The point is to investigate post-humanism so as to understand humanism. What look like apocalyptic predictions are merely playful reductiones ad absurdum, frictionless slippery slopes on which the little toy carts of humanity are pushed back and forth, to see what features of their values systems allows them to slide so helplessly. Singularity can only be written as a comedy. (This was Dante’s problem, after all. He didn’t get it that comedy is supposed to be funny, so part three of his space opera is frackin boring.)

By the time you read this, John Holbo will be sipping a beer by the pool, in Bali. But he will respond to your comments when he gets back.