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Grovel was a good plain cook, and he had mastered the recipe for quantum boggle quite early on. Zander and the others sat round the long table in the College kitchens and ladled thick, meaty sauce over their pasta from the big bowl in the centre, adding grated cheese to taste. On the floor, the hedgehogs tucked in enthusiastically to something Zander preferred not to think about, their little snouts buried in their dishes.
(They had made it clear, via the occasional "Whee!", that while the opposable thumbs were indeed very handy and they were grateful and all, eating was a serious business and they preferred to stick with the tried and true methods of their grandparents, thus displaying the same attitude as many westerners when confronted with chopsticks. Besides, the grubs kept wriggling off the knife. Powers' suggestion of honey had been met with a cold stare.)
"Hang on, though," Zander said. "Aren't we getting into Robert Anton Wilson territory here? I mean, next you'll be telling us to go a week without using the word 'is,' because all statements are meaningless as descriptions of the real world or something like that."
"Wilson was one of the clearest thinkers you've had," Powers said, "handicapped only by his refusal to admit when he was actually joking. It's true that what I told you about order and chaos is true of just about every quality you attribute to anything. That is, it's only a partial description and partakes of the speaker's subjective biases. If I were to say you were tall, it would only mean that right now, at this point in your time stream, you are of more than average height compared to other humanoids from Earth. If I were to say you were intelligent--" He broke off. "No, forget that, far too implausible. If I were to say young Fayne here was intelligent, it would only reflect that he has on occasion struck me as having done or said something intelligent. I have no idea--well, I mean, I do, but most people wouldn't--what actually goes on in his head."
"You stay out of my head." Rob waved his fork threateningly.
"But at the same time the statement is true, as far as it goes. Fayne has qualities of intelligence, just as reality has qualities of both order and chaos, and you are indubitably freakishly tall. There's no point in striving for an accuracy that is really outside human capability. The problems crop up when you start reasoning from your statements as though they were absolutely true--thinking that Fayne can always be relied on to act intelligently because he 'is' intelligent, or that because you 'are' tall you'll always be better at painting ceilings than anyone else, or that because the universe 'is' orderly or chaotic that tells you something about why it is so. Down that road lie croppers in profusion, just waiting for you to come them. Why do I always get the bayleaves?"
"Soren's not here," Zander explained. "Anyway, you helped yourself."
"I wasn't asking you," Powers grumbled, eyeing the ceiling in a marked manner.
"But that's a statement you can't argue with," Rob broke in. "'Soren is not here.' He's not. There's no question of subjective bias or partial truth in that. The man is absent."
"Is he?" Powers countered. "As you say that your mind forms an image of him--you have met him, I assume?"
"Twice," Rob said, "though we didn't have much chance to talk."
"I haven't written those yet," Zander protested. "For gods' sake don't tell me."
"Well, no matter if you hadn't. We're all calling up an image of him now, an image which is as near as never mind to the image we have of him when he is here. Since everything happens in our brains anyway, what's the difference? He is, in fact, partially here, in terms of our consensus mental image of him, so we should all get partial bayleaves."
Voices, raised in heated dispute, resounded in the hall outside.
"Timmaeus, if you would only think for a moment--"
"Are you impugning my intelligence, old man? Because if you are--"
"Yeah, pick on someone your own brain power. Agrael's intelligence's got enough problems. It's hard getting yourself declared an endangered species when nobody can find you with a microscope."
"Realtime--"
Rob sighed as the three Archangels, still arguing, burst into the kitchen.
"I withdraw the question," he said. "Grovel, is there any more cheese?"
(They had made it clear, via the occasional "Whee!", that while the opposable thumbs were indeed very handy and they were grateful and all, eating was a serious business and they preferred to stick with the tried and true methods of their grandparents, thus displaying the same attitude as many westerners when confronted with chopsticks. Besides, the grubs kept wriggling off the knife. Powers' suggestion of honey had been met with a cold stare.)
"Hang on, though," Zander said. "Aren't we getting into Robert Anton Wilson territory here? I mean, next you'll be telling us to go a week without using the word 'is,' because all statements are meaningless as descriptions of the real world or something like that."
"Wilson was one of the clearest thinkers you've had," Powers said, "handicapped only by his refusal to admit when he was actually joking. It's true that what I told you about order and chaos is true of just about every quality you attribute to anything. That is, it's only a partial description and partakes of the speaker's subjective biases. If I were to say you were tall, it would only mean that right now, at this point in your time stream, you are of more than average height compared to other humanoids from Earth. If I were to say you were intelligent--" He broke off. "No, forget that, far too implausible. If I were to say young Fayne here was intelligent, it would only reflect that he has on occasion struck me as having done or said something intelligent. I have no idea--well, I mean, I do, but most people wouldn't--what actually goes on in his head."
"You stay out of my head." Rob waved his fork threateningly.
"But at the same time the statement is true, as far as it goes. Fayne has qualities of intelligence, just as reality has qualities of both order and chaos, and you are indubitably freakishly tall. There's no point in striving for an accuracy that is really outside human capability. The problems crop up when you start reasoning from your statements as though they were absolutely true--thinking that Fayne can always be relied on to act intelligently because he 'is' intelligent, or that because you 'are' tall you'll always be better at painting ceilings than anyone else, or that because the universe 'is' orderly or chaotic that tells you something about why it is so. Down that road lie croppers in profusion, just waiting for you to come them. Why do I always get the bayleaves?"
"Soren's not here," Zander explained. "Anyway, you helped yourself."
"I wasn't asking you," Powers grumbled, eyeing the ceiling in a marked manner.
"But that's a statement you can't argue with," Rob broke in. "'Soren is not here.' He's not. There's no question of subjective bias or partial truth in that. The man is absent."
"Is he?" Powers countered. "As you say that your mind forms an image of him--you have met him, I assume?"
"Twice," Rob said, "though we didn't have much chance to talk."
"I haven't written those yet," Zander protested. "For gods' sake don't tell me."
"Well, no matter if you hadn't. We're all calling up an image of him now, an image which is as near as never mind to the image we have of him when he is here. Since everything happens in our brains anyway, what's the difference? He is, in fact, partially here, in terms of our consensus mental image of him, so we should all get partial bayleaves."
Voices, raised in heated dispute, resounded in the hall outside.
"Timmaeus, if you would only think for a moment--"
"Are you impugning my intelligence, old man? Because if you are--"
"Yeah, pick on someone your own brain power. Agrael's intelligence's got enough problems. It's hard getting yourself declared an endangered species when nobody can find you with a microscope."
"Realtime--"
Rob sighed as the three Archangels, still arguing, burst into the kitchen.
"I withdraw the question," he said. "Grovel, is there any more cheese?"