Dream Time

Daniel Dennett is quite annoying. His view of consciousness is completely absurd, for example. I’m not going to defend my position here because this isn’t exactly what this post is about.

In case you don’t know, Daniel Dennett is a major analytical philosopher, the English-speaking tradition of philosophy dating from the late nineteenth century CE with the rejection of Hegelian idealism, continuing today and apparently also including Polish philosophers for some reason. Bertrand Russell is a good example. It was once described in ‘Radical Philosophy’ like this: a Heideggerian says something like “Die Welt weltet”, and analytic philosophy comes along and says “Where is this Welt, and when exactly did it start welting?”. It is actually mainly my own background and I have a lot of respect for it, partly because I think postmodernism is a good way of making excuses for how things are politically and socially without coming up with a solution to them, and that comes out of the continental tradition. I’d also distinguish analytic philosophy from other viable philosophical approaches taken by anglophones such as that of William Blake, who is unsurprisingly an outsider and apparently linked to the Muggletonians, about whom I know very little. Sarada is the expert on Blake, but for what it’s worth I think of him as an English Romantic. I don’t know if that’s fair.

Recently, Dennett was involved in a movement referred to as the “Brights”, whose aim was to further metaphysical naturalism. Metaphysical naturalism is often treated as if it’s synonymous with atheism, but in fact it’s a specialised form of atheism which is radically different, for instance, from Marxist atheism and the South Asian Samkhya and Carvaka. I had a conversation with a White bloke the other day who was atheist because of karma, a view also found in South Asian thought. The basic idea there is that because karma is a universal law governing the working of the Universe, there’s no need to suppose that God exists. Although I’m theist, I do find this interesting on an intellectual level, mainly because it’s so unlike metaphysical naturalism but still strongly atheist. Metaphysical naturalism is the idea that only natural forces and laws operate in the Universe, i.e. there is no supernatural realm and therefore no God or other deities. Obviously I don’t agree with this, but that isn’t why I find Dennett annoying.

The Brights were founded by Dennett and Dawkins, among other people whose names don’t come to mind right now. Other metaphysically naturalistic atheists, such as Christopher Hitchens, have criticised the name as appearing to imply intellectual superiority. It reminds me a bit of the stereotypical Mensa attitude. To be fair, I’m not sure this was the intention so much as an attempt to come up with a positive-sounding name. Brights use the word “super” to describe people such as myself who have supernatural and/or mystical elements as part of our view. This actually makes me sound like Wonder Woman or something, so it’s okay really. Nonetheless, the Brights believe themselves to be right and us to be wrong. It isn’t an unusual position to see oneself as correct by contrast with others whose opinions differ, so that is also fine.

One of Dennett’s more bizarre positions is that lucid dreams are not experiences. This strikes me as a kind of ideological commitment resulting from it being a logical conclusion of his other views about consciousness. However, it’s also an elaboration of another, simpler position of his with which I actually do agree, in a sense: that dreams are not experiences in general. I do differ with this view but also think it captures something significant about the nature of consciousness, particularly wakefulness. Looking at them from a position of being awake, it seems to me that dreaming could well represent the wakeful consciousness attempting to make sense of the “junk” present in one’s mind on waking. There are some reasons why this may not be true, but others which are hard to reconcile with it not being so. For instance, someone I know once dreamt that she, note the tense in this phrase, has to cry three tears to save a toad’s life, and I could hear her trying to do this several minutes before she woke up. On the other hand, I was once dreaming while the radio was on and the sequence of events on the radio is time-reversed in my dream. The dream ends with something happening on the radio which in waking experience happened before something which starts the dream, which can be explained if dreams are false memories created during REM sleep.

The idea that lucid dreams are not experiences is kind of arse-about-face. It’s a conclusion Dennett is forced into due to his expressed view of consciousness which is counter-intuitive to me, and I’d think to most other people. There is an odd phenomenon in consciousness where immediately prior events are “re-written” by memory. For instance, MP3 files when played back often have periods of silence in them before loud notes which the listener doesn’t notice because they’re eclipsed by the slightly later event. Dennett uses a similar illusion called the “phi phenomenon” where lights of two colours flashed in succession leads to the perception that a single light is moving back and forth and changing colour. He offers two explanations for this, which he calls “Orwellian” and “Stalinesque”. In the Orwellian hypothesis, like Winston’s experience with the fingers (or Picard’s experience with the lights in ‘Star Trek’, which is a direct steal), perception is revised after the fact of being experienced. Stalinesquely, the forthcoming experience is revised before reaching consciousness like a show trial whose verdict is pre-decided. These two versions of what happens don’t require any difference in the model of what’s going on in the brain. The only difference is in when the perception becomes an object of consciousness. The claim is then that the reason there is no difference between the two is that this account of consciousness as emerging at a certain point is an error based on the legacy of misunderstanding consciousness as Cartesian – that is, that living humans consist of two substances, the soul and the body, whereof the former is conscious and dimensionless and the latter occupies space and is not conscious, with the two interacting, according to Descartes within the pineal gland. Dennett believes that we are still too attached to this kind of account, although we don’t literally believe it any more, and that consciousness is not a special, circumscribed state, has no subject of experience (I have sympathy with this bit) and is actually the flow of information from place to place.

Applying this to non-lucid dreaming, information flow would occur on waking. With lucid dreaming, we only have illusory choice and experiencing in the moment according to this account, which also applies as far as Dennett is concerned to waking life. Dreaming and lucid dreaming are primarily useful illustrations of his general theory here rather than objects of study themselves.

Obviously I think he’s wrong. He also casts doubt on the existence of qualia, which are the essential qualities of experience whose existence cannot rationally be doubted. Qualia, put another way, are what people refer to when they say things like “your red might be my blue”, which captures the notion well but doesn’t actually work in detail because of the network of experiences and how they relate to one another. It’s important to decide what are and aren’t qualia, because once one declares something as a quale it’s placed beyond question and that restricts possible arguments. For instance, Nkechi Amare Diallo could claim that her Black identity is a quale, at which point White people identifying as Black suddenly becomes sanctified in some realm beyond criticism. I actually do think the mental perception of the possibility of becoming pregnant is a good example of a quale which is not intuitively so, because it sometimes leads to radical departures of opinion regarding the ethics of reproductive choice, and that does in fact correspond to “no uterus, no opinion” as the position is sometimes rather crudely expressed. However, the existence of quale cannot be doubted, and if someone is led into the position where they can make such a claim, it comes across to me as a weird ideological commitment to an untenable position rather than something which can be attached to an account of consciousness.

From wakeful experience, we tend to perceive dreaming as something which occurs while we’re asleep, and individual dreams as prospects which occur in the future of our wakefulness before we fall asleep and in the past of our wakefulness when we have woken up. With closer examination, we might conclude that dreams are not experiences but attempts by a wakeful mind to make sense of the clutter present in our minds when we awake. Although I think this is incorrect, it does work well as an illustration that the chronology of dreams is not what we might assume. Lucid dreaming is said to be encouraged by always recounting dreams in the present tense. This is somewhat confused by the fact that not all languages have a present tense, and this raises a further question: are there languages which have a way of expressing dream time?

Before I answer this question, I want to outline my understanding of states of consciousness. I believe it makes sense to say there are six states of consciousness: wakefulness, dreaming, dreamless sleep, hypnosis, meditation and Ganzfeld. There’s also a very strong tendency to prioritise wakefulness above the others, to the extent that it’s seen as the only realistic state of consciousness and the state which dictates the nature of time. Dream logic is not seen as proper logic. A friend of mine recently observed, interestingly, that although I had recently dreamt about the King, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t still be Queen dreams. My own attitude towards states of consciousness is rather different. I believe that several or all of those states are of equal, or perhaps incommensurate, status. The list I’ve just made was from a wakeful state. It’s equally possible to dream of a completely different list. I’m not convinced that hypnosis is a valid state of consciousness but I do believe it’s neither dreaming nor dreamless sleep. There are “state” and “non-state” views on hypnosis. The state view is that a hypnotised subject has entered an altered, more suggestible state of consciousness, which is supported by their alleged inability, in some cases, to recall the events which took place during it. The non-state version is that hypnosis is a form of role-play in a kind of theatrical setting, which doesn’t just apply to stage hypnotism but also the likes of hypnotherapy. That idea is not supposed to contradict its efficacy as a therapy, incidentally. Ganzfeld is the other state which could do with a bit of explanation. This can be introduced by relaxation and sensory deprivation although it also occurs at one’s bidding, perhaps with a bit of practice. It may not may not be a healthy state.

Insofar as each of these is a valid state of consciousness, none has priority over any others. Each has unique features. As I’m mainly contrasting dreaming and wakefulness here, taking them equally seriously, the wakeful mind can have a view of dreaming that is either the detritus of dormancy or a sequence of experiences which occur between successive experiences of wakefulness, but this is only the view of the waking mind and is no more valid than that of dreaming. There is still a relationship between dreaming experiences and the senses, for instance because a cold night might be associated with dreaming of the Arctic or because some experience one had the previous day influences the dream. From the perspective of dreaming, wakeful consciousness influences one’s experience but there are oddities about its temporality because with dreams of any length, it can often be difficult to locate a moment when the dream begins and, as I’ve said before, some of my dreams involve things like “having always sat on the roof”, i.e. my dream is of climbing out of a bedroom window onto the roof just like I always have for years. From a dreaming perspective, whatever waking life makes of them, dreaming consciousness is very different in terms of the passage of time and even if it turns out that dreams are squished-up false memories of stuff happening immediately before waking from a daytime perspective, this has no more or less validity than whatever the dreaming mind thinks of wakefulness.

Given all that, this is the question I am mainly interested in answering here: how do we refer to dream time? English uses the present tense to refer to “tenseless” things, such as saying that “one plus one is/equals two”. We don’t usually say “one plus one used to equal two” or “one plus one will be two next Thursday” unless we’re trying to make some kind of rhetorical point about eternal verities. I have said in the past, from a waking perspective anyway, that the events of dreams should be referred to in the aorist. This is in fact a somewhat inaccurate way of describing what I’m doing when I seem to use the present tense.

The word “aorist” originates from the Ancient Greek “ἀόριστος”, which breaks down as “ἀ-” – not – and “όριστος” – definite. In other words, “indefinite”, “undefined” and also simple – the unadorned, plain form of the verb. In English, we might identify this with the simple present indicative except that in English this usually puts an S, an “-eth” or “-est” on the end, so it isn’t usually unadorned. As an ahistorical, perhaps an aorist, word, it seems to work quite well as a way of describing events which do not occur in the waking passage of time, but in fact the Ancient Greek usage is to refer to the past. It’s used as a narrative tense, so it does make sense if dreams are retold as stories to use the aorist, but in certain circumstances can also refer to the present or future. It’s also worth mentioning that there is aspect as well as tense involved here. Aspect is how the action described by a verb occurs over time, i.e. whether it’s a one-time short term event, a repeated action or a continuous one. For instance, “I rowed” and “I sowed” might involve grabbing the oars just once and sculling briefly and putting a single seed in the ground, or they might refer to rowing across a river or walking across a field broadcasting a full bowl of seed. English seems to have lost the ability to distinguish easily between these, but many other languages actually focus more on that element of time than on tense. Hence aspect is still relevant to dreaming as experience, or perceived experience but tense may be misleading.

Sanskrit also has an aorist, which is relevant because it happens to be used to discuss consciousness a lot. In fact I almost used the word “samadhi” to describe what I called “meditation” just now. There are two aorists in Sanskrit, one which is simply preterite indicative, like our own simple past, and an injunctive mood, which is also found in Homeric Greek, which could be used as an imperative or subjunctive, usually for prohibitions in later Sanskrit.

Hence the problem is that although there is something out there called the aorist, which is not in any case present in English, it actually tends to express the past although it technically needn’t and the literal meaning of the word “aorist” is not perfectly reflected in the actual meaning of the word. From the perspective of wakefulness, I would want to express dreaming experience as occurring in a kind of abstract time. Imagine a three-dimensional line graph. The space within that graph could be said to be located in a particular place in the sense that it might be on the page of a book or a computer display, but there need be no region of the Universe consisting of a graph, which can in principle be visited. Time and space in dreaming are virtual. Events can be located relative to each other temporally only within the dream, but need to be referred to outside of it, but referring to them in the past tense doesn’t do them justice.

Calling this post “Dream Time” makes it sound like a reference to the idea Australian Aboriginals are said by Western anthropologists to have about the primordial state of the world, but as usual it’s important to examine this critically. If it turns out that the kind of wakeful consciousness we have today in the West is highly contingent, maybe our lives are surrounded temporally by a sleep, not in the sense of absence of consciousness but as a different kind of consciousness. I know very little about this and feel it would be culturally insensitive to say too much about it, as well as inappropriate for the cultural and environmental milieu I live in, but the term itself suggests to me an entirely valid concept of a kind of timeless eternity out of which our wakefulness condenses. I have no idea whether this is what anthropologists mean by it or whether it even exists in any Australian Aboriginal culture, but it does make sense although it might give dreaming unwarranted priority. At this point I could of course read what Wikipedia says about it and pretend I know what I’m talking about, but that doesn’t do it justice.

Behind all this while I’ve been writing is awareness of a particular form of dementia called Lewy Body. This is associated with Parkinsonism, and involves the mixing of dreaming and wakefulness. Although it would seem insensitive to regard this as anything other than a pathological state, it is interesting that this occurs towards the end of waking life. We tend to think of dreaming and wakefulness as sharply differentiated, although when I had B12 deficiency early signs of my psychosis there was some such mixture. Prisoner’s cinema, Charles Bonnet Syndrome, phantosmia and possibly some forms of tinnitus and hearing voices also seem to have things in common with this. Prisoner’s cinema is more like Ganzfeld, and in fact it leads me to wonder whether states of consciousness are to each other like different gears on a car, with Ganzfeld intermediate between dreaming and wakefulness.

People have been known to enter a state of meditation as a prelude to their death. More often, the state of mind immediately before death as monitored by instruments resembles dreamless sleep and this continues immediately after death, with a sudden flash of activity a few minutes later. Once again, it may be inappropriate to refer to these phenomena temporally, as any subjectivity may not experience them in this manner.

This post, I hope, will make a good companion to tomorrow’s, written on International Yoga Day.

Deducing The Existence Of Rice Pudding And Income Tax

This post will not be entirely about ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s’ Guide To The Galaxy’. And incidentally, the rest of the ingredients list includes a teaspoon of cinnamon, presumably powder, in case you were wondering, and the next bit reads as follows (and has started to transition to live-action):

(apparently it couldn’t deduce the spelling of “yields”).

Just to put this in context, this is naturally from H2G2 and regards the operation of the second greatest computer in all of space and time, Deep Thought, who started from first principles with ‘I Think, Therefore I Am’ and managed to deduce the existence of rice pudding and income tax before anyone managed to turn it off. It does this without any RAM incidentally. Is it just me, or is anyone else reminded of the bomb in ‘Dark Star’?

This is the second time, to my knowledge, Douglas Adams chooses to parody Descartes in the series. The first time is with the Babel Fish proving God exists and therefore doesn’t exist. This one involves Descartes method of doubting as much as possible until all he’s left with is the Cogito, id est, “I think, therefore I am”, and then using the Cosmological and Ontological Arguments for the existence of God to fill in everything he’s just rejected as open to doubt. He could’ve gone further, but didn’t. Isaac Asimov did something similar in ‘Reason’, where a robot on an orbital solar power station deduces that there is no Universe outside the station and that humans are brought into existence in the airlock when they arrive and are killed when they re-enter the airlock to leave. Incidentally there are problems with his presentation of the Three Laws in this story because it was written before he’d fully formulated them.

In terms of the two deductions above, Adams has a version of the Universe which strongly resembles the English-speaking world of the late 1970s, perhaps even the Home Counties, and Deep Thought is therefore able to deduce the existence of rice pudding relatively easily. In fact I think income tax is a more probable deduction than rice pudding, although that still involves the existence of what may be a uniquely human institution, namely money. As a side note, the idea that cinnamon exists is reminiscent of ‘The Dune Encyclopedia’, where the spice Melange, secreted by the sandworms of Arrakis and enabling humans who take it to fold space and travel between the stars without moving, an ability known here as  קְפִיצַת הַדֶּרֶךְ or Qephitzat Ha-Derech, turns out to be similar in composition to cinnamic acid, as seen at the top of this diagram:

Molecular structure of the spice Melange. Note the copper atoms in the porphyrin ring, conferring its distinctive blue hue

Hence at least in the Dune universe, a cinnamon-like substance does exist off Earth.

As mentioned a few posts back, Fred Hoyle used the Anthropic Principle to conjecture that the bonding energy of the carbon-12 nucleus was of a certain value. Starting from the first principle that organic, carbon-based life exists, he predicted the triple-alpha process. In the early Universe, almost all atomic matter was either simple hydrogen (protium – just a proton and an electron) or helium-4, with two protons and two neutrons. If two helium-4 atoms combine, they form a beryllium-8 atom, and if that then collides with a further helium-4 atom, carbon-12 is formed. In most circumstances, the probability of this happening is very low but it so happens that the energy of three helium-4 atoms colliding is unusually close to the energy of a carbon-12 atom, meaning that they are more likely to stay together than they would be otherwise. This is an example of the so-called “fine tuning” which appears to show that either a Creator exists or that we are living in one of an innumerable number of parallel universes where the conditions happen to be exactly right. By a happy “accident”, conditions in this universe happen to favour the existence of carbon, upon which life can be built.

This is an unusual path of reasoning that turned out to lead to a successful prediction and is therefore similar to the deduction that rice pudding exists in H2G2. It goes roughly like this:

  1. I think, therefore I am
  2. Physical conditions in the Universe must allow thought to occur
  3. For thought to occur, organic life must have existed at some stage
  4. For organic life to exist, carbon must be an abundant element
  5. For carbon to exist, the triple alpha process must be favoured

There’s a humungous number of steps missing from that argument of course, but it’s a fair sketch of how you get from the Cogito to the strength of the strong nuclear force and the existence of organic life. Note that Deep Thought was not an organic life form, but in order for computers to be invented, organic life forms are assumed to be necessary at some stage.

I was once very impressed indeed by an a priori idea that seems to prove that the atmosphere of any roughly spherical planet must have at least two locations where there is no wind. This sounds very much like the kind of thing which could only be demonstrated by observation. One can imagine looking at endless detailed global weather charts and finding at least two spots on each of them which are completely calm, and then making the inductive inference that it was very likely always to be the case. However, this isn’t necessary and in fact the proof can be demonstrated by means of imagining you’re trying to comb a tribble:

exhibit in the New Mexico Museum of Space History
21 August 2017, 14:59:27
Own work
Stilfehler

Each of the hairs on a tribble can be thought of as arrows indicating wind direction. No matter which way that hair is combed, there will always be at least two points on the animal’s surface from which all the hairs radiate. Of course it makes more sense to give a tribble a parting or whatever, but the fact remains that there have to be two such locations, and that’s a topological truth. Extend this to a globe showing wind direction on any approximately spherical planet or moon, and the fact remains true, except of course that the atmosphere has depth. This, however, simply means that each individual layer must also have two still spots. It doesn’t work if the world has mountains on it high enough to leave the atmosphere because then the supposed stationary spots could be lined up to be where the air would be if the mountains weren’t there, and this means that a toroidal world is exempt from this fact. It also means it doesn’t apply to ocean currents unless there’s no land on the world. Therefore it already becomes possible to conclude from the premise that there are round planets completely enveloped in atmospheres that this is so without actually going there and checking them out.

Yesterday’s post on landlocked countries led me to similar conclusions, although they’re probabilistic and rely heavily on the idea that there are other planets with territorial intelligent life forms using a money-based economy on them. In fact that’s not entirely true. There are two sets of implied facts about such worlds, one relying on the existence of beings like us in those respects, the other not. We have already divided Mars, Venus and other worlds geographically into smaller areas, which are however not that relevant to this issue because there are no open bodies of liquid on those planets, but if, for example, Venus looked like this, and the land masses were divided up geographically, they would have certain predictable features.

I made the following claims yesterday about landlocked territories. They are likely to:

  • Be arid
  • Have extremes of temperature
  • Include high mountains, perhaps near or on their borders
  • Be located on the largest continent
  • Contain the point furthest from the land on that continent

The last point is not in fact true of Kazakhstan, Bolivia or Paraguay, but it is true of the Central African Republic. Except for the third, these are all consequence of the physical features of lines on a map separating bits of land, although not below a certain number. For instance, Hispaniola simply has a line drawn down the middle of it separating Haïti and the Dominican Republic and I have no knowledge concerning where the highest point on that island is, although it’s obviously more likely to be in the larger country. And to test that hypothesis without foreknowledge, the Dominican Republic is larger than Hispaniola and therefore more likely to contain the island’s highest point. And indeed the highest point on Hispaniola, and in fact in the whole of the Caribbean, is Pico Duarte. The reason for assuming that landlocked states are likely to have high mountains near their borders is that borders are often placed in inaccessible regions where there isn’t likely to be much argument over resources.

Then there are the conclusions which can be drawn about landlocked countries which do rely on the current economic system and the way humans tend to behave under it. Landlocked countries are also more likely to be:

  • Neutral
  • Poor
  • Reliant on natural resources more than manufacturing
  • Totalitarian
  • Have intolerant attitudes among their population

I explained the reasoning behind these attributes yesterday. They don’t apply across the board. For instance, Switzerland is mountainous and neutral but also rich and relies on financial services fairly heavily, although of course it makes Swiss Army knives and clocks, and presumably a lot of other stuff which my ignorance and cartoonish image of the country has failed to reveal.

It’s also possible to invert and go to opposite extremes with the first list at least. For instance, the largest continent is likely to contain the highest mountain, and in fact it does in terms of height above sea level, and likewise the largest ocean is more likely to include the deepest point, which again is so. Maritime and island countries are likely to have wet weather, have relatively little variation in temperature, particularly if surrounded by a lot of ocean as with Polynesian nations, and be fairly flat. Inverting the list of human characteristics doesn’t work as well, at least with island nations, and here I have Britain in mind in particular. They are likely not to be neutral (true), rich (true), not reliant on natural resources (not true – North Sea oil and gas come to mind, also historically coal and tin), be liberal democracies (this is only marginally true in our case) and have tolerant attitudes. It seems to some extent that in fact the same things are true of Britain at least as much as they apply to landlocked countries. It is the case that we have a moderate climate which is also quite wet, and that we have no high mountains.

The economies of island nations tend to be smaller, isolated from the global economy, dependent on shipping and therefore having relatively high prices for imported goods, but this really applies more to oceanic islands such as those of Polynesia rather than those situated on continental shelves. This island I live on is hardly one of the former. Nor is its western companion. As mentioned yesterday, landlocked states are somewhat protected by violent, ocean-related events such as tsunami and hurricanes,and conversely islands aren’t. Their infrastructure is therefore vulnerable. Again, this is one of the realities of a small, exposed piece of land in the middle of an ocean, though only on a planet with a particular set of meteorological conditions. Vast expanses of ocean are generally amenable to the development of tsunami and hurricanes on this planet, and a glance at Jupiter indicates that the latter are common elsewhere, but there might be globally frozen oceans with volcanic peaks sticking out of them for example, or widespread shallow seas.

The Hairy Ball Theorem mentioned above doesn’t apply to tori. This has an interesting consequence for oceans which could be considered toroidal in the sense that they include a range of latitudes where there are only small islands impeding their flow around the planet, because it means there can and probably will be both a steady current running all the way round and also winds able to build up speed without encountering obstacles. There’s a contemporary and a prehistoric example of this. The Southern Ocean exists today in this form, and the Tethys, which was tropical and subtropical, was in place for around 200 million years and still has traces today, although it’s no longer a continuous ocean.

I’ve previously stated that landlocked countries are likely to include high mountains, but this is somewhat misleading as it ignores continental drift. In fact, both Americas have mountain ranges on the Pacific coast caused by the continents moving in that direction and encountering the Pacific Plate. On the other hand, when two continents collide, the result is a mountain range far from any ocean, as with the Himalayas. The trouble is that it looked like I was thinking of a continent as a kind of spread out mountain, which isn’t how it is.

There are forty-seven island nations. Although the largest is Indonesia, which is bigger than Mongolia, that’s distributed over a large number of islands of varying size and it’s also continental, being in Eurasia and Sahul (the technical name for Australia as a continent as opposed to a country). The “U”K is the seventh largest of these and Great Britain the ninth largest island of any kind. Again deploying the rice pudding principle, the area of island nations is likely to follow something like the 80:20 rule, in that eighty percent of the area of island nations will consist of twenty percent of the nations, or something close to that, and also eighty percent of the area of all islands will consist of twenty percent of the islands. It won’t be exactly that, but it should be close. For these forty-seven nations, that means that the nine largest ought to have four-fifths of the area. These are Indonesia, Madagascar, Japan, the Philippines, Papua, Aotearoa/New Zealand, Iceland, the “U”K and Cuba (Ireland is next on the list). It isn’t practical to do the same for physical islands because there are an indeterminate number. These islands taken together have an area of 4 460 372 square kilometres, which suggests that the remainder will have a total area close to 900 000 km2. In fact their area adds up to 4 851 659 km2 if I’ve calculated that correctly, which is fairly close. The same principle might be applicable to population and population density. Indonesia is again the most populous of these nations, the “U”K being fourth, and the most densely populated is Singapore, which is of course a city-state. The most sparsely peopled such nation is Iceland, although Kalaallit Nunaat/Greenland is even less densely populated but doesn’t quite count as an independent state.

Island nations are of course very subject to climate change, such as the increased acidity of the oceans causing erosion of coral atolls and reefs, rises in sea level and increased occurrence of hurricanes. Some of them are at risk of disappearing entirely, but others, maybe surprisingly, are increasing in size because of it. They tend to be more politically stable than continental states but are more susceptible to invasion by them. This seems not to be true of Britain although some of our reputation for not having been invaded is due to an economic approach to the truth, since it’s also been said that England has been invaded more than six dozen times since 1066, for example the Glorious Revolution of 1688. These states are also often microstates, which means they can’t take advantage of economies of scale.

There would seem to be four different types of island states, depending on whether they’re based on archipelagos with a number of islands of similar size or consist of one larger island or a single island, and whether they’re continental or oceanic. Ireland and Britain are obviously both predominantly single island states and continental, and being continental makes quite a big difference. One perhaps surprising thing about Pacific islands is their linguistic, and therefore presumably cultural, homogeneity. It might be expected that isolation leads to difference, but in fact it seems not to, even though unique ecosystems do evolve on them.

Then there are maritime states. Technically, France and the “U”K have the most borders, most of which are maritime in both cases, because of their dependencies overseas. This is followed by Russia due to its size. Countries with single land borders tend to be on islands, such as Ireland and us, although Canada is a major exception. The characteristics of maritime states don’t seem to be as thoroughly explored as those of island and landlocked states.

Moving away from the sea and land issue brings one to the four-colour theorem. This is remarkably irrelevant to cartography, but involves the proof in the ’70s that any flat surface map or globe could be coloured with at most four colours. This might be expected to have big consequences for politics but oddly, it hasn’t. It is relevant to the number of frequencies needed to operate mobile ‘phone masts though. It doesn’t work for maps with non-contiguous territories such as Alaska and the Lower 48, or presumably the traditional counties of Wales and England, which have many enclaves and exclaves.

Ultimately, all of these kinds of considerations seem to be to do with applying mathematics to a few well-established facts, so in a way they’re all just bits of science. Two questions therefore arise. One is whether everything can be deduced from facts and principles about which it’s possible to be certain. Another is whether there’s an important distinction between the human-related aspects of these facts and the physical ones. Do we have enough control over ourselves, and do governments have sufficient flexibility, for these facts not to be inevitable? Is there something about human behaviour that just will not alter which leads, for example, to landlocked states being more likely to be totalitarian? Is there disruptive technology or other ideas which can change that?

I’ve used geography here to present this issue, but there are other areas where it applies, so to close I want to return to the issue of rice pudding and income tax. Deep Thought was able to deduce the existence of income tax from first principles. This means that money is inevitable. This is actually part of quite an oppressive ether pervading the H2G2 universe, because we know, for instance, that it’s possible (or rather impossible) to deposit a penny in one’s own era and find that at the end of time the cost of one’s meal at Milliways will have been paid for. This means that usury will always exist, and this makes capitalism as we know it a law of nature. There’s no escaping the flawedness of all lifekind for Douglas Adams. This might be connected to the certainty of death and taxes, but the taxes in question there were not income tax, which didn’t exist at the time. In a way, though, this could be seen as hopeful from a left wing perspective to some extent, because it means money will inevitably be pooled for the common good. The contrary view, of course, is that it’s theft. However, the idea that income tax can be deduced to exist from the Cogito does seem to be more feasible than the idea that rice pudding can, because income tax seems to be about numbers and science, but then so is rice pudding.

In order to exist, rice pudding needs milk and cereal. More specifically, it needs rice. According to the recipe Deep Thought came up with, it also needs demarara sugar and cinnamon. Of all these ingredients, the most likely one to be widespread in a Universe with organic life in it is sugar, although it may be glucose rather than sucrose. Milk is strictly speaking the nutrient secretion of a particular clade of Earth animals, but we are fully aware that EU nomenclature notwithstanding, “milk” needn’t mean milk, and in fact has a long tradition of use in other ways, as with almond milk and latex-containing plant sap. There’s coconut milk and a number of “cow trees”. Galactodendron of Central and South America yields a latex which is high in protein and can be used to make cheese and ice cream. We’re actually fine as far as milk is concerned, as an opaque white nutritious fluid is very common and found from all sorts of sources. It does, however, seem to depend either on the existence of seed-bearing plants or animals who secrete it.

Rice is a bit dicier. Although it happens to be a grass, there are grain-like seeds and fruits from other sources. This is important because although large areas of grassland are common today, in the fairly recent geological past grasses were just another species of plant with no particular dominance which coexisted in more diverse ecosystems, although even then they could presumably be cultivated, and there are non-gramineous cereal-like things like buckwheat and quinoa. Rice, however, is fairly distinctive. Porridge is not the same thing as rice pudding, and on the whole rice pudding is considered sweet.

Hence the dependencies of rice pudding seem to be the existence of seed plants. Although milk can be from an animal source, the animals humans actually exploit for it are grass-eaters, so it kind of depends on the existence of grass in two separate ways. Even three, if the sugar is from sugar cane. It is conceivable that rice pudding might be like gin & tonic, in the sense that according to the epic adventure in time and space it’s just called something like that everywhere but doesn’t refer to the same drink. However, this can’t be quite true because we see a list of ingredients, as specific as “pudding rice”. There’s also the issue of rice pudding being deduced if it only exists on Earth, because although Deep Thought knows that a greater computer will be built one day, it presumably doesn’t know the details or it would be able to predict that its own task would be unsuccessful. Therefore it seems likely that rice pudding does exist elsewhere in the Hitch-Hiker universe. It is also the case that variants of rice pudding exist all over the land surface of this planet, but it’s less clear to me whether it’s been invented independently on more than one occasion.

I’ll close, then, with this. Income tax seems to be a more likely candidate for deduction than rice pudding, but is it? Is it just that the use of maths-like concepts applies more easily to the idea of tax than it does to rice pudding? Is there a stereotypical gender-rôle bias here? What’s it about?