immortalization
Original: immortalization on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1 (dark-haired person in glasses and green shirt, speaking): Mathematical ideas aren't "discovered." Just about any sequence you can think of has already been implemented by a plant or animal or some other natural process.
Panel 2 (same person, gesturing): If you met an alien species, they'd be familiar with all our mathematics, the only difference being the symbols.
Panel 3 (orange-haired woman): So, it's better to be a poet if you want to be immortal.
Dark-haired person: Not really.
Panel 4 (dark-haired person): How do we know there aren't universal principles there too? Rhythm, symmetry, order...
Panel 5 (dark-haired person): It's not like stories have no basis in physics. If beings can turn back time or reverse entropy, who cares if Romeo killed himself or Willy Loman wasted his life?
Panel 6 (dark-haired person, walking away dramatically): It seems likely that aliens will understand what it means to hope for something and then not get it. If so, why wouldn't they have tragedy? Why wouldn't they have comedy?
Panel 7 (orange-haired woman): Okay, so if you want to make something immortal, it needs to be maximally random.
Panel 8 (dark-haired person): That won't work either! If there's such a thing as maximal randomness, the aliens will know about it too because randomness is useful!
Panel 9 (orange-haired woman): Then the only hope of making something immortal and special...
Orange-haired woman: ...is to make crap. Make something nobody would make because there's no beautiful reason for it to exist!
Panel 10 (dark-haired person): Do that and you will echo through eternity.
Panel 11: The orange-haired woman looks delighted; the dark-haired person looks shocked, wide-eyed.
Panel 12 (dark-haired person, alone, looking down): I've never been more prouder of my species.
Figures in the distance below: We are as gods!
Votey:
A speech bubble in a hand-lettered style reads: "Gods of crap!" The figure below replies (small): nothing legible — the panel shows two tiny people on a mountain peak gesturing triumphantly.
Panel 2 (same person, gesturing): If you met an alien species, they'd be familiar with all our mathematics, the only difference being the symbols.
Panel 3 (orange-haired woman): So, it's better to be a poet if you want to be immortal.
Dark-haired person: Not really.
Panel 4 (dark-haired person): How do we know there aren't universal principles there too? Rhythm, symmetry, order...
Panel 5 (dark-haired person): It's not like stories have no basis in physics. If beings can turn back time or reverse entropy, who cares if Romeo killed himself or Willy Loman wasted his life?
Panel 6 (dark-haired person, walking away dramatically): It seems likely that aliens will understand what it means to hope for something and then not get it. If so, why wouldn't they have tragedy? Why wouldn't they have comedy?
Panel 7 (orange-haired woman): Okay, so if you want to make something immortal, it needs to be maximally random.
Panel 8 (dark-haired person): That won't work either! If there's such a thing as maximal randomness, the aliens will know about it too because randomness is useful!
Panel 9 (orange-haired woman): Then the only hope of making something immortal and special...
Orange-haired woman: ...is to make crap. Make something nobody would make because there's no beautiful reason for it to exist!
Panel 10 (dark-haired person): Do that and you will echo through eternity.
Panel 11: The orange-haired woman looks delighted; the dark-haired person looks shocked, wide-eyed.
Panel 12 (dark-haired person, alone, looking down): I've never been more prouder of my species.
Figures in the distance below: We are as gods!
Votey:
A speech bubble in a hand-lettered style reads: "Gods of crap!" The figure below replies (small): nothing legible — the panel shows two tiny people on a mountain peak gesturing triumphantly.
Alt text
A 12-panel SMBC comic. A dark-haired person in glasses and a green sweater talks with an orange-haired woman in a snowy mountain landscape. The dark-haired person argues that mathematical ideas aren't really discovered—any sequence already exists in nature—so aliens would know all our math, only the symbols differing. The woman suggests being a poet to be immortal instead, but the person counters that aliens would also grasp universal principles like rhythm and symmetry, and would understand tragedy and comedy too. The woman concludes that to make something truly immortal you must make it maximally random; the person objects that randomness is useful so aliens would know it too. Finally the woman declares the only way to be eternal is to make crap—something with no beautiful reason to exist. The person says "Do that and you will echo through eternity," looks stunned, then proudly looks out over the mountains as tiny figures below cry "We are as gods!" Votey: a hand-lettered speech bubble reads "Gods of crap!" above two tiny triumphant figures on a mountain peak.
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.