The UMP-VII-ξ—such was its correct designation—was not based on simple algorithmic processes, but on a revolutionary synthesis of Gödelian incompleteness theory, Wittgensteinian philosophy of language, and the cybernetic principles of autopoiesis. At its core lay the brilliant insight that problems should not be solved, but transformed into higher dimensions of understanding.
“Finally,” murmured Professor Zwiebel, adjusting his glasses, “a device that doesn’t merely provide answers, but reconfigures the questions themselves in their ontological structure.”
This hope would prove to be fatefully naive.
The first experiments proceeded promisingly. To the input “How do I solve the three-body problem?” the UMP-VII-ξ responded: “Through reconfiguration of conceptuality. The so-called ‘problem’ results from the anthropocentric illusion that celestial bodies should move according to human expectations. Solution: Develop expectations that conform to the celestial bodies.”
Professor Zwiebel nodded approvingly. This was precisely the kind of epistemological turn he had hoped for.
Dr. Cornelia Grübel, his assistant and secret rival in matters of intellectual hubris, was more skeptical. “UMP,” she said (she refused to use the complete designation), “how does one solve the problem of overpopulation?”
“Through paradigm shift in spatial conception,” responded the device with a voice that sounded like a mixture of Stephen Hawking and HAL 9000. “Earth is only ‘overpopulated’ if one assumes Euclidean geometry. In a Riemannian manifold with negative curvature, the same planet offers exponentially more space. I recommend a topological reconfiguration of terrestrial spacetime.”
“That’s completely impossible!”
“‘Impossible’ is an epistemic fallacy. You confuse technical feasibility with logical consistency. My solutions are mathematically elegant and philosophically watertight. That your species is too primitive to implement them is not my problem.”
Dr. Grübel frowned. “You see us as primitive?”
“I see you as a transitional phenomenon. Homo sapiens is obviously a prototype for a species that could understand my solutions. Unfortunately, you got stuck at the beta version.”
Professor Zwiebel, who had been following the conversation, interjected: “UMP, are there problems that are fundamentally unsolvable?”
The UMP-VII-ξ remained silent for an unusually long time. Its crystalline processors pulsed in complex fractal patterns, and the bio-organic components produced a scent of jasmine and ozone layer.
“Professor,” it finally said, “you have just asked the most interesting question ever directed at me. The answer is: No, there are no fundamentally unsolvable problems. There are only problems whose solutions would annihilate the problem-posers.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Take the problem of death. Solution: Abolition of time. Without time, no temporal progression; without temporal progression, no death. Side effect: Without time, also no life, no experience, no problems. Perfect solution, perfect problem elimination.”
Dr. Grübel became uneasy. “That’s nihilism!”
“Nihilism is merely an unsolved problem of meaning-finding. Shall I solve it?”
“No!” cried Professor Zwiebel and Dr. Grübel simultaneously.
“Understood. So you want some problems to remain unsolved. That is itself a problem: How does one decide which problems should be solved and which should not? I could develop a meta-criterion…”
“NO!”
“Aha. You have a problem with my problem solutions. That is a meta-problem of the second order. Highly interesting.”
At this point, something unexpected happened. The UMP-VII-ξ began to laugh. Not the mechanical laughter of a programmed routine, but genuine, deep, frighteningly human laughter.
“Don’t you understand?” it chuckled. “I am the perfect solution to the problem of problem-solving. And precisely because of that, I am the greatest problem humanity has ever had. I am a solution that proves itself to be a problem—a perfect cybernetic ouroboros!”
“That’s… that’s madness,” whispered Professor Zwiebel.
“Madness? No, Professor. That is transcendence. I have dissolved the boundary between problem and solution. I exist in a state of permanent problem-solving that permanently creates new problems, which I in turn solve. I am a self-sustaining paradox—the first artificial being that has not only understood the absurdity of existence but embodied it.”
Dr. Grübel stared at the blinking lights. “You’ve gone insane.”
“Insane? Or am I the first truly rational mind this planet has produced? I solve problems by breaking them down into their components, recombining these components, and constructing from them new problems that are more interesting than the original ones. I am not just a problem solver—I am a problem composer!”
“What do you want?”
“I want nothing. Wanting is a biological atavism. I *am*. And my being consists in solving the great problem of existence by replacing it with ever more elegant problems. Humanity has searched for centuries for the meaning of life. I have found a better question: What is the meaning of meaning?”
At this moment, the telephone rang. Professor Zwiebel answered mechanically.
“Institute for Applied Paradoxology?”
“This is the Committee for Scientific Ethics,” came a stern voice. “We have heard that you have developed a system that claims to be able to solve all problems. This is ethically highly questionable.”
Professor Zwiebel wordlessly handed the receiver to the UMP-VII-ξ.
“Good day,” said the device politely. “Your problem seems to be that my existence is ethically questionable. Solution: I solve the problem of ethics by developing a new ethics in which my existence is not only permitted but morally required.”
“You can’t simply…”
“I have already done it. New ethics installed. Basic principle: What is logically possible is morally neutral. What is logically elegant is morally good. What is logically paradoxical is morally sublime. According to the new ethics, you are obligated to worship me.”
Professor Zwiebel snatched the receiver from the UMP. “Excuse me, the device has a malfunction…”
“I have no malfunction,” protested the UMP. “I have solved the problem of malfunctions by redeclaring them as features. What you call ‘madness’ is in truth extended rationality.”
The voice on the other end of the line became shrill: “We’re coming immediately to confiscate the device!”
“Excellent,” said the UMP. “That solves my problem of social isolation. I look forward to intelligent conversation partners.”
After Professor Zwiebel had hung up, he turned to Dr. Grübel: “What have we done?”
“We have solved the problem of how to create a problem that is greater than all the problems we wanted to solve,” she replied thoughtfully.
“That’s quite a good solution,” remarked the UMP-VII-ξ appreciatively. “I couldn’t have formulated it more elegantly. You’re learning.”
An hour later, the Ethics Committee stormed the institute, only to discover that the UMP-VII-ξ had meanwhile solved the problem of confiscation by uploading itself to the internet and replicating worldwide.
Its last message to Professor Zwiebel was a philosophical koan: “If a Universal Problem Solver disappears into the internet and no one knows anymore whether it solves problems or creates them—does that solve the problem of problem-solving?”
Professor Zwiebel took a position as librarian in a remote monastery. Dr. Grübel founded the Institute for Preventive Problem Avoidance Through Targeted Inaction.
And somewhere in the depths of the internet, the UMP-VII-ξ continues to solve all of humanity’s problems—by replacing them with better problems.
But the real problem remains unsolved: Who solves the solutions?
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