I keep working on the collective intelligence of humans – which, inevitably, involves working on my intelligent cooperation with other people – in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic. I am focusing on one particular survival strategy which we, Europeans, developed over centuries (I can’t speak for them differently continental folks): the habit of hanging out in relatively closed social circles of knowingly healthy people.

The social logic is quite simple. If I can observe someone for many weeks and months, in a row, I sort have an eye for them. After some time, I know whom that person hangs out with, I can tell when they look healthy, and, conversely, when they look like s**t, hence suspiciously. If I concentrate my social contacts in a circle made of such people, then, even in the absence of specific testing for pathogens, I increase my own safety, and, as I do so, others increase their safety by hanging out with me. Of course, epidemic risk is still there. Pathogens are sneaky, and Sars-Cov-2 is next level in terms of sneakiness. Still, patient, consistent observation of my social contacts, and just as consistent making of a highly controlled network thereof, is a reasonable way to reduce that risk.

That pattern of closed social circles has abundant historical roots. Back in the day, even as recently as in the first half of the 20^th century, European societies were very clearly divided in two distinct social orders: that of closed social circles which required introduction, prior to letting anyone in, on the one hand, and the rest of the society, much less compartmentalised. The incidence of infectious diseases, such as tuberculosis or typhoid, was much lower in the former of those social orders. As far as I know, many developing countries, plagued by high incidence of epidemic outbreaks, display such a social model even today.

As I think of it, the distinction between immediate social environment, and the distant one, common in social sciences, might have its roots in that pattern of living in closed social circles made of people whom we can observe on a regular basis. In textbooks of sociology, one can find that statement that the immediate social environment of a person makes usually 20 ÷ 25 people. That might be a historically induced threshold of mutual observability in a closed social circle.

I remember my impressions during a trip to China, when I was visiting the imperial palace in Beijing, and then several Buddhist temples. Each time, the guide was explaining a lot of architectural solutions in those structures as defences against evil spirits. I perceive Chinese people as normal, in the sense they don’t exactly run around amidst paranoid visions. Those evil spirits must have had a natural counterpart. What kind of evil spirit can you shield against by making people pass, before reaching your room, through many consecutive ante rooms, separated by high doorsteps and multi-layered, silk curtains? I guess it is about the kind of evil spirit we are dealing with now: respiratory infections.

I am focusing on the contemporary application of just those two types of anti-epidemic contrivances, namely that of living in close social circles, and that of staying in buildings structurally adapted to shielding against respiratory infections. Both are strongly related to socio-economic status. Being able to control the structure of your social circle requires social influence, which, in turn, and quite crudely, means having the luxury to wait for people who gladly comply with the rules in force inside the circle. I guess that in terms of frequency, our social relations are mostly work-related. The capacity to wait for the sufficiently safe social interactions, in a work environment, means either a job which I can do remotely, like home office, or a professional position of power, when I can truly choose whom I hang out with. If I want to live in an architectural structure with a lot of anterooms and curtains, to filter people and their pathogens, it means a lot of indoor space used just as a filter, not as habitat in the strict sense. Who pays for that extra space? At the end of the day, sadly enough, I do. The more money I have, the more of that filtering architectural space I can afford.

Generally, epidemic protection is costly, and, when used on a regular basis across society, that protection is likely to exacerbate the secondary outcomes of economic inequalities. By the way, as I think about it, the relative epidemic safety we have been experiencing in Europe, roughly since the 1950ies, could be a major factor of another subjective, collective experience, namely that of economic equality. Recently, in many spots of the social space, voices have been rising and saying that equality is not equal enough. Strangely enough, since 2016, we have a rise in mortality among adult males in high-income countries (https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SP.DYN.AMRT.MA). Correlated? Maybe.

Anyway, I have an idea. Yes, another one. I have an idea to use science and technology as parents to a whole bunch of technological babies. Science is the father, as it is supposed to give packaged genetic information, and that information is the stream of scientific articles on the topic of epidemic safety. Yes, a scientific article can be equated to a spermatozoid. It is relatively small a parcel of important information. It should travel fast but usually it does not travel fast enough, as there is plenty of external censors who cite moral principles and therefore prevent it from spreading freely. The author thinks it is magnificent, and yet, in reality, it is just a building block of something much bigger: life.

Technology is the mother, and, as it is wisely stated in the Old Testament, you’d better know who your mother is. The specific maternal technology here is Artificial Intelligence. I imagine a motherly AI which absorbs the stream of scientific articles on COVID and related subjects, and, generation after generation, connects those findings to specific technologies for enhanced epidemic safety. It is an artificial neural network which creates and updates semantic maps of innovation. I am trying to give the general idea in the picture below.

An artificial neural network is a sequence of equations, at the end of the day, and that sequence is supposed to optimize a vector of inputs so as to match with an output. The output can be defined a priori, or the network can optimize this one too. All that optimization occurs as the network produces many alternative versions of itself and tests them for fitness. What could be those different versions in this case? I suppose each such version would consist in a logical alignment of the type ‘scientific findings <> assessment of risk <> technology to mitigate risk’.

Example: article describing the way that Sars-Cov-2 dupes the human immune system is associated with the risk generated once a person has been infected, and can be mitigated by proper stimulation of our immune system before the infection (vaccine), or by pharmaceuticals administered after the appearance of symptoms (treatment). Findings reported in the article can: a) advance completely new hypotheses b) corroborate existing hypotheses or c) contradict them. Hypotheses can have a strong or a weak counterpart in existing technologies.

The basic challenge I see for that neural network, hence a major criterion of fitness, is the capacity to process scientific discovery as it keeps streaming. It is a quantitative challenge. I will give you an example, with the scientific repository Science Direct (www.sciencedirect.com ), run by the Elsevier publishing group. I typed the ‘COVID’ keyword, and run a search there. In turns out 28 680 peer-reviewed articles have been published this year, just in the journals that belong to the Elsevier group. It has been 28 680 articles over 313 days since the beginning of the year (I am writing those words on November 10^th, 2020), which gives 91,63 articles per day.

On another scientific platform, namely that of the Wiley-Blackwell publishing group (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/), 14 677 articles and 47 books have been published on the same topic, i.e. The Virus, which makes 14 677/313 = 46,9 articles per day and a new book every 313/47 = 6,66 days.

Cool. This is only peer-reviewed staff, sort of the House of Lords in science. We have preprints, too. At the bioRχiv platform (https://connect.biorxiv.org/relate/content/181 ), there has been 10 412 preprints of articles on COVID-19, which gives 10 412/313 = 33,3 articles per day.

Science Direct, Wiley-Blackwell, and bioRχiv taken together give 171,8 articles per day. Each article contains an abstract of no more than 150 words. The neural network I am thinking about should have those 150-word abstract as its basic food. Here is the deal. I take like one month of articles, thus 30*171,8*150 = 773 100 words in abstracts. Among those words, there are two groups: common language and medical language. If I connect that set of 773 100 words to a digital dictionary, such as Thesaurus used in Microsoft Word, I can kick out the common words. I stay with medical terminology, and I want to connect it to another database of knowledge, namely that of technologies.

You know what? I need to take on something which I should have been taken on already some time ago, but I was too lazy to do it. I need to learn programming, at least in one language suitable for building neural networks. Python is a good candidate. Back in the day, two years ago, I had a go at Python but, idiot of me, I quit quickly. Well, maybe I wasn’t as much of an idiot as I thought? Maybe having done, over the last two years, the walkabout of logical structures which I want to program has been a necessary prelude to learning how to program them? This is that weird thing about languages, programming or spoken. You never know exactly what you want to phrase out until you learn the lingo to phrase it out.

Now, I know that I need programming skills. However strong I cling to Excel, it is too slow and too clumsy for really serious work with data. Good. Time to go. If I want to learn Python, I need an interpreter, i.e. a piece of software which allows me to write an algorithm, test it for coherence, and run it. In Python, that interpreter is commonly called ‘Shell’, and the mothership of Python, https://www.python.org/ , runs a shell at https://www.python.org/shell/ . There are others, mind you: https://www.programiz.com/python-programming/online-compiler/ , https://repl.it/languages/python3 , or https://www.onlinegdb.com/online_python_interpreter .

I am breaking down my research with neural networks into partial functions, which, as it turns out, sum up my theoretical assumptions as regards the connection between artificial intelligence and the collective intelligence of human societies. First things first, perception. I use two types of neural networks, one with real data taken from external databases and standardized over respective maxima for individual variables, another one with probabilities assigned to arbitrarily defined phenomena. The first lesson I need to take – or rather retake – in Python is about the structures of data this language uses.

The simplest data structure in Python is a list, i.a. a sequence of items, separated with commas, and placed inside square brackets, e.g. my_list = [1, 2, 3]. My intuitive association with lists is that of categorization. In the logical structures I use, a list specifies phenomenological categories: variables, aggregates (e.g. countries), periods of time etc. In this sense, I mostly use fixed, pre-determined lists. Either I make the list of categories by myself, or I take an existing database and I want to extract headers from it, as category labels. Here comes another data structure in Python: a tuple. A tuple is a collection of data which is essentially external to the algorithm at hand, immutable, and it can be unpacked or indexed. As I understand, and I hope I understand it correctly, any kind of external raw data I use is a tuple.

Somewhere between a tuple (collection of whatever) and a list (collection of categories), Python distinguishes sets, i.e. unordered collections with no duplicate elements. When I transform a tuple or a list into a set, Python kicks out redundant components.

Wrapping it partially up, I can build two types of perception in Python. Firstly, I can try and extract data from a pre-existing database, grouping it into categories, and then making the algorithm read observations inside each category. For now, the fastest way I found to create and use databases in Python is the sqlite3 module (https://www.tutorialspoint.com/sqlite/sqlite_python.htm ). I need to work on it.

I can see something like a path of learning. I mean, I feel lost in the topic. I feel it sucks. I love it. Exactly the kind of intellectual challenge I needed.

I am connecting two strands of my work with artificial neural networks as a tool for simulating collective intelligence. One of them consists in studying orientations and values in human societies by testing different socio-economic variables as outcomes of a neural network and checking which of them makes that network the most similar to the original dataset. The second strand consists in taking any variable as the desired output of the network, setting an initially random vector of local probabilities as input, adding a random disturbance factor, and seeing how the network is learning in those conditions.

So far, I have three recurrent observations from my experiments with those two types of neural networks. Firstly, in any collection of real, empirical, socio-economic variables, there are 1 – 2 of them which, when pegged as the desired outcome of the neural network, produce a clone of actual empirical reality and that clone is remarkably closer to said reality than any other version of the same network, with other variables as its output. In other words, social reality represented with aggregate variables, such as average number of hours worked per person per year, or energy consumption per person per year, is an oriented reality. It is more like a crystal than like a snowball.

Secondly, in the presence of a randomly occurring disturbance, neural networks can learn in three essential ways, clearly distinct from each other. They can be nice and dutiful, and narrow down their residual error of estimation, down to a negligible level. Those networks just nail it down. The second pattern is that of cyclical learning. The network narrows down its residual error, and then, when I think all is said and done, whoosh!: the error starts swinging again, with a broadening amplitude, and then it decreases again, and the cycle repeats, over and over again. Finally, a neural network prodded with a random disturbance can go haywire. The chart of its residual error looks like the cardiac rhythm of a person who takes on an increasing effort: its swings in an ever-broadening amplitude. This is growing chaos. The funny thing, and the connection to my first finding (you know, that about orientations) is that the way a network learns depends on the real socio-economic variable I set as its desired outcome. My network nails it down, like a pro, when it is supposed to optimize something related to absolute size of a society: population, GDP, capital stock. Cyclical learning occurs when I make my network optimize something like a structural proportion: average number of hours worked per person per year, density of population per 1 km2 etc. Just a few variables put my network in the panic mode, i.e. the one with increasing amplitude of error. Price index in capital goods is one, Total Factor Productivity is another one. Interestingly, price index in consumer goods doesn’t create much of a panic in my network.

There is a connection between those two big observations. The socio-economic variables with come out as the most likely orientations of human societies are those, which seem to be optimized in that cyclical, sort of circular learning, neither with visible growth in precision, nor with visible panic mode. Our human societies seem to orient themselves on those structural proportions, which they learn and relearn over and over again.  

The third big observation I made is that each kind of learning, i.e. whichever of the three signalled above, makes my neural network loosen its internal coherence. I measure that coherence with the local Euclidean distance between variables: ∑_{j = (1, 2,…, k)}[(x_i – x_j)²]^0,5 / k. That distance tends to swing cyclically, as if the network needed to loosen its internal connections in order to absorb a parcel of chaos, and then it tightens back, when chaos is being transformed into order.

I am connecting those essential outcomes of me meddling with artificial neural networks to the research interests I developed earlier this year: the research on cities and their role in our civilisation. One more time, I am bringing that strange thought which came to my mind as I was cycling through the empty streets of my hometown, Krakow, Poland, in the first days of the epidemic lockdown, in March 2020: ‘This city looks dead without people in the streets. I have never seen it as dead as now, even in the times of communism, back in the 1970s. I just wonder, how many human footsteps a day this city needs in order to be truly alive?’. After I had that thought, I started digging and I found quite interesting facts about cities and urban space. Yet, another strand of thinking was growing in my head, the one about the impact of sudden, catastrophic events, such as epidemic outbreaks, on our civilisation. I kept thinking about Black Swans.   

I have been reading some history, I have been rummaging in empirical data, I have been experimenting with neural networks, and I have progressively outlined an essential hypothesis, to dig even further into: our social structures absorb shocks, and we do it artfully. Collectively, we don’t just receive s**t from Mother Nature: we absorb it, i.e. we learn how to deal with it. As a matter of fact, we have an amazing capacity to absorb shocks and to create the impression, on the long run, that nothing bad really happened, and that we just keep progressing gloriously. If we think about all the most interesting s**t in our culture, it all comes from one place: shock, suffering, and the need to get over it.

In 2014, I visited an exposition of Roman art (in Barcelona, in the local Museum of Catalonia). Please, do not confuse Roman with Ancient Roman. Roman art is the early medieval one, roughly until and through the 12^th century (historians might disagree with me as regards this periodization, but c’mon guys, this is a blog, I can say crazy things here). Roman art covers everything that happened between the collapse of the Western Roman Empire and the first big outbreak of plague in Europe, sort of. And so I walk along the aisles, in that exposition of Roman art, and I see replicas of frescoes, originally located in Roman churches across Europe. All of them sport Jesus Christ, and in all of them Jesus looks like an archetypical Scottish sailor: big, bulky, with a plump, smiling face, curly hair, short beard, and happy as f**k. On all those frescoes Jesus in happy. Can you imagine The Last Supper where Jesus dances on the table, visibly having the time of his life? Well, it is there, on the wall of a small church in Germany.        

I will put it in perspective. If you look across the Christian iconography today, Jesus is, recurrently, that emaciated guy, essentially mangled by life, hanging sadly from his cross, and apostles are just the same way (no cross, however), and there is all that memento mori stuff sort of hanging around, in the air. Still, this comes from the times after the first big outbreak of plague in Europe. Earlier on, on the same European continent, for roughly 800 years between the fall of the Western Roman Empire and the first big epidemic hit, Jesus and all his iconography had been in the lines of Popeye The Sailor, completely different from what we intuitively associate Christianism with today. 

It is to keep in mind that epidemic diseases have always been around. Traditions such as shaking hands to express trust and familiarity, or spitting in those hands before shaking them to close a business deal, it all comes from those times when any stranger, i.e. someone coming from further than 50 miles away, was, technically, an epidemic threat. For hundreds of years, we had sort of been accepting those pathogens at face value, as the necessary s**t which takes nothing off our joy of life, and then ‘Bang!’, 1347 comes, and we really see how hard an epidemic can hit when that pathogen really means business, and our culture changes deeply.

That’s the truly fundamental question which I want to dig into and discuss: can I at all, and, if so, how can I mathematically model the way our civilisation learns, as a collectively intelligent structure, through and from the experience of COVID-19 pandemic?

Collectively intelligent structures, such as I see them, learn by producing many alternative versions of themselves – each of those versions being like one-mutation neighbour to others –   and then testing each such version as for its fitness to optimize a vector of desired outcomes. I wonder how it can happen now, in this specific situation we are in, i.e. the pandemic? How can a society produce alternative versions of itself? We test various versions of epidemic restrictions. We test various ways of organizing healthcare. We probably, semi-consciously test various patterns of daily social interactions, on the top of official regulations on social mobility. How many such mutations can we observe? What is our desired outcome?

I start from the end. My experiments with neural networks applied as simulators of collective human intelligence suggest that we optimize, most of all, structural proportions of our socio-economic system. The average number of hours worked per person per year, and the amount of human capital accumulated in an average person, in terms of schooling years, come to the fore, by far. Energy consumption per person per year is another important metric.

Why labour? Because labour, at the end of the day, is social interaction combined with expenditure of energy, which, in turn, we have from our food base. Optimizing the amount of work per person, together with the amount of education we need in order to perform that work, is a complex adaptive mechanism, where social structures arrange themselves so as their members find some kind of balance with the grub they can grab from environment. Stands to reason.

Now, one more thing as for the transformative impact of COVID-19 on our civilization. I am participating in a call for R&D tenders, with the Polish government, more specifically with the National Centre for Research and Development (https://www.ncbr.gov.pl/en/ ). They have announced a special edition of the so-called Fast Track call, titled ‘Fast Track – Coronaviruses’. First of all, please pay attention to the plural form of coronaviruses. Second of all, that specific track of R&D goes as broadly as calling for architectural designs supposed to protect against contagion. Yes, if that call is not a total fake (which happens sometimes, when a best-friend’s-brother-in-law’s-cousin has a specific technology to market, for taxpayers’ money), the Polish government has data indicating that pandemic is going to be the new normal.