The Legacy of the Shaman

A legend of the future

Long ago, there lived a shaman.

This shaman had power and influence in his tribe, derived from his healing powers and spiritual enlightenment.

After his death, the shaman’s children were revered, although some of them didn’t show the same wisdom as their father. However, the shaman had bestowed upon each of them magical stones and metals that no normal mortal possessed. These stones and metals were imbued with his power; a power they could use to protect and lead the tribe.

This was not simple mythology. The fact that power was truly held by rare stones and metals could be proven. Occasionally, someone who was not a direct descendant, would find these materials in nature (obviously bestowed by some god or other, to show their favour), and thereafter they too would hold power.

Indeed, sometimes a great warrior, who had been of service to one who held such items, would be rewarded with a small magic stone, or even something fashioned from the magical metal, as a reward. This, in turn, bestowed some level of its power upon the favoured individual, though obviously, the chieftains kept most of the talismans.

Over centuries the tribe grew large and powerful, thanks to the stored magic, and many of the stones and artefacts were bestowed on sub-chiefs and generals, to give them the magic needed to rule their people. These people would then give the holder goods and services, and work his land, in return for protection from evil spirits, demons and unseen enemies.

It soon became clear that some loyal tribesmen deserved lesser rewards than a whole magic stone or artefact, so they were given chips, or small amounts of the magical metal. Since the holders of these mini talismans were often not powerful enough to use them for the good of the whole tribe, they would sometimes exchange their magical influence with neighbours, for goods or services.

Eventually, this behaviour became so widespread that many people had some small talisman with which to dominate those who held no magic at all.

Then, one day, a chief noticed that his own stock of artefacts had become depleted. He realised that he was in danger of no longer being the most powerful wizard in the land, but he came up with a brilliant idea. It occurred to him that he could keep most of his magic to himself, if he gave out the smaller favours in the form of tokens made of base metals, with the promise to swap them out for the real thing if enough were accumulated.

Remarkably, it seemed this system worked. The people had such faith in magic that they would obey and compete for tokens, in the hope of one day having real power themselves.

Rather ingeniously, this ‘king’ even managed to convince the populace that, to receive his protection in the meantime, they must return some of the tokens along with their other tributes. This idea wasn’t so readily embraced, but thugs were sent out to beat and imprison any who refused to comply with this absurd notion, and over time it was accepted.

Unfortunately, as the people became more desperate for personal power, the poorest amongst them became jealous, demanding tokens for themselves in return for their labour and produce. Before long, it became impractical to carry sacks of tokens around, and the richest started to demand real talismans from the kings, as promised.

Still not willing to relinquish their power, the kings once again devised a clever plan. Most people now saw the tokens themselves as real magic, the problem being the need for a cart to transport them in large quantities. To relieve this issue the kings suggested that, rather than exchanging for the real talismans, which could also be cumbersome in quantity, they would issue the wealthy with letters instead. These notes would promise the most favoured power and access to the magic, without the need to transport heavy metals and stones.

It soon became clear that the magic was so powerful that even a note promising access to it could convey the power itself. In truth, by this time the people had all but forgotten the talismanic shamanic powers that the items carried. Most people believed the promissory notes were, in themselves, the power.

Noticing this, the kings decided to try an experiment. Since those who held the notes rarely demanded the core magical materials anymore, they decided to issue more notes than they could back up. This meant, of course, that they could double, or even triple their power, without the people ever realising that they were in no position to fulfil their promises. They no longer simply held the bequeathed magic of the shaman; their own ingenuity had increased their power exponentially.

Again, this plan worked spectacularly well. The people built machines to keep track of the promissory notes for them. Drunk on their own power, the leaders took their biggest risk yet. Perhaps people didn’t even need the notes. Perhaps just knowing how many notes you were owed would be enough!

Familiarity breeds contempt, and by now so many people owned the notes that they had forgotten the magic that powered them. They ignored the proof of their own experience, which saw spectacular feats carried out by the magic of the notes, declaring instead that it was an entirely rational response to obey those who held them. In the absence of a shamanistic faith, they fell back on that final, unavoidable, mystical code — mathematics. The power did not lay in the magic of kings, but in the numbers themselves.

People and events could be controlled by simply exchanging numbers, representing notes, promising tokens, which promised far more magical stones and talismans than had ever existed in the real world. Those in power could not believe their luck, but they had to be careful. Some people had accumulated very large numbers on their machines. There had been wars and revolutions to overthrow the power of those who held the most, and some of the peasantry now held even more numbers than the leaders. It became necessary to become more cunning. Those who hoarded the real magic had to pretend to be ‘of the people’, claiming they were protecting the magic on behalf of everyone else.

Since most people had no idea how magic works, this ploy succeeded, yet the leaders still found that their peers might accrue greater numbers than they held themselves. Clearly, they could not effectively rule this way, so they added yet another layer of obfuscation, whereby, in return for use of the magic, their peers would loan them some of their numbers. In fact, it soon became clear that leaders didn’t even really need to borrow numbers; it was enough to know people who had enough to potentially lend them and were willing to express their intent to do so.

Perhaps they underestimated the willingness of humanity to embrace paradox, for it seems they did not predict that people granted a wish might wish for more wishes. Soon, the people approached by the leaders to promise their numbers, used the magic granted in return to alter the world in ways that enabled them to gain and hold more numbers. The numbers became so large that their magic could accomplish anything. With enough numbers, and enough people offering ideas and labour in return for numbers, humanity learned to fly. The magic of large enough numbers, and the combined efforts of people who would do anything for them, could hurl people to the moon and bring them home. It could split atoms and devastate whole populations. It could build devices to at once connect and isolate people all over the world.

There is no limit. The magic of the shaman’s numbers can compel people to kill, and without his numbers we must starve.