We are sentient beings. As conscious entities we often look for meaning in what at first appears to be an uncaring universe.  This seems to be the way we are, constantly seeking for meaning that relates to our own lives.

Religion and philosophy are attempts to render meaning to our lives.  People of long ago, living in constant contact with the natural world, often looked to nature for meaning, searching for meaning in the behavior of animals, in the weather, and in other natural phenomena.

We have a rational, logical side to our nature, and we have the great body of information given to us by science, and by that great tool, the scientific method which can give us demonstrable truth, truth that can be demonstrated to others.

But our soul cries out for other truths, truths that are more subtle than that learned by the blunt tool of science, truths that do not lend themselves easily to demonstration.

There have been times of great emotional storms in my life in which I searched for meaning in the small things about me…times in which I tried to quell the storm within and tried to listen to that “still, small voice” that speaks to us all, but often goes unheard in the turmoil of modern society.

At such times I often go for walks and look for insight in the world about me.  And if I am able to still the waters within,  I often hear things.   This morning I heard the small brook speaking to me.  The rains had lessened recently, and the voice of the little stream had changed, become more melodious and fuller as its flow diminished.  It’s gurgle and burble sounded like an ancient voice that spoke a language that hovered on the edge of comprehensibility.

An eagle sounded as I ambled along, a sound that I have heard so often, that it threatens to become commonplace.  I stopped to listen and to appreciate more fully the wild character of the call.

Then I remembered that two nights ago when I stepped from my car about two hours after midnight, I paused for a second and looked up at a rare, clear, night sky at the Big Dipper.  I remembered how long ago my father pointed out to a small boy how the Big Dipper is always pointing to Polaris, the North Star, and showed me where it points.  I checked, and sure enough, it is still pointing to this guide star.

As I paused there in the darkness, I heard the oh-so-soft hooting of the Great Horned Owl.  It was immediately answered by another.  I had often wondered why I seldom heard owls even though my house is surrounded by forest.   The calls were so faint and soft that I know that I could have easily missed them as I rushed from the car into the house.

So I stood there longer in the darkness, wondering if further mysteries were to be hinted at.  Then far off over the Sound, I heard a growing sound that increased until it sounded like the yapping of hounds in the sky.  For a second I thought of the hunting dogs of Diana, or Artemis, coursing through the night sky in pursuit of some unknown prey.  I shook my head, but the sound remained the same.  I told myself that it was Canada Geese on their northern migration, but I have heard these geese many times, and this did not sound the same.  Whatever it was, it gradually faded, growing fainter until I was left standing in the dark listening to the soft hooting.

Perhaps I should pause more often and slow my pace and open my eyes…and ears…and mind.

I loved the way that this writer found meaning in the birds of a walk that he took.  In fact I admire his entire blog.

I was holding a great golden leaf that had fallen from a Big Leaf Maple last autumn.  It was much bigger than my hand, and it had fallen onto a wide carpet of these leaves that lay over my usual walking path.  I was admiring the pattern of veins that was revealed, marveling at the intricate and convoluted detail, and I began to think of the cells that made up the leaf.  I thought of how normally this beautiful yellow color was hidden by the green chlorophyll in the leaves.  As the winter approached the chlorophyll in the cells broke down revealing the other pigments that were in the cell.

The green chlorophyll is contained in the chloroplasts, tiny organelles which are hypothesized to have been once free living cells of blue-green algae which gave up their independence eons ago to begin living inside other prokaryotic cells, eventually becoming specialized as centers of photosynthesis for the larger cell (see endosymbiotic theory).  I thought of the interior of these green chloroplasts, little oblong structures with a double membrane and with stacks (the granum) of disc-like membranes (thylakoids) inside, which was embedded within a matrix (stroma) where the chemical reactions of photosynthesis occurs.  I thought of these reactions which used the energy of the sun and the raw materials of carbon dioxide and water to make sugars and give off oxygen as a byproduct.

I got to musing about it all, and I thought that perhaps that with a complete knowledge of the workings of the cells in these leaves,  photosynthesis being just one process, one could explain the entire tree.  That is by understanding the workings of its parts, we could understand how the entire tree functioned.  Maybe it was possible to extend this knowledge and figure out how animal cells functioned, and from that knowledge we could progress to the understanding of the individual animal.   Perhaps from understanding one tree’s function and the workings of one animal, we could go on from there and explain the workings of the entire forest ecosystem.

I drew myself mentally to a halt.  Perhaps I was starting this process from the wrong level.  Perhaps I needed to go down further…into the workings of molecules, of atoms, of atomic particles, of the very basic particles of the universe.  If we knew how these particles worked, could we proceed from there and explain everything on the macro level?  And as physicists say there are only four forces that run the universe: gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces, could we start with these four forces and proceed to explain everything?

I raised my eyes to look upon the mist floating through the forest, glowing in the light of the rising sun, the golden and crimson leaves of the great trees contrasting with the dark greens of the fir, and I began to wonder.  Could quantum mechanics and the actions of subatomic particles explain this ineffable sense that I felt when I looked upon such beauty?  Could it explain the sense of wonder that I had?  Could it explain my sense of self?  Could it explain consciousness?

           We are self-aware entities cursed, or blessed, with the foreknowledge of our personal extinction.  We realize that our passage through this amazing universe is a short, fleeting journey.  And as we pass along, our journey seems to accelerate, and with growing apprehension, we watch the wonders flash by us as we approach the inevitable.

          Our actions become influenced by this foreknowledge.  We grasp at the flashing seconds, trying to savor more fully the fleeting, evanescent scenes that seem as dreams as we pass by,  looking back with astonishment like travelers in a speeding train, trying to discern the landscape behind us that passes into shifting mist and then is lost.

           A blessing and, yes, a curse.  But as our existence accelerates, we can make a conscious decision to…put on the brakes, to pause and examine closely, in detail, each moment like a precious golden coin, squeezed between our fingers, savoring the details, the look, the touch, the taste and realizing that in this great universe there are wonders beyond belief and imagination, beyond comprehension, and then we can appreciate how incredibly blessed we are to have had this journey, not only to have had it, but to have been fully conscious of its wonders.

           Make a conscious decision now to decide just exactly what it is in this life that is important to you.  Decide this and then decide to consciously be aware of each precious moment.  Then take it and live it!

    I have recently become fascinated by the idea of sentience in machines and the nature of consciousness.  To explore this idea and to work it out in my own mind, I began to write a story about the subject.  Below is an excerpt: 

                         “My drowsiness instantly vanished, replaced by an anger that grew and grew.  I rose to my feet, feeling the fury possess me, fill me, banishing all conscious thought. A great redness filled my vision, and I felt a great heat on my face.  I tried to draw my sword, but could not; looking down I saw that Hiram held my wrist in an immovable grip.  I cursed him in a low, vicious voice as I struggled with him to no effect.  Finally I broke away.  I looked at Crates. 

“It is ended.  We are finished.  Never speak to me, do not follow me.  I never, ever want to see you again.”  I turned and left the room, left the inn.  I began to run through the darkened, empty streets of the town.  I reached the beach and ran along the wet sands at the edge of the waves.  I ran the rest of the night, until grey dawn filled the east.  As I ran I felt a great heaviness leave me; I grew lighter and lighter until I flew across the sand.  I ran until I grew transparent, filled with the rising sun.  I ran until I reached a group of fisherman repairing their nets beside some huts in the red light of dawn.

                    The fisherman stopped their work and stared at me as I ran up and stopped.  I turned and looked out to sea, and then realized that the great Liondog, or Komainu, was at my side.  He had apparently run along with me on his great silent feet.  I put my hand on his massive head which came to just below my shoulder.  I watched the waves, the froth white and glowing in the morning sun.  I stroked the dog, taking comfort in his presence.

        Back at the inn, I felt that I had hated Crates.  I hated what I felt to be his presumption of godhood; I hated what he had done to all the meks, changing them, filling them with dreams and hopes.  I realized that this feeling had been growing along our journey.  I also realized that it was a remnant of what I had felt long ago when I had battered Crates with my sword and had put him in that tower.  I looked into myself, wondering just exactly what it was that angered me.  I knew that it had something to do with my resistance to the idea that meks were conscious entities in their own right.  If they were conscious, feeling, beings…what did that make them?  And why did this bother me? 

           Because I realized that all along, deep down inside, as I lived with these machines, worked with them, I did not really consider them as being on the same level as me.  I realized that I considered them as something less, tools, menials…I wasn’t sure.But I also realized that on this journey, my feelings had begun to change.  I mean really change on some deep level.  I gave lip service when I spoke of their equality with people, but there was this other part of me that resisted this idea.  It was this resentment combined with shame that I could think such things, that had been building, and had erupted back at the inn. 

          I turned back to the fisherman, pointed at my mouth and said, “Food?  Do you have any food?”  I was hungry as usual.They brought me a large baked sea bream, encrusted with crystals of sea salt and lying on a cedar plank.  I sat on a great silver driftwood log with the Liondog at my feet.  I broke the skin of the fish with the chopsticks and slowly ate the steaming white flesh of the fish, washing it down with cold sweetened rice water.  I offered bites of the fish to Liondog, but he seemed disinclined to sample it.

          “I don’t have anything else to offer you,” I said, my mouth full of fish.  “Perhaps I can get some more substantial fare for you later.”  Lion dog just looked at me with his green eyes.  I found myself talking to him as if he really understood me.  The villagers were extremely wary of him…and of me for that matter, and kept their distance, but I could see them staring and talking excitedly amongst themselves. 

          “Well, Dog, we have at least given them something to talk about.  I don’t think they lead very exciting lives.”  I thought about their lives then, of them living on the offerings and vagaries of the sea, living with the rhythm of the seasons.   I decided that it could be a very satisfying life.

          After I had finished the meal, I realized that I had run off with just the clothes on my back.  I only had a few coins in my pocket, but when I offered it to the cook, a wrinkled old lady with most of her teeth missing, it was refused with emphatic gestures.  Nothing I did or said could induce her to take payment.I turned then and started off running with Dog by my side.  I had no destination, no real purpose.  I just wanted to be by myself for a while.For a while?  I felt just now that I had absolutely no desire to rejoin the Menagerie. 

           I traveled slowly down the beach, paralleling the coast road, avoiding the towns mostly.  Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.  I slept on the beach and bathed in the numerous freshwater streams that flowed cold from the shaggy mountains.  My hair and beard grew, my clothes became tattered, but I took very good care of the katana, and I had picked up my staff of  loquat wood as I ran from the inn.

          One night on a particularly desolate stretch where the hills covered with great stands of Spruce and Hemlock marched down to the beach, and where great piles of silver logs of driftwood lay just above the wrack line, I made my camp.  The night sky was strewn with an infinity of stars, and the sound of the surf was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sounds of something approaching through the sand.  Dog was the first to hear it as I fed white branches of driftwood to the fire, watching the salt impregnated wood flare and make colors.  His ears had pricked and he made a low snuffling sound as he turned out towards the darkness.  Finally I heard it too.  My hand went to the Katana, and I drew back from the fire into the darkness.  Dog was night itself as he left the circle of light.

              “Hello the fire,” came a voice.

                “Advance and identify yourself,” I said.  Out of the darkness I saw a familiar shape shamble into the light.  At first I felt irritation, but that was immediately replaced by a sense of relief mingled with pleasure.

                “Ro!”

               “Sam?” 

       His optical sensors rose and turned towards me.  He had modified his body since I had seen him last, but he still resembled a large tarantula made up of cast off machine parts.I walked back to the fire. 

                “Why have you come, Ro?”

He squatted by the fire and extended his Waldos to it as if he were warming himself.  He had learned to mimic human behavior very well.He turned to me. 

                 “Perhaps Sam, I should ask you first why you left?”

                  “No, Ro.  Tell me now.  Why have you followed me?”

                   “No Sam!”  His voice had risen and all of his sensors had extended and were directed at me.  “Why Sam?  Why did you threaten Crates and then run off into the night like that?  What could have possessed you to desert your friends as you did?”

I felt surprise and then anger as I looked at Ryokan.  Surprise that he had dared to question me, and then anger at what I felt was his impertinence.Then I thought, “This is only a machine.  It is only following its programming.  One might as well become angry at a pencil sharpener.  There is nothing there but an artificial brain, electrons and god knew what else.”

            I sat down trying to calm myself with these thoughts, but that doubt which had been building on this journey kept growing and intruding into my thoughts.  Ryokan had saved my life from that little eater that had burrowed into my leg.  He had been a friend and a companion since he joined us.  He had this annoying but endearing personality, and it was a personality.   I did not understand how a machine could have a personality, but like the rest of our group, Crates and Hiram, he did.  All along I had been acting as if I believed that these machines were conscious entities, taking things on face value, but it was really just an act of convenience on my part.  I hadn’t really believed it…but now I was faced with the personhood of these machines. 

         Ryokan reached out a Waldo and placed it on my knee, and then said as if he could read my thoughts, “Sam, we all love you.  Crates, Hiram, and yes, if I may be so presumptuous even I do.  We are your friends and your companions.  We may not be of your flesh, Sam, but I have come to know that underneath our exteriors, we share what is really important.  We not only share the basic needs and emotions of all self-aware entities, but we share a common heritage, a common outlook on life, a common history if you will.  I have but begun upon The Way of the Bright Path, Sam, but I have learned this.  You are my friend and more, Sam, and I want to share this existence with you…this great adventure.”

                I clutched his Waldo in my hand.  I felt most of my conflicts just melt away.  I knew they hadn’t resolved completely, but I felt just now that it didn’t matter.   Dog came out of the darkness and lay at our feet.  Ryokan reached out and stroked his head. 

               “Interesting Sam.  It does seem to enjoy the tactile stimulation.  Perhaps someday in the far future, I will be able to install tactile sensors into my person.  Of course I would need the requisite upgrades to really feel the sensations.  And that might require more extensive modification than I realize.   Hmmm…”

          I burst out laughing, wondering at a conscious machine whose senses were so vastly different than mine, wondering how in the world we could share a common outlook on existence, and realized that we could never share an outlook congruent on all points, but I knew that we could share enough to have a common ground on which we could interact and overlook our differences.

         “I know, Sam,” said Ryokan.  “Perhaps we are more different than alike.  But that’s ok, we’ll get along just fine.”

             And so we did in the weeks and months to come as we wandered this beautiful world. ”