We devote our lives to many causes, yet only a slim few devote themselves to figuring out why we do so.
As thoughtful creatures, humans are troubled by the question of reason. The interminable 'why' is something standard to those who consider themselves intellectual, scientific persons, shunning the mere existence of empiricism and its basic uses (the patterns in which things are likely to happen rather than the principles in which they may be brought about) in favor of true understanding.
Reason is a bother. It is completely plausible to envy a fool, who has a chance at finding contentment. Questions lead to horrid places. There is a fetid cliche to describe in perfectly: 'Curiosity killed the cat'. If you investigate every aspect of a given article you are bound to have your critical eye scour some fatal flaw - often one outside of your control and utterly irreparable - and then you are forced to live with the knowledge of this flaw for the rest of your existence.
I used to have a rather healthy mindset about the whole matter. I decided to negate the concept of 'mistakes', 'errors' and, indeed, 'flaws'. If something is generated in an act of reason, then it serves a purpose. Even something defective can serve a purpose by being a model others use to establish the necessities of an effective creation. In this the most deformed and crippled components of reality have a reason - and a very important one.
Sometimes, like today and for the past while, I feel like I am one of these defective entities, whose only purpose is to serve as an example to the rest of the world that questioning too deeply has its consequences. I am nineteen years of age, and I am ancient. I am worn out by the conquest of literature I have undertaken, by the menial ins and outs of everyday life that seem so easy to others, and by the crushing weight of expectation that comes with living. I am tired. So very, very tired.
I yearn to be more. What separates something deformed from something whole? I have no answer. I have no spectrum with which to analyse the data that leads to the answer. All I have is my life, and the question of what to do with it.
When one day several years ago I was pondering the differentiating factors between man and machine which would need to be bridged before artificial intelligence could become true intelligence, I found myself questioning the meaning of life. All machines require a meaning of life to function. Toasters produce heat for a given time in order to toast bread. Computers exist in order to organise and display data in a comprehensible form. Fans exist to cool, and radiators to heat.
Organic beings are very different. At our basic levels we appear the same. We have functions such as eating and reproducing, and these may be seen as our purpose. However, a computer's 'life' is not sustained only to draw more electricity into itself or to create back-ups of its programming. If a bridge is linked between these two entities we see that these 'functions' exist to keep them operating - but operating on what?
For machines we tend to assign singular purposes to each individual. An air conditioner, a radio and a motor are all parts of an automobile, but they are separate machines that can each achieve their function separately. Organics, on the other hand, have separate organs that vitally intermingle within a leathery jumpsuit and have augmentative purposes rather than individual ones.
Pre-existing ideas on this subject are numerous. Some believe that our purpose lies in the designs of an unseen Maker, who gives us purpose through ancient riddles and prophetic verse. Our souls are given substance by the morals we uphold and ignore, and eventually culminate in a form we are to spend eternity in. We are asked to conserve the natural state of the earth, and ensure that neither we nor anything else bring it harm. We are asked to keep faithful and obey any wishes our creator chooses to voice.
Or, following a more modern flare, we are given over to ideals. We envision a society that suits our personality, and we pursue it in our own way. Scientists harness the spirit of invention, artists strive to create the Ultimate Work, men of iron and industry battle one another for control over the monetary treasuries of the world. Politicians promote ideas of order and liberty, and some simply choose to exist, taking in the pleasures of emotional connection and physical exhilaration.
I decided after some deliberation that what separates men from machines is a percentile. Machines have one choice; a 100% dedication to a single meaning of life. If they cannot achieve their goals, they either keep trying in futility or they expire. Human beings can choose to give up and try working towards another goal. In a simple format:
Machine: Undergo set task (100%). Minor variations with complex programming.
Human: Undergo basic biological principles: Eating & drinking (7.5%); sleeping (5%), Stabilise environment: social (5%); biological (5%); material (5%), Expand environmental territories: Into the present (2.5%); Into the future (5%), Satisfy religious demands: basic (7.5%); moderate (2.5%); all pervading (0.5%), Master a creative outlet: basic (7.5%); moderate (5%); all pervading (0.5%), Understand the principles of the universe: basic (7.5%); moderate (5%); all pervading (0.5%), Achieve emotional satisfaction (12.5%), Reproduce programming: organic (6%) mental (5%)...
The options available to human beings are virtually limitless. The percentages themselves will naturally vary from person to person according to the individual actions Nature & Nurture have pointed them towards. From this I decided on a simple (I'm not kidding this time) expression that underlies human programming:
Perceive, and react accordingly.
And so when I slip into a funk and feel myself ebbing into a coma, I revert to the prime function for which every human was created, 100%. I perceive new things. I contemplate things that have been, and last, when my sight is no longer clouded by murk and colour returns to my thoughts, I react.
"So many questions are asked in life which have no clear answer that we are soon forced to ask in what order we need answer them."
As thoughtful creatures, humans are troubled by the question of reason. The interminable 'why' is something standard to those who consider themselves intellectual, scientific persons, shunning the mere existence of empiricism and its basic uses (the patterns in which things are likely to happen rather than the principles in which they may be brought about) in favor of true understanding.
Reason is a bother. It is completely plausible to envy a fool, who has a chance at finding contentment. Questions lead to horrid places. There is a fetid cliche to describe in perfectly: 'Curiosity killed the cat'. If you investigate every aspect of a given article you are bound to have your critical eye scour some fatal flaw - often one outside of your control and utterly irreparable - and then you are forced to live with the knowledge of this flaw for the rest of your existence.
I used to have a rather healthy mindset about the whole matter. I decided to negate the concept of 'mistakes', 'errors' and, indeed, 'flaws'. If something is generated in an act of reason, then it serves a purpose. Even something defective can serve a purpose by being a model others use to establish the necessities of an effective creation. In this the most deformed and crippled components of reality have a reason - and a very important one.
Sometimes, like today and for the past while, I feel like I am one of these defective entities, whose only purpose is to serve as an example to the rest of the world that questioning too deeply has its consequences. I am nineteen years of age, and I am ancient. I am worn out by the conquest of literature I have undertaken, by the menial ins and outs of everyday life that seem so easy to others, and by the crushing weight of expectation that comes with living. I am tired. So very, very tired.
I yearn to be more. What separates something deformed from something whole? I have no answer. I have no spectrum with which to analyse the data that leads to the answer. All I have is my life, and the question of what to do with it.
When one day several years ago I was pondering the differentiating factors between man and machine which would need to be bridged before artificial intelligence could become true intelligence, I found myself questioning the meaning of life. All machines require a meaning of life to function. Toasters produce heat for a given time in order to toast bread. Computers exist in order to organise and display data in a comprehensible form. Fans exist to cool, and radiators to heat.
Organic beings are very different. At our basic levels we appear the same. We have functions such as eating and reproducing, and these may be seen as our purpose. However, a computer's 'life' is not sustained only to draw more electricity into itself or to create back-ups of its programming. If a bridge is linked between these two entities we see that these 'functions' exist to keep them operating - but operating on what?
For machines we tend to assign singular purposes to each individual. An air conditioner, a radio and a motor are all parts of an automobile, but they are separate machines that can each achieve their function separately. Organics, on the other hand, have separate organs that vitally intermingle within a leathery jumpsuit and have augmentative purposes rather than individual ones.
Pre-existing ideas on this subject are numerous. Some believe that our purpose lies in the designs of an unseen Maker, who gives us purpose through ancient riddles and prophetic verse. Our souls are given substance by the morals we uphold and ignore, and eventually culminate in a form we are to spend eternity in. We are asked to conserve the natural state of the earth, and ensure that neither we nor anything else bring it harm. We are asked to keep faithful and obey any wishes our creator chooses to voice.
Or, following a more modern flare, we are given over to ideals. We envision a society that suits our personality, and we pursue it in our own way. Scientists harness the spirit of invention, artists strive to create the Ultimate Work, men of iron and industry battle one another for control over the monetary treasuries of the world. Politicians promote ideas of order and liberty, and some simply choose to exist, taking in the pleasures of emotional connection and physical exhilaration.
I decided after some deliberation that what separates men from machines is a percentile. Machines have one choice; a 100% dedication to a single meaning of life. If they cannot achieve their goals, they either keep trying in futility or they expire. Human beings can choose to give up and try working towards another goal. In a simple format:
Machine: Undergo set task (100%). Minor variations with complex programming.
Human: Undergo basic biological principles: Eating & drinking (7.5%); sleeping (5%), Stabilise environment: social (5%); biological (5%); material (5%), Expand environmental territories: Into the present (2.5%); Into the future (5%), Satisfy religious demands: basic (7.5%); moderate (2.5%); all pervading (0.5%), Master a creative outlet: basic (7.5%); moderate (5%); all pervading (0.5%), Understand the principles of the universe: basic (7.5%); moderate (5%); all pervading (0.5%), Achieve emotional satisfaction (12.5%), Reproduce programming: organic (6%) mental (5%)...
The options available to human beings are virtually limitless. The percentages themselves will naturally vary from person to person according to the individual actions Nature & Nurture have pointed them towards. From this I decided on a simple (I'm not kidding this time) expression that underlies human programming:
Perceive, and react accordingly.
And so when I slip into a funk and feel myself ebbing into a coma, I revert to the prime function for which every human was created, 100%. I perceive new things. I contemplate things that have been, and last, when my sight is no longer clouded by murk and colour returns to my thoughts, I react.
"So many questions are asked in life which have no clear answer that we are soon forced to ask in what order we need answer them."
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