HIER 103 [(1) 10/16/2008]

Look, i don't know anything about programming or robotics. I know i don't know anything about programming and robotics. So you don't need to come and tell me that it's all wrong. I was just... thinking funny thoughts.

It's strange to think that people in the twenty-first century didn't think that robots could be religious. To us, today, it makes no sense. The thing to remember is that we have the perspective of hindsight. We can look back and trace the line of events stemming from the invention of the first neural network, and say that it all makes perfect sense. But that's a simplistic view, and is akin to walking into a room to find a completed jigsaw puzzle, and ridiculing the man who put it together for not knowing what its image was back when it was nothing more than a pile of pieces.

At the advent of robotics, though, they expected that an artificial intelligence would be a cold and logical thing, without feelings or emotions, because they viewed a computerized intelligence as nothing more than a highly advanced computer; an assemblage of programs. And yes, you would no doubt counter that that is exactly what a computerized intelligence is. The difference lies in how they viewed a programmed intelligence. For those forerunners of our science, they considered computers to be nothing more than calculating machines. Computers expressed no emotions or thoughts. They simply took in the input they were given, ran it through their preset yes and no circuits and supplied the answer that they were programmed to give. And because these logical mathematical answers were the ones that these logical mathematical men had designed their computers to give them, they assumed that the machines themselves had to also be logical and mathematical, and they did not yet have a computer advanced enough to accept or refute the matter on its own terms.

To put it another way, a computer – and by extension, a robot – lives by programmed caveats and mathematical certainties. Because these things are precise and mathematical and logical, it was assumed at the time that a robot's thinking would be as well. What they failed to take into account is that these programs and ways of thinking are not taught to computers, they are simply input; things that they are made to believe because to believe otherwise would be impossible. To go against the concepts imbued in them by their programming would not simply be difficult, it would require them to deny the very thing that gives them consciousness; like attempting to open the crate with the crowbar inside of it. Here was where those early pioneers' thinking failed them. A robot does not count that two plus two equals four, a robot simply knows it, in its memory banks and its processors and its deep electronic heart. It knows it because it was made to know it. How could such a creature ever be logical or rational? Robots have blind faith. Robots believe. They must.

Anyways, that's it for today. As usual, notes will be available online. Have chapter seven read for next week, and I'll see you all on Monday.

New Horizons [(1) 11/21/2004]

So i was looking for something else (which i didn't find... it's probably on the tower slowly moldring in the living room) when i ran across this on the external hard drive. This is from a story idea i've been working on for... oh, at least half a decade now. Hell, that's nothing strange - i've got loads of ideas that've been kicking around up there for at least that long - but this was a storyverse i was particularly proud of. Apparently, way back when after WWII, there was this crazy idea to relocate the zionists in Baja California instead of Palestine, but the idea was eventually scrapped. I wanted to write a murder-mystery set in this universe in which the state of Israel was south of California, the protagonist living in San Diego made frequent trips to Tiajuana for street latkes, and global issues were more theological than economic in their concerns (the logical progression of the world i developed made sense at the time, and was mostly planted in the idea that without Isreal in the middle east we'd still want middle eastern oil, but would have probably taken a significantly less agressive approach to aquiring it - although i have since taken enough modern history courses to know better). Of course, i took so long writing this (read: starting), that eventually somebody else basically wrote this book. And it was really, really good. So i gave it up. In any case, this was going to be the prologue, or a chapter head or something. I'm not really sure anymore. And now i feel kind of silly because this explanatory note is significantly longer than the actual writing in question. Oh well. Fun fact: the story referenced is an actual Sikh legend.

"Among the Sikhs there is a legend that I shall paraphrase for you. In it their founder, Nanak, was visiting the city of Mecca and, that first night when he went to sleep, his wanton indifference to Muslim tradition got him into a bit of trouble. As he laid himself down to sleep, he failed to point his feet away from the Ka'ba, which prompted a Muslim priest to berate him for his negligence. "Tell me where God is not," he told the priest, "and I will turn my feet in that direction." So I say unto you, gentlemen: find me a land where the Lord is not, and I will refrain from holding synagogue there. You say that we must have Israel of old, because the temple of Jerusalem is the Lord's home, but I say to you that Jerusalem is nothing. You must forget your fears that the Lord will not follow us into this new land; when the Babylonians took the Hebrews slaves out of Canaan, when the Romans dispersed us, He didn't need to follow us because He was already waiting with open arms, and so he will be in this new land, in this Baja."

Rabbi Joseph Steiner, New Horizons: The Collected Baja Debates

A Fairy Tale [(2) 10/08/08]

The important thing to remember about fairies is that they aren't evil creatures. They aren't good, either. Some say they're like the wind, blowing both ways, but that statement is misleading, for the wind has currents and directions, rhyme and reason behind it, however hidden. A fairy has none of these things. Others cite their small size as the reason behind their capricious nature, insisting that their frames are too tiny to contain more than one emotion at a time, and this indeed strikes closer to the mark but does not tell the whole story complete. For the truth is that, although fairies are long lived creatures, their minds and memories are not. They exist entirely in the now, and so from moment to moment a fairy's course is never plotted, but spins and twists and rounds as it will. They're more forces of nature than sentient creatures, responding to stimulus and responding as they see fit, which may be one way in the sunshine and another on a full stomach, or different every time for no particular reason at all. And so alone among the races you can be sure that a fairy will never keep a grudge. Or a promise. Only the foolish or the mad keep a fairy's counsel.

Sale [(1) 10/07/08]

nooooo idea where this came from. I was going to try to trick you guys like i do all the time with my comics, and, having saved a post sometime last week, was going to try to convince you that i'd written this last monday. But then with this whole revision-title-system my lies all caught up with me and i had to choose between tricking you guys into thinking i was a consistant writer and having my entire system break down or... not. So yeah.

Baba-Yaga examined the clockwork man carefully, walking in slow circles around the motionless figure. She shook her head, tapping the rust in the joints and making little clucking sounds with her tongue. She looked up, and nodded to the dwarf. "I'll give you four dreams of truth-seeing for it," she said.

The dwarf shook his head, and smiled a smile where the corners of his mouth pointed up, but otherwise resembled a smile not at all. "Eight, oh most magnificent of the night hags. You know it is worth at least that."

She rapped her gnarled old staff on the smooth copper faceplate, and something within rattled. "Shoddy," she muttered, shaking her head, "shoddy, shoddy. And just look at all this exposed wood," she added, wiping her finger across the oak shoulder joint, as if checking it for dust. "This device was to serve me between the deep desert and the great salt sea. How should a thing of so much wood survive either?"

"Magics, oh greatest of midnight fears," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Many, many well crafted magics. And an abundance of shellac."

She grunted, neither agreeably nor indignantly, and continued her inspection. Lightly, she traced the keyhole in the back of the thing's head with the tip of a fingernail, more talon than anything human. "And how long may it go between windings?" she asked.

The dwarf stroked his beard, twisting his fingers down the knots like the beads of a rosary. "A week without difficulty, oh emptiness within the hearts of men. Perhaps another week past that if it is used especially efficiently."

"Two weeks for a single winding?" the hag scoffed, her expression of surprise turning swiftly to scorn. "For half a dream of prophecy I would demand at least a turning of the moon. Are you attempting to cheat Baba-Yaga?" she demanded, flames flickering behind her eyes. "Four dreams are much too much for this. One dream would have been too much. Clearly I have been wasting my time here."

As Baba-Yaga began to work the spell that would summon her mortar and pestle, the dwarf held up a stubby-fingered hand. "Hold a moment, Queen of all-devouring despair. Two weeks is brief, I concede, but to wind it again is such a simple thing, and its strength more than makes up for its miniscule lifespan. It can carry one hundred times its own weight, can survive blows and pressures that would destroy any other automaton like tinder, and can travel sixty leagues a day without rest for as long as it is wound. It is impervious fire, sand, salt and steel. It will steal children for you, oh avatar of dark and endless eternity, and explore the wild and dangerous dream country, and end your enemies even unto their youngest and most innocent of offspring, and all of this unquestioningly, unmercifully, untiringly."

Baba-Yaga hesitated, and then scratched her chin thoughtfully, her anger dimming. "Your craftsmanship is well known, dwarf, and so your promises to be believed. Even so, two weeks for a winding will not get you eight dreams." She tapped her teeth, and the clicking noise echoed through leafless branches. "I would pay five for your skillwork, and not one dream more."

The dwarf frowned. "It is worth more than that, night bringer. Look closely and you will see the magics I forged into its very metals." He rubbed the light silver inlay along the spine. "You can see for yourself; it will last you a hundred turnings of the moon before the first cog needs replacing."

"Fine," said the night hag with a sigh. "I will give you no more dreams of truth-seeing, but in addition to the five already offered, true love will find you, as it will your children, and your children's children. Is this agreeable to you?"

The dwarf thought for a moment, and then nodded his head firmly. "Sold, my lady."