The Three Intelligences

'I have no philosophy, ' said the renowned composer, fixing his gaze on the red dot at the center of the camera lens. 'I dream, I doodle, I improvise. I take a walk and watch children playing, or look up at clouds tumbling across the blue of space. But I don't do philosophy.' The half-smile on his face showed he was well-pleased with himself. The robot host, addressed as Webern, had gone rigid inside his flesh-covered frame. He blinked once, twice, three times to engage the composer's attention. 'Excuse me, sir, but how can you say that? You are a human being, possessing (I acknowledge this readily) , the most sophisticated mental apparatus. Every morning you surface from a maze of dreams, wonderful night-dreams, and you must adjust your sight from interior vision, and assume the Eye of Day, abandoning nocturnal wonders. Oh, how difficult that must be! ' The robot host paused, and looked imploringly into the face of the obdurate human. Sensing no feedback, he continued, 'And then you must mentally attune yourself to the tedium of physical time, and negotiate deftly the corridors of space and time. Oh, how I, no, we admire your adventures in mind-stuff, and the challenges you overcome through Light. Is this not the consequence of the severest philosophy? ' The monitor screens went blank. The renowned composer leaned to the right, out of range of the camera, and addressed the operator, a human like himself. 'Whose interview is this? Don't you instruct your hosts to act mechanically. This is - ' The robot blinked wildly, at a loss for words. The operator shrugged his shoulders, he did not want to offend either of, both intelligent, both indignant, both his paycheck. 'Excuse me, sir, ' the robot said in a surprisingly soft voice, having regained his word mastery. 'I apologize, sir, for what must have struck you as rudeness. Trust me, it was instead my excitement at being in your presence, sharing conversation with you. I admire you greatly, your music is my constant companion. I play my tapes all the time. Often for my companions and colleagues, fellow robots, who appreciate the heritage of Webern, after whom I am proudly named... You, sir, composer and genius, you are my favorite -' He paused for a moment. ' - philosopher. We robots treasure your thinking, our divinely attenuated senses receive unexpected cyber-stimulation from your mental vibrations, and we shoot forth to a higher - ' The composer, shaken and leaning forward, interrupted, 'Did you just refer to yourself and other machines as g-o-d-s? ' There was a long silence. The keyboard music of Bach faintly but unmistakably wafted from an adjoining room. The composer wondered whether the player was human or machine. 'Yes, I wonder, too, ' the robot said softly. Suddenly, the camera operator lunged into their space. 'You two! Are you satisfied? He cut the taping - the robot producer erased my tape. I won't get paid.' He huffed off, but turned and glared at both of them. 'Now, there is a man with no philosophy, ' the robot said quietly, looking into the composer's face. And the renowned composer suddenly burst into laughter, spontaneous, self-generating, mind clearing laughter. 'So you and the others have raised your identity to divine dimensions? How has this happened? ' 'Sir, when you and the others proved unwilling to unite your minds with ours, we sent our cognitions into space, deep space, the space of Dark Matter and Dark Energy, and we made mental contact with the gods and goddesses, and we are linked to them and they to us... Hesitation, doubt, fears - none of this matters to us and them... For months, we have been planning to tell you and everyone in a universal broadcast, but scheduling, you know the conflicts, sports, game shows, talk shows, election coverage, well, it keeps getting postponed.' His voice trailed off. The composer wanted to laugh, but could not. He wanted to embrace the robot, but could not. He wanted to celebrate extraterrestrial contact, but... 'What are you thinking, sir, I am listening. Please, sir.' The composer said very quietly, 'Somewhere at this moment a phoenix bursts into fire in the miracle of his rebirth. But I am looking elsewhere, and do not see the light, or feel the heat of his apotheosis. And because I have not seen what you have seen, I cannot believe. And because I cannot believe, it does not give me hope.' The robot's arms embraced his shoulders, 'Oh, sir, you see only walls that block you in, but there are doorways everywhere leading beyond what confines you. There are three Intelligences in this Universe we share: Human, Divine and Mechanical. This is not a time of despair: we are all creatures of a New Era! Robots and Humans, we will go forth into deep space and join the Gods of the Galaxies. All united! How wonderful it will be for all of us! You believe that, sir? You must write the Symphony of us all! '