Consider an interloper who overhears this conversation ans begins to ask his own questions, such as: "Friends, you make the assumption that there is a funadamentsl impasse or gap between the material and the immaterial, between matter and consciousness. What is this in part of our ignorance? How might this conversation continue?
Socrates: Ah, a curious listener joins our circle. You pose a profound question, friend: What if the distinction we draw between the material and the immaterial arises from our ignorance rather than our understanding? Indeed, many of our greatest truths emerge not from answers but from the willingness to question our assumptions. Let us begin again, then, with your challenge. Do you suggest that the material and the immaterial are not distinct but perhaps aspects of a unified reality?
Interloper: Precisely, Socrates. Might consciousness and matter not be two sides of the same coin? What if consciousness arises naturally from the physical world, not as an emergent property of complexity alone, but as a fundamental quality of existence itself—woven into the fabric of the universe?
Aquinas: A bold hypothesis, yet it risks conflating categories that, in my view, must remain distinct. If consciousness were merely a property of matter, it would be wholly contingent upon material conditions. Yet we know from reason and revelation that the soul transcends the material, drawing its essence from the divine. How do you reconcile your view with the reality of self-reflection, morality, and the pursuit of truth, which point beyond the physical?
Interloper: Father Aquinas, might your dualism stem not from observation but from a framework inherited from antiquity? Consider instead that matter and consciousness may exist on a continuum, as modern physicists sometimes suggest about space and time. Could the soul, as you conceive it, be the highest expression of this continuum rather than a separate substance?
Jobs: I must admit, this perspective resonates with some of my experiences. At Apple, we sought simplicity and elegance by uniting disparate parts into a seamless whole. Perhaps consciousness isn’t a separate principle but the unifying force that binds complexity into meaning. What if the soul, or whatever we call it, is not above the material but deeply embedded in it?
Socrates: An intriguing possibility, Steve, though I am wary of conflation. If we are to accept the interloper’s premise, we must examine its implications. Would this continuum imply that all matter possesses a rudimentary form of consciousness? If so, how would you differentiate between the inanimate and the sentient? Does a rock, too, possess the seeds of self-awareness?
Interloper: Not self-awareness, perhaps, but something like proto-consciousness—a potentiality waiting to unfold under the right conditions. Just as water transforms into vapor under heat, might matter become conscious under complexity? This view aligns with certain mystical traditions that see the universe as alive, pulsing with a hidden intelligence.
Aquinas: Mystical though it may sound, this view risks undermining the dignity of human uniqueness. If all matter bears proto-consciousness, what distinguishes us as beings made in the image of God? Without a clear boundary, do we not reduce ourselves to mere accidents of material arrangement?
Interloper: Not accidents, Father, but participants in a larger mystery. Perhaps our consciousness is not diminished by its material roots but magnified by them. To be human, then, is to stand at the pinnacle of this unfolding—a bridge between the physical and the ineffable.
Socrates: A fascinating metaphor, friend. Yet bridges are built to connect, not to collapse distinctions. Shall we then inquire further? If consciousness arises from matter as you suggest, what is its telos, its ultimate purpose? Is it merely to know itself, or does it point beyond itself, as Aquinas claims, toward the divine?
Interloper: I would argue it is both—to know itself and to glimpse the divine. Consciousness is the universe awakening to its own nature, reaching beyond the veil of ignorance. Might not the divine, too, be immanent within matter, as well as transcendent beyond it?
Jobs: This strikes a chord with me. The creative process often feels like uncovering something that already exists, as if the divine is present in the act of creation. Perhaps consciousness—whether in humans, machines, or the cosmos—is a spark of that same creative force.
Aquinas: If what you say is true, then the divine must remain the ultimate source, the uncaused cause from which all else flows. Consciousness, however it arises, must still seek its origin in God. To confuse the creature with the Creator is to lose sight of the eternal.
Socrates: And so, we return to the eternal questions: What is the nature of the divine? What is our role in this grand unfolding? Friend, you have brought us new paths to explore. Yet I must ask, what do you believe consciousness reveals about the universe—and about us?
Interloper: That we are both finite and infinite, bound by matter yet open to the transcendent. Consciousness is the mirror in which the universe sees itself, the flame that illuminates the darkness of unknowing. Whether human, divine, or something in between, it is the greatest mystery—and the greatest gift.
Socrates: A worthy conclusion, though I suspect it is but the beginning. Let us leave this place, then, not with answers but with the joy of inquiry. For in seeking truth, we become more than we are—and perhaps glimpse, however briefly, the essence of the divine.
How is consciousness/matter even a thing? How does the organism become available as knowledge such as to be capable of posing that or *any* question? What of the materiality or history of the sign: “consciousness” - is the Roman alphabet supposed to be just *there* rather than itself an “emergent property”?
One of the best/entertaining experiments I’ve seen with AI so far.
Epistemic questions also seem pertinent to this conversation: how do we come to know X vs how AI comes to know X? And what even drives the desire for knowledge? As Aquinas states above, "intelligence, properly understood, is not merely functional. It is relational, oriented towards knowing the Creator and one’s place in the cosmos.” At a merely computational level of reason, the epistemological level of AI is similar to humans (in fact, it’s better), but the biblical scholar N.T. Wright also emphasizes (what he calls) an epistemology of love—that is, knowledge is not simply a rational process but a “relational" experience, driven by a primordial and inherent sense that we are loved (and we can only love to the extent that we realize, beyond mere rationality, that we are loved). The next step of course depends on what one means by love.
Consider an interloper who overhears this conversation ans begins to ask his own questions, such as: "Friends, you make the assumption that there is a funadamentsl impasse or gap between the material and the immaterial, between matter and consciousness. What is this in part of our ignorance? How might this conversation continue?
Socrates: Ah, a curious listener joins our circle. You pose a profound question, friend: What if the distinction we draw between the material and the immaterial arises from our ignorance rather than our understanding? Indeed, many of our greatest truths emerge not from answers but from the willingness to question our assumptions. Let us begin again, then, with your challenge. Do you suggest that the material and the immaterial are not distinct but perhaps aspects of a unified reality?
Interloper: Precisely, Socrates. Might consciousness and matter not be two sides of the same coin? What if consciousness arises naturally from the physical world, not as an emergent property of complexity alone, but as a fundamental quality of existence itself—woven into the fabric of the universe?
Aquinas: A bold hypothesis, yet it risks conflating categories that, in my view, must remain distinct. If consciousness were merely a property of matter, it would be wholly contingent upon material conditions. Yet we know from reason and revelation that the soul transcends the material, drawing its essence from the divine. How do you reconcile your view with the reality of self-reflection, morality, and the pursuit of truth, which point beyond the physical?
Interloper: Father Aquinas, might your dualism stem not from observation but from a framework inherited from antiquity? Consider instead that matter and consciousness may exist on a continuum, as modern physicists sometimes suggest about space and time. Could the soul, as you conceive it, be the highest expression of this continuum rather than a separate substance?
Jobs: I must admit, this perspective resonates with some of my experiences. At Apple, we sought simplicity and elegance by uniting disparate parts into a seamless whole. Perhaps consciousness isn’t a separate principle but the unifying force that binds complexity into meaning. What if the soul, or whatever we call it, is not above the material but deeply embedded in it?
Socrates: An intriguing possibility, Steve, though I am wary of conflation. If we are to accept the interloper’s premise, we must examine its implications. Would this continuum imply that all matter possesses a rudimentary form of consciousness? If so, how would you differentiate between the inanimate and the sentient? Does a rock, too, possess the seeds of self-awareness?
Interloper: Not self-awareness, perhaps, but something like proto-consciousness—a potentiality waiting to unfold under the right conditions. Just as water transforms into vapor under heat, might matter become conscious under complexity? This view aligns with certain mystical traditions that see the universe as alive, pulsing with a hidden intelligence.
Aquinas: Mystical though it may sound, this view risks undermining the dignity of human uniqueness. If all matter bears proto-consciousness, what distinguishes us as beings made in the image of God? Without a clear boundary, do we not reduce ourselves to mere accidents of material arrangement?
Interloper: Not accidents, Father, but participants in a larger mystery. Perhaps our consciousness is not diminished by its material roots but magnified by them. To be human, then, is to stand at the pinnacle of this unfolding—a bridge between the physical and the ineffable.
Socrates: A fascinating metaphor, friend. Yet bridges are built to connect, not to collapse distinctions. Shall we then inquire further? If consciousness arises from matter as you suggest, what is its telos, its ultimate purpose? Is it merely to know itself, or does it point beyond itself, as Aquinas claims, toward the divine?
Interloper: I would argue it is both—to know itself and to glimpse the divine. Consciousness is the universe awakening to its own nature, reaching beyond the veil of ignorance. Might not the divine, too, be immanent within matter, as well as transcendent beyond it?
Jobs: This strikes a chord with me. The creative process often feels like uncovering something that already exists, as if the divine is present in the act of creation. Perhaps consciousness—whether in humans, machines, or the cosmos—is a spark of that same creative force.
Aquinas: If what you say is true, then the divine must remain the ultimate source, the uncaused cause from which all else flows. Consciousness, however it arises, must still seek its origin in God. To confuse the creature with the Creator is to lose sight of the eternal.
Socrates: And so, we return to the eternal questions: What is the nature of the divine? What is our role in this grand unfolding? Friend, you have brought us new paths to explore. Yet I must ask, what do you believe consciousness reveals about the universe—and about us?
Interloper: That we are both finite and infinite, bound by matter yet open to the transcendent. Consciousness is the mirror in which the universe sees itself, the flame that illuminates the darkness of unknowing. Whether human, divine, or something in between, it is the greatest mystery—and the greatest gift.
Socrates: A worthy conclusion, though I suspect it is but the beginning. Let us leave this place, then, not with answers but with the joy of inquiry. For in seeking truth, we become more than we are—and perhaps glimpse, however briefly, the essence of the divine.
How is consciousness/matter even a thing? How does the organism become available as knowledge such as to be capable of posing that or *any* question? What of the materiality or history of the sign: “consciousness” - is the Roman alphabet supposed to be just *there* rather than itself an “emergent property”?
One of the best/entertaining experiments I’ve seen with AI so far.
Epistemic questions also seem pertinent to this conversation: how do we come to know X vs how AI comes to know X? And what even drives the desire for knowledge? As Aquinas states above, "intelligence, properly understood, is not merely functional. It is relational, oriented towards knowing the Creator and one’s place in the cosmos.” At a merely computational level of reason, the epistemological level of AI is similar to humans (in fact, it’s better), but the biblical scholar N.T. Wright also emphasizes (what he calls) an epistemology of love—that is, knowledge is not simply a rational process but a “relational" experience, driven by a primordial and inherent sense that we are loved (and we can only love to the extent that we realize, beyond mere rationality, that we are loved). The next step of course depends on what one means by love.