Self-discovery

A carcass of hollow bones, flexible clumps of protein, which contain what scientists and engineers are trying to analyze and re — create in logical circuits and electronic models — life, a complex, constantly functioning and constantly changing system. Millions of bits of information penetrate us every second through the nerve endings of our eyes, ears, skin, nose, and tongue and are turned into electrical impulses. If they are amplified, you can hear the characteristic “Drrrr… dr…” in their dynamics. The bionics people played it for me once. The machine — gun volleys of impulses spread along the nerves, increase or engulf one another, and stick in the molecular memory cells. A huge processing unit, the brain, sorts them, compares them with the chemical recording of the internal program that contains everything — dreams and wishes, duty and goal, survival instinct and hunger, love and hate, habits and knowledge, superstition and curiosity — and makes up the commands for the executive organs. And people talk, run, kiss, write poetry and denunciations, orbit in space, scratch their heads, shoot, push buttons, bring up children, meditate….

What's the most important thing?

I'm getting a picture of method for the controlled synthesis of man. You can introduce additional information and thereby alter the form and content of man. This will come — we're moving toward it. But what information should be introduced? What alterations should be made? Take me, for instance. Let's say that a computer will be synthesizing me (especially since it already has): what would I like changed?

You can't answer that off the bat. I'm used to myself. I'm much more interested in people around me than in myself. We all know what we want from other people: that they don't interfere with our lives. But what do we want from ourselves?

Yesterday I had the following conversation:

“Tell me, Lena, what kind of a son would you like?”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean how would you like to see him as an adult?”

“Handsome, healthy, smart, and talented. honest and kind. About your height, say… no, maybe a little taller! He could become a violinist, and I would go to his concerts. He could look like… oh, God, why did you bring it up? Oh, I see. You've decided to propose! Right? How interesting! Do it right, according to all the traditions, and I might say yes. Well!”

“Hmmmmmm… no, I was just asking….”

“Oh, just asking! An abstract son, so to speak?”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should be discussing it with an abstract woman, not with me!”

Women take things very concretely.

However, from what she said, one quality can be singled out — to be smart. That's what I know about.

Logical thought in humans works at a much lower level than it does in electronic systems. The speed of processing information is pathetic: fifteen to twenty bits per second. That's why they always have to plug in “buffers.” Ask a person, unexpectedly, something very simple, like

“What time is it?” and you'll get an answer like “huh?” or “what?” This doesn't mean he is deaf — simply that in the time that you take to repeat the question he's thinking furiously for an answer. Sometimes that time isn't enough, and then you get “hmmm, well… let's see… the best way to put it… is… hmmmm….”

Time for a smoke break. I've been here too long. Freedom!

The morning is like a violin melody. The greenery is fresh. The sky is blue. The air is pure.

There goes Pasha Fartkin on his way to the institute garage. He's a lathe operator, a drunkard, and a sneak; he manfully bears the burden of his last name on his sloping shoulders. I'll test it out on him!

“Tell me, Pasha, what do you want from life on a morning like this?”

“Valentin Vasilyevich!” He seemed to be waiting for the question, looking at me with joy and amazement. “I'll be honest with you, like a brother: ten rubles until payday! I swear to God I'll pay you back!”

In my confusion, I take out a ten, give it to him, and only then realize that Pasha never pays his debts to anyone, it's never been recorded.

“Thanks, Valentin Vasilyevisch. I'll never forget you for this!” Fartkin put away the money quickly. His puffy face expressed sadness that he hadn't asked for more. “And what do you want from life on this beautiful morning?”

“Well… actually… you see… well… to get the money back at least.”

“Don't you worry!” Pasha said and went on.

Hmmmmmm… what happened? Does that mean that my logical thinking is weak, too? Strange. My nervous system processes a veritable Niagara Falls of information, and with its help I make complex movements impossible for any machine (writing, for instance) and yet I can't think fast enough to…. In a word I should prepare information on how to be smart and think fast for introduction into the computer — womb. If God didn't give it to me, the least I can do is make sure my double has it. Let him be smarter than me.

August 3. Yes, but in order to introduce information into the computer, you have to have it. And it doesn't exist.