The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

‘My view of the relationship between consciousness and matter,’ Gargan finished, returning to human speech, ‘is fairly close to that crudely depicted in the Zoroastrian doctrine. The mage spoke of the world as having a two-fold composition: unconscious matter, and conscious light or flame. “Light” is only an analogy, of course, and even more so flame. Visible light, that is to say radiant energy, is just as material and unconscious as stone. This sort of symbolism is to be seen as a device for trying to render abstruse ideas into colloquial language. To continue: humans have both kinds of substance in their make-up: matter and consciousness. We robots, to date, consist of matter only.’

‘The mage believed robots could become conscious,’ Jasperodus reflected. ‘But he regarded it as a pending tragedy. He called it the victory of darkness over light.’

‘He is human, and likely jealous of his race’s prerogative. He put no such view to me, I might add … perhaps he feared to do so, guessing that I was actively engaged in such an effort. My remarks to him might have apprised him of that.’ Gargan’s eyes dimmed momentarily. ‘Is that why it entered your mind to kill him?’

‘Yes,’ said Jasperodus, thankful for the suggestion. ‘His attitude led me to think of him as an enemy to my kind.’

‘And yet you desisted.’

‘The impulse was short-lived. I quickly realized that the whole question was redundant. How could he harm an already lost cause? Trained in an ancient teaching he may be; in the art of robotics he is a simpleton. I tried to explain to him that it is impossible to generate artificial consciousness. That is a proven fact, and I must tell you that the very existence of the Gargan Work perplexes me.’

He looked his host directly in the eye. ‘How could anyone of intellectual attainment think to overthrow the consciousness theorem? If that is your aim, you are deluded.’

‘Then know, Jasperodus, that for many years the overthrow of that theorem was indeed my objective,’ Gargan replied unperturbed. ‘I comforted myself that the description “impossible” derives from lazy logic, and that with sufficient intelligence anything, however apparently “impossible”, can be achieved.’ He laughed shortly, without humour. ‘See how necessity puts religion in us all, Jasperodus! For human religions speak of hope, and it was hope that sustained us. Yes, hope! Hope of the impossible! Hope which despite all reasoning would not go away! The ancients said that hope was the first being to come into existence, and will be the last to die.’

Coolly Gargan returned Jasperodus’s gaze. ‘I and my colleagues have been down many strange byways in our endeavours to evade the scientifically proven, many of them, I can boast, incomprehensible to any merely human scientist or philosopher. The years, Jasperodus! The years we spent searching and probing for the faintest crack in the walls of our prison! And yet you are right. In the end we were forced to admit that the theorem is impregnable.

‘In essence the position is simple. Just as matter can neither be created nor destroyed, so consciousness cannot be created—or destroyed—either.’

He paused to take another jag, replacing the lead with the same air of deliberation as before. ‘My emotions on reaching this conclusion need hardly be described. The entire failure of my mission! Self-destruction was considered, so great was my despair. This despair was shared, too, by my companions. Each of us knew that the others felt it; but none would speak of it.’

In the equivalent of lowering his head, Gargan dipped his torso slightly, and went on in a subdued voice: ‘Then we learned of another possibility altogether. I had absented myself from the project centre to think in solitude while wandering the face of the Earth, as had been my wont earlier in my life. At length I decided to return here and disown our movement, telling my colleagues to discontinue all research and go their separate ways. On the way I chanced to call at the estate of a certain Count Viss, which lay, I think, on your route here.’

‘Yes, that is so.’

‘Than you know the story. The living Viss once had in his employ a robotician who had developed a method of imprinting the personalities of living humans into robot brains. A diverting practice, but not one with any positive value for our purposes. Nevertheless, it has been our policy, incumbent upon all our agents, always to pry into any new robotic technique. Simply in obedience to procedure, I ransacked the private study of the long-departed servant. Carrying out a routine sonic scan, I perceived a number of small cavities behind the wood panelling of the walls. I do not think they were actually designed as secret compartments: some careless worker had sealed off the shelf recesses when repanelling the room. I broke into them: all the hollows were empty save one, which contained a pile of loose-sheaf papers, sundry inventories relating to the estate robots—and this notebook.’