Dialog 1: Basic Mechanics

The morning mist lingered over the monastery fields as Thomas Synergos walked along the narrow path. His dress shoes, polished to a mirror shine, pressed lightly into the packed dirt – a curious contrast against the rustic simplicity of his surroundings. This was no grand cloister of carved stone like the ones he had overseen before, but an old farmstead turned monastery, where prayer went hand-in-hand with manual work.

Up ahead, an ancient oak stretched its crooked limbs over the footpath, shading a small patch of lavender plants. Under its boughs, two worn stone blocks served as benches. On one sat Brother Haplous, watching the monastery cat as it prowled through the clover.

Synergos had first heard of Haplous through a memo from the cardinal. An unusual case. Once a professor of philosophy of science, he had left academia not in disillusionment, but in search of a less pressured life. His name still cropped up in journals – especially in discussions of how shifts in worldview often opened the door to scientific discovery.

As Synergos approached, Haplous’s attention remained on whatever curiosity the cat was exploring.

“Ah, Synergos!” Haplous looked up, a smile flickering across his face. “I’m so glad you made time in your busy schedule.”

Synergos took a seat on the rough stone bench, brushing a leaf from his knee. “When someone with your academic background – and years of experience with meditation – says they’ve found something important about consciousness, I can’t exactly ignore it.” He offered a dry smile. “That said, I’ll admit I’m skeptical. Seems like everyone has a theory these days.”

He glanced at the papers in his hand. “Besides, aren't neuroscientists and psychologists already working on this?”

“They are,” Haplous replied, tilting his head slightly. “But I’d argue they’re looking in the wrong direction.”

Synergos raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“In science, anomalies are supposed to matter. When something doesn’t fit, the assumptions are supposed to shift – until the pieces make sense.”

“You think neuroscience has hit an anomaly?”

“Yes. A big one.” Haplous leaned in slightly. “Take Alfred Maury’s dream – the one with the guillotine. He dreamt he was arrested during the French Revolution, carted through a mob, tried by Robespierre, and executed by guillotine. He even felt his head separating from his neck.” A pause. “And then he woke up to find that a bed board had actually fallen onto his neck the moment before.”

Synergos nodded, absorbing the account. “Strange coincidence.”

“It’s more than that,” Haplous said, his voice sharpening with intent. “By conventional thinking, the entire dream must have occurred in the instant of his awakening – the split second between the board falling and his eyes opening. How else could the whole dream narrative have led up to incorporate that waking stimulus?” He paused. “And we know he woke immediately – his mother was right there beside the bed and saw the board fall.”

The monastery cat slipped between the lavender stalks as Haplous continued.

“Many other people have reported dreams like that. I’ve had them myself.”

“Hmmm,” Synergos murmured, his gaze sweeping his notes. “That does seem to require an explanation.”

“There are other cases too,” Haplous added. “Split-brain patients, for example – the non-speaking hemisphere can follow instructions the speaking side knows nothing about. And blindsight patients can respond to things they insist they can’t see.”

“But I assume neuroscientists are studying those cases?”

“They are,” Haplous said, his fingers touching the wooden cross at his neck. “But not with the urgency you’d expect. No one is throwing chairs out the window. No one is tearing out their hair. If physicists encountered something this inexplicable, they’d treat it like a seven-alarm fire. Have you ever heard of the Michelson-Morley experiment?”

Synergos perked up. “Yes, actually. At a conference last spring, someone used it as an example of what they called a ‘paradigm shift’ – how it led to relativity. But I forget the details.”

“They were trying to measure the Earth’s movement through the aether – the supposed medium light traveled through,” Haplous explained. “Their instrument should have detected a shift. But it didn’t. Light behaved as if the aether didn’t exist.”

Synergos frowned. “So the entire theory of light based on aether collapsed?”

“Exactly. But notice how physicists reacted. They didn’t shrug. They didn’t say, ‘Well, light is mysterious,’ or ‘when you combine light in mirrors you get some curious effects, but it’s a fringe case.’ They saw it as a crisis. They knew something in their assumptions was wrong – and they changed course.”

Synergos nodded slowly. “Whereas with dreams like Maury’s, or split-brain cases, or blindsight, neuroscience doesn’t seem to treat them that way.”

“Right,” Haplous said, gesturing with both hands. “But suppose we didn’t treat them as outliers? Suppose we treated them as crucial clues for discovering the real underlying truths about brain function?”

The cat watched a butterfly for a moment, then disappeared again through the lavender.

Synergos sat quietly, then looked up. “So Einstein’s theory was accepted because it explained that experiment that failed to detect the aether?”

“Partly,” Haplous said, “but partly because it was broadly consistent with everything else that was known. That’s how real breakthroughs work. The new model explains the anomalies while remaining consistent with the broader field.”

“And Copernicus?” Synergos asked. “His theory contradicted our own experience, didn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Haplous replied. “The Earth doesn’t feel like it’s spinning. But Copernicus’s model explained retrograde motion better than anything else. So eventually it won out.”

Synergos leaned forward. “So you’re saying Maury’s dream, and those other cases – they could be like Michelson-Morley. The start of a better model?”

Haplous nodded. “Yes. From the right angle, these things don’t just make sense. They become expected.”

Synergos gazed toward the fields. “And what angle is that?”

A hint of mischief danced in Haplous’s smile. “The framework.”

Synergos laughed. “I walked right into that.”

“But seriously,” Haplous said, settling back on the stone, “let’s start simple. If you want to understand a fish, you first need to understand water. Without it, the fish makes no sense.”

“And for consciousness?”

“The water,” Haplous said, “is the activity of the brain at large. Long before humans emerged, animals already had complex brains acting in sophisticated ways. Much of that activity still continues today – outside of conscious awareness.”

“So animals aren’t conscious?”

“Not as we are. The framework explains why.”

Synergos tilted his head. “When you say ‘framework,’ what do you mean?”

“A structure,” Haplous replied. “It defines elements in physical-functional terms, and the relationships between them.”

Synergos leaned in. “Elements like what the brain actually does?”

“Exactly,” Haplous said. “The aim is for that structure to mirror reality – to be isomorphic with how the brain actually works.”

Synergos chuckled. “Now you’ve lost me. Isomorphic?”

Haplous smiled. “Just means the model fits. One-to-one. Don’t worry – you’ll see how it works as we go.”

Synergos’s skepticism remained, but his curiosity was growing. “So,” he said, “what part of that activity helps explain consciousness?”

Haplous didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to a small sparrow landing near the bench.

“Take that bird,” he said quietly. “Don’t ask whether it’s conscious. Ask what its brain is doing.”

A cool morning breeze stirred the lavender. “Well, it’s controlling the bird’s behavior, obviously,” Synergos replied, his gaze falling to the dew on the ancient flagstones.

“Yes, but to what end? What has this organ – this brain – evolved to do?”

In the distance, Brother Michael emerged from the chapel carrying vessels for the morning water blessing. Synergos observed the sparrow’s precise movements as it hopped among the stones. “To help the organism survive and reproduce, I suppose. Though that seems almost too obvious to mention.”

The monastery cat appeared silently from between the lavender stalks, observing the bird with practiced indifference.

“Sometimes the obvious deserves our closest attention,” Haplous said. “Consider this: the brain evolved as a purely mechanical system, didn’t it? It’s not consciously reflecting, in the case of that bird, about how to get food, avoid danger, and reproduce.”

“No, I suppose not,” Synergos said, his earlier skepticism softening. “Some people believe that animals like birds are conscious, but by and large, scientists and people in general agree that they could do all the things they do naturally, without needing to consciously think like we do.”

Haplous watched the sparrow, his focus intent. “So we have this fascinating situation. Here’s an organ that, through pure mechanical processes, somehow helps organisms achieve their goals. But it doesn’t ‘know’ about these goals, does it?”

Synergos straightened slightly on the bench. “Wait just a minute. Did you just use the word ‘goal’? I’ve heard some neuroscientists don’t like that word. They say it makes things sound too intentional – as if an organism is consciously planning its actions.”

Haplous exhaled, a hint of amusement in his expression. “That’s a misunderstanding. ‘Goal’ is a well-defined term in cybernetics. It doesn’t imply conscious planning – it’s just a shorthand for the fact that organisms, through evolution, tend to move toward states that increase their chances of survival and reproduction.”

“So goal states aren’t just theoretical,” Synergos said, looking more thoughtful. “They can be identified through observation?”

“Exactly.” Haplous gestured toward the sparrow, which had just pecked at something unseen in the grass. “If you want to know what an animal’s goals are, just observe it. Look at the states it tends to move toward under certain conditions. A predator moves toward prey, a bird builds a nest, a clam buries itself in sand – these are all observable patterns of goal-directed behavior.”

Synergos nodded, though his brow remained furrowed. “And this isn’t unique to living things. Cybernetics applies the same principle to machines, right?”

“Yes, but it’s important to be precise,” Haplous said. “A thermostat doesn’t have a goal – it’s just a sensor. But a furnace system has a goal: to maintain a set temperature. The thermostat detects the current temperature, and the burner adjusts heat to reduce the difference between the actual temperature and the target temperature. It’s a complete feedback system, just like in biological organisms.”

Synergos looked down at his hands, then back at Haplous. “So in an animal, sensory organs detect a state, and motor systems adjust behavior to move toward a programmatically defined state.”

“Precisely,” Haplous said. “That’s why the term ‘goal’ is useful – it describes a real, mechanical process of self-regulation. Whether it’s an organism seeking food or a furnace maintaining heat, these systems are structured in ways that bring them into certain states rather than others.”

Synergos folded his arms. “So the debate isn’t really about whether goal-seeking exists – it’s about whether people are comfortable with the word ‘goal.’”

Haplous chuckled quietly. “Right. And if they prefer another term, they can use one. But it won’t change the reality of what’s happening.”

Synergos sighed, his hands opening in a gesture of slight exasperation. “Fair enough. So you can use ‘goal’ as long as you’re not talking about a conscious or intentional goal, but this more rigorously defined one, based on empirical observations, cybernetic theory, and evolutionary reality. But now, getting back to your original question...”

Haplous smiled faintly. “Yes, I was saying that the brain is an organ that, through pure mechanical processes, somehow helps organisms achieve their goals. But it doesn’t ‘know’ about these goals, does it?”

Synergos frowned in concentration. “I suppose if you mean by ‘know,’ the brain doesn’t really know anything like we do, in the conscious sense. It’s just a mass of neurons, generating electrical signals in a way that benefits the bird’s survival and reproduction.”

Haplous leaned forward slightly, his gaze direct. “So you would say that through eons of evolution, it’s merely a system that has developed in a way that ensures a useful correspondence between its internal states and the organism’s practical goals?”

“Yes, we can assume that any natural organism’s systems exist to help it in its survival and reproduction. And I suppose this point would be even more obvious if we consider the brain of a clam or a paramecium.”

Haplous nodded, his expression keen. “Exactly! And although it can’t be called ‘mechanical,’ of course, as it’s a biological, chemical, and electrical system, you’d agree that it works according to physical principles?”

“Yes, I would definitely say so,” Synergos said.

“So, if it doesn’t exactly have anything like knowledge, or conscious purpose, and yet somehow its internal states help to organize the bird’s behavior as it navigates its environment...”

Synergos picked up the thread. “...there would have to be some sort of consistency or continuity between what’s outside the bird, and what’s inside his brain. The brain would have to contain something like an internal map or model...”

“So it might be accurate to say that the bird’s brain must contain something that we could call an ‘internal model’ of its environment?”

“Well...” Synergos paused, considering the implications. “Yes, we could say that. It must have some kind of internal model of the environment it’s dealing with. Otherwise, how could it guide the bird’s behavior effectively?”

He continued, conviction returning to his voice. “In fact, it seems clear that any control system would somehow contain representative elements of the situation it controls, right?”

“Yes, I agree,” Haplous said. “Please go on.”

“It actually has to do with that cybernetic furnace system you were just talking about – just last week we needed to replace a sensor in the thermostat control system of the furnace in the chapel. So, thinking along these lines, it is clear that the sensor introduces an element within the system corresponding to the temperature of the chapel. Without that, the control system would be operating blind.”

“Yes, precisely. For the bird’s brain to be effective, it would have to contain elements within it which correspond to elements in the environment.”

“Right.” Synergos paused, a slight edge of impatience in his tone. “But this is all so obvious, isn’t it?”

Morning light caught in the oak’s ancient branches as Haplous smiled broadly. “I’m so glad you think so! Because it’s the first tenet in the framework I am sketching out for you. So, in your case, you consider it not as an assumption at all, but as an obvious fact.”

“I am not someone inclined to theorize,” Synergos said, a hint of interest nonetheless in his eyes. “But call it an obvious fact, an assumption or a tenet, or whatever, I will grant you this first point.”

“Great!” Haplous said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “So now, introducing time into the picture, do you agree that at any moment, for any control system, or considering that bird’s brain specifically, we have a present state, and since the brain is seeking to reach a goal, we can also speak of a goal state, which the brain is seeking to achieve?”

Synergos looked thoughtful, his fingers idly straightening the reports in his lap. “So you’re saying that first, the bird’s brain must have a sort of internal model of its environment, and that second, at any moment that model is in an initial state, and that third, the brain is seeking to maintain a state or to change it to another, which can be called its goal state.”

Haplous leaned forward slightly, his silver hair catching the morning light. “Yes, go on...”

“But this is all theoretical, right?” Synergos said, as the monastery cat paused in its morning patrol to observe a sparrow. “It is not like the point B actually exists in there somehow?”

“Yes, it’s just theoretical, a way of thinking. The point B does not exist right now, you just have point A and some tendency within the brain tending to move the bird to a point B, which it may or may not reach,” Haplous explained, before a soft chuckle escaped him. “You are always the practical-minded guy, right? Always avoiding any sort of theory.”

Synergos smiled faintly, watching the play of light and shadow from the oak above. “But I have come to realize that we can’t make sense out of our world or life at all, unless we entertain some ideas and see where they lead. And this idea of the internal model, the initial state, and the goal state seem like a practical enough framework for thought, to begin to make sense out of what the brain serves for.”

He continued, his gaze becoming more focused. “So, the brain has something like a point A, and we can also speak of a B it wants to arrive at, and to get there...”

“Yes,” Haplous said, his hand going to his wooden cross. “I think you see it.”

“...it must do so by making adjustments with its relationship with its environment.”

“Be more explicit please,” Haplous said.

“Well, it wouldn’t do the bird any good if it could just manipulate its internal states at will. If the brain could simply shift itself into a goal state then nothing practical was achieved. For this system to work, the brain would necessarily have to reach its goal state only by directing the organism to achieve some actual goal – obtaining food, running to safety, finding shelter, and so on.”

“I think you’ve got it!” Haplous exclaimed, enthusiasm lighting his eyes.

Synergos frowned slightly, leaning forward on the stone bench. “But if the brain has no overseer... no internal agent... then how does it know what it’s aiming for? I mean – what defines a goal?”

“It doesn’t know,” Haplous replied, his voice assuming a measured cadence. “That’s the point. It’s a machine. It reacts. Adjusts. Moves toward something – not because it understands, but because it’s wired to do so.”

Synergos made a small, almost dismissive gesture with one hand. “Then what keeps it from going off track? From inventing its own idea of success?”

Haplous nodded appreciatively, his fingers touching his cross. “Exactly that. If it weren’t grounded, it could drift. Reward itself for nonsense. Spiral into failure while calling it achievement.”

“So what keeps it grounded?” Synergos asked, his gaze momentarily on the papers in his lap as a morning breeze stirred the lavender nearby.

Haplous leaned forward, his eyes intent. “The only thing it can measure: sensation. The system has no inner judge – only sensors. So the goal state must always be defined in terms of a sensory condition.”

Synergos squinted slightly, processing this. “A condition in the world?”

“No.” Haplous shook his head, gesturing toward the monastery cat that had reappeared silently between the lavender stalks. “A condition in the input. That means: blood sugar. Warmth. Pressure. Light. Balance. Sound. Satisfaction. Everything it aims for must be felt – not imagined, not abstracted, not signaled internally by some executive circuit. It must show up in the input stream.”

“Because otherwise...” Synergos began.

“Otherwise the system could fool itself. It could loop over a symbol and call it success. It could get stuck in a story. That’s why the goals must be bodily. Felt. Chemical. Tactile. They come from the world – not from the loop.”

Synergos nodded slowly, watching the monastery cat investigate something in the grass with focused intensity. “So the brain is blind. But it’s trying to match patterns in the stream.”

“Exactly,” Haplous said with quiet satisfaction. “It has no idea what the goal is. It only knows when the input feels like the target state. That’s what keeps it sane.”

“Yes, it has to be like that,” Synergos said, his gaze on a drift of morning mist curling through the lavender beds. “The brain exists for the organism to reach its goals through coordinated behavior, and as we’ve seen, to do so it must have an internal model of its environment somehow built into it.”

“So, summing that up in a nutshell?” Haplous prompted gently.

“Well,” Synergos said thoughtfully, adjusting his papers as the monastery cat wandered between their benches, “I must say that what I find most striking here is that once the brain is set up through evolution with the initial state, and with some tendency to seek to achieve a goal state, then it is clear that the whole process could unfold unthinkingly, in the sense that the brain starts to control the organism in ways to achieve the goal state, not requiring any real understanding. More like a thermostat system controlling a furnace – it is programmed to bring its internal temperature measurement up to a certain level, and to do so it must open a valve to deliver more gas to the burner, thus heating the room, and consequently raising that internal measure of ambient temperature that it has within it.”

“Consider something fascinating about this internal model,” Haplous suggested, his gaze lifting to a lion-shaped cloud drifting above the monastery walls. “It serves two essential purposes...”

“What do you mean?” Synergos asked.

“Well, first it must represent the external world – where things are, what they’re doing. But there’s something even more remarkable...”

“Yes?”

“Think about what happens when a lion spots a herd of gazelles. It doesn’t just register their location...”

“Ah!” Synergos sat forward, animated. “It must understand how they’ll react to different approaches? Like a bridge between its current state and its goal state?”

“Exactly! If it approaches from downwind...”

“The gazelles won’t detect its scent,” Synergos confirmed. “But if it moves too quickly or from the wrong direction...”

“They’ll flee before it gets close enough,” Haplous said, his hand going to his wooden cross. “Notice something remarkable about this understanding?”

“It’s a whole network of relationships!” Synergos exclaimed. “The lion doesn’t just know where things are – it knows how different actions will transform its current state toward its goal!”

“And think about how sophisticated this model must be...” Haplous prompted.

“It has to understand wind direction, line of sight, how fast gazelles can run, which animals are most vulnerable...” Synergos listed carefully. “All these relationships that help bridge between initial and goal states!”

“Rather complex understanding for what we might consider a ‘simple’ predator?” Haplous said, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

“Yes! And I suppose this model comes from both innate knowledge and learning? The basic hunting patterns refined through experience?”

“Though notice something crucial about all these relationships...”

“What’s that?” Synergos leaned in.

“They all serve that fundamental purpose we discussed,” Haplous said. “Moving from initial state to goal state through actual interaction with the environment.”

“So the brain’s model isn’t just a static map,” Synergos said slowly, working it out, “but a dynamic understanding of how actions and outcomes connect? Like an internal bridge between where it is and where it needs to be?”

“Yes, and notice that this understanding isn’t just about the present moment. The model extends across time – it incorporates past experiences, predicts future outcomes, and adjusts based on both instinct and learning,” Haplous explained.

“Right! A lion doesn’t just learn to hunt – it refines its strategy over time, just as, I imagine, in people it would also be extremely complex, involving social relationships, knowledge about technology, and countless other learned patterns.”

“Rather elegant solution, wouldn’t you say?” Haplous asked quietly.

“Yes! Though...” Synergos frowned slightly. “Are we adding more complexity to the framework here?”

“Not at all,” Haplous said gently. “We’re simply understanding what we mean by the brain’s model of its environment. Whether that model is simple like a clam’s or sophisticated like a lion’s, it’s still just the brain’s internal representation of what it needs to work with.”

“Ah!” Synergos nodded, the concern easing from his expression. “So even though these relationships can be quite complex, in the framework it remains one simple element – the brain’s model of its surroundings?”

“Exactly. The framework’s power comes from its simplicity,” Haplous said, his fingers touching his cross. “Though perhaps we should look more carefully at how the brain actually achieves these transformations...”

“You know,” Synergos interjected, adjusting his suit jacket against a slight morning chill, “you like to say I don’t like theoretical things, but this is different. These observations do not seem theoretical at all, since you are merely stating certain functional characteristics that must hold, in order for any brain to work.”

“Oh, I can assure you,” Haplous said, his hand at his neck near the cross, a hint of a smile in his voice, “this is indeed theory. But like you say, it is very plausible, and probably useful. Like the Copernican model of the Solar System. When he advanced it, it was just a theory, an alternative model to explain the observed motion of the planets in the sky. Nowadays, though, when we have rockets flying around to other planets, their trajectories all computed based on this model, we see it more as a statement of fact. But it would seem that any initial idea is a hypothesis advanced for verification, and if verified, it becomes seen as fact.”

“OK,” Synergos said, a twinkle in his eye as he gathered his administrative papers, “I will bite. It seems plausible enough, I will grant you tentatively this basic model of the brain you have laid out, of its having an internal model of the environment, an initial state, and a goal state, and we will see where it leads.”

“Great!” Haplous exclaimed, glancing toward the now brighter sunlight. “But it will have to be perhaps tomorrow. Maybe we can meet here again, at the same time? I have to lead the Pilates class in the monastery gym, starting in just 30 minutes from now, and at my age, I need to do some warm up first.”

Synergos grinned, knowing what Haplous meant by “warm up” – ten minutes of stretching, some walking around upside down on just his hands, followed by about as many pullups as his advancing age would allow, and then something that looked a lot like very slow breakdancing, which he had learned during the eight years he spent as a monk in a Buddhist monastery in northern Japan. “OK, for sure, see you tomorrow, and in the meantime I will give it some thought.”

The next morning was a bit more brisk. Although the trees still had leaves, they were red and yellow, and it seemed that winter was fast approaching.

“Something’s still bothering me,” Synergos said, his fingers absently arranging his papers. “This internal model we were talking about yesterday – where does it come from? Surely it can’t just appear fully formed...”

“Ah,” Haplous smiled, his gaze on a squirrel busy beneath the oak. “Consider our little friend there. What do you suppose its brain is processing as it examines each acorn?”

“Well, it must be deciding which ones to eat or store...” Synergos paused, then frowned slightly. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t say ‘deciding’ – that implies conscious choice, doesn’t it?”

“Good catch,” Haplous nodded. “But let’s focus on what its brain must actually be processing – what aspects of each acorn matter to a squirrel?”

“Size, certainly. And...” Synergos watched the squirrel intently, “...something perhaps about the quality?”

“Yes – there are aspects of shell thickness, and tannin content is also important. Did you know they can distinguish between acorns with high and low tannin levels? The ones with lower tannin content are better for immediate eating, while those with a higher concentration of tannin can be stored for longer times.”

“Really? So they’re not just randomly storing some and eating others?” Synergos looked surprised.

“Not at all. Their brains process these different aspects simultaneously – size, tannin content, shell hardness... And we’re not just guessing or surmising this. That squirrels recognize and ‘consider’ tannin content is a demonstrable fact based on observations of their behavior.”

“But you’re not saying,” Synergos said thoughtfully, “that they have anything like an idea of tannin content, like humans do, right?”

“At this point, we don’t have to introduce terminology like ‘ideas,’ and such,” Haplous said, as the monastery cat investigated a fallen leaf on the gravel path with quiet focus. “It’s enough that we observe that squirrels base their behavior partly on the tannin content of the acorns they find, which means that within their brain’s internal model of the environment, there is something that stands as a representative for this quality.”

“Yes, it must be true,” Synergos replied, pulling his jacket a bit tighter against the morning chill. “Since we have agreed that the brain has an internal model of the environment, then any quality or aspect of the environment they react to in consistent ways must somehow be represented in that model.”

“And to make any sense at all, in terms of engineering such a system, don’t you agree that for this representative to be effective, it would have to be transferable from one acorn to another, or even to another sort of nut?” Haplous asked, his fingers brushing his cross.

“Yes,” Synergos answered with conviction. “It’s impossible to conceive of any effective system for controlling behavior where a single such quality or aspect in the environment was represented in multiple ways. For consistency and simplicity there would have to be a single representative element, or at least some persistent and consistent identity, representing each relevant aspect of the environment that the animal responds to in consistent ways.”

“Look,” Haplous said, a slight note of concern in his voice, as golden morning light caught his silver beard, “I don’t want to unnecessarily complicate our terminology, but wouldn’t it be convenient to have a term by which we could refer to these persistent representative elements within the brain?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Synergos agreed, the monastery cat now having settled into a patch of sunlight, grooming a paw. “Instead of calling them representative elements or something, perhaps a specific term could help us refer to them, if we are to advance with this framework you are laying out. I suppose you already have such a term in mind?”

“Not really,” Haplous said. “We could name them according to what you think best. This framework is just something I have been thinking about so far, it’s never been published or publicly discussed, so we are free to coin the term. What term do you think would be good?”

“Hmmm,” Synergos pondered, a cool breeze stirring the lavender beds around their stone bench. He looked down for a moment, then up. “Let me consider this carefully. Since they must be embodied by a neuron, a group of neurons, or some neuronal quality or state, I suppose we could use a two-word phrase, beginning with ‘neuronal.’ Then, for the second part, we need something like ‘representative.’ But somehow that sounds a bit vague or abstract. Oh wait, I think I’ve got something. When the Cardinal cannot attend the conference, he sends a representative that he calls his ‘proxy.’ The same word is used when shareholders in a company transfer their voting rights to someone who will vote for them at a corporate meeting. It’s a very direct and physical idea. So what about ‘neuronal proxy’? To me it’s a direct way to refer to things that are within the neurons and which stand for something else, in another place. And it seems quite memorable.”

“But isn’t it rather academic?” Haplous said, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “After all, we’re trying to understand something quite natural and basic about how brains work.”

“Well,” Synergos considered thoughtfully, watching the monastery cat prowl with deliberate steps among the lavender stalks, “it’s precise without being overly complex. Like good accounting terms – they’re technical because they need to be exact, but they capture something real and necessary.”

“Okay,” Haplous smiled, touching his cross decisively. “So ‘neuronal proxy’ it is. Something in the neurons that stands for some object or quality within the environment.”

“And we should be careful not to assume that a neuronal proxy is necessarily a single neuron or even a small, localized cluster,” Synergos added, his gaze following the cat’s smooth movements. “A proxy could be a far-flung configuration of multiple neural regions working together, drawing from the hippocampus, sensory cortices, or even other structures, forming an identifiable pattern that corresponds to a specific aspect of the organism’s interaction with the environment.”

“So rather than thinking of a neuronal proxy as a fixed location, we should see it as a functional configuration?” Haplous asked.

“Yes, exactly,” Synergos nodded. “The essential point is that the same identifiable configuration is activated when interacting with a given element in the environment. It doesn’t need to be tied to a strict neural location – it only needs to be a persistent and consistent identity that enables recognition and response.”

Synergos shifted on the stone bench, glancing down the footpath as if searching for the right words. “But would they be measurable? If these neuronal proxies are so far-flung and complex, how could we ever identify them?”

Haplous leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “While it would be impossible to map them all, some configurations must be identifiable. If the internal model of the environment exists, then it necessarily contains discrete elements that correspond to external entities. These neuronal proxies, however distributed, must have some measurable presence.”

Synergos ran a hand across the worn surface of the bench, his gaze thoughtful. “You mean there would be specific neurons or configurations that act as signals?”

“Exactly. Some subset of a proxy will be observable as a telltale sign for the proxy overall. The consistent appearance of these would provide sufficient evidence for the existence and function of the corresponding neuronal proxy.”

Synergos frowned slightly, shifting his posture. “But is this idea of neuronal proxies consistent with neuroscience? Wouldn’t we have found them by now?”

Haplous sat back, his expression calm. “In fact, much of modern neuroscience is actively searching for exactly these correlates – whether in distributed networks or more localized circuits. Researchers have identified neurons that respond selectively to specific categories, like faces or places, and even properties like color or shape. In some cases, individual neurons have been shown to fire reliably in response to abstract concepts – like a specific person or object – regardless of how they are presented. This search for the neural basis of recognition and association is, at its core, a search for neuronal proxies.”

He continued, “And notice one other aspect of them. In any situation they combine into relationships. Because in the situation where a squirrel is holding an acorn, there’s going to be a number of these neuronal proxies that are active. One for food, one for tannin content, one for shell hardness, one or more that inform the squirrel that ‘it’s between my paws,’ one or more standing for ‘my stomach is full right now,’ one standing for ‘winter is approaching,’ and so on. Note that we are not saying that the squirrel has a vocabulary, or even that it can think in any way akin to a human, and yet in order to control its behavior in ways that are suited to its goals and environment, it’s logically necessary that the squirrel’s brain has one of these neuronal proxies for each of the aspects in its environment that it is dealing with.”

“Now,” Synergos said, as the monastery cat paused to examine a fallen leaf with delicate attention, “I am not sure if maybe you’re stretching it some, as far as what we can know. It’s one thing to say that the squirrel’s brain is informed by its sensory system that it is holding an acorn between its paws, and another to say there is a so-called neuronal proxy that stands for this.”

“I knew I could count on you to make sure this framework was sound,” Haplous exclaimed with pleasure. “But what you just said, ‘the squirrel’s brain is informed by its sensory system that it is holding an acorn between its paws,’ is tantamount in this framework to a neuronal proxy. It doesn’t have to be a single neuron. It just needs to be something in the brain that represents a relevant aspect of the animal’s environment. If the sensory system gets the message of the acorn’s position into the brain’s internal model of the environment, then that is the neuronal proxy.”

“Oh, okay,” Synergos said, straightening his papers as morning light strengthened across the stone bench. “I see now what you are doing. First I agreed that within the brain there must be an internal model of the organism’s environment, and now you have simply advanced a name for any of the elements within that model which stand for some specific aspect in the environment, calling them ‘neuronal proxies.’ But this is nothing but an act of naming, I do not see where you have pointed to any new discovery.”

“Yes, you’re right, and it’s good that you point that out,” Haplous said readily. “Because most of this framework is not anything new. A large part of it is just distilling out from all the possible manners of speaking about behavior, brains, control systems, and so on, a small number of terms with which we can talk meaningfully about how the brain works.”

“In that case, you’re really just rehashing things that are already known?” Synergos asked skeptically.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Haplous smiled, his gaze on the morning mist still clinging to the distant fields. “An example might be to consider what Copernicus did. You notice that he did not discover or invent any new entities. The sun and planets and earth were already known. He did not invent the idea of gravitation either, or explain why things orbit – that came later. All he did was reframe these entities in a way that helped people to think about them more realistically. My framework is like that; it’s not about inventing something new, apart from the framework that explains how things are interrelated. Ultimately, the goal is to organize what we know in a new light to make it clearer and more useful. As a practical man, I suppose you will agree that this is a valid aim?”

“Yes, of course. I am not interested in any sort of idea or theory just for the sake of inventing an alternative way of looking at things. But if it makes things clearer, and proves useful, then of course I agree that it is both valid and beneficial.”

Haplous continued earnestly, “So let’s think about it. So you agree that in that squirrel’s brain there exists an internal proxy for that acorn it is looking at?”

“Yes,” Synergos replied, watching the monastery cat stalk something with intense focus in the lavender beds, “in the very broad way that you defined a neuronal proxy, yes.”

“And now,” Haplous pressed on, “do you also agree that since we know, by observing the behavior of squirrels, that they treat acorns consistently according to tannin content, that there is also a neuronal proxy in the squirrel’s brain that represents this quality?”

“Yes,” Synergos agreed but then hesitated, pulling his suit jacket closer against the morning chill. “But it might be indirect. Perhaps it has learned some rule of thumb, where it prioritizes certain types of acorns for short-term storage, simply by some rote method. Their shape, their color, could act as a surrogate for the tannin content. So the proxy would not be directly about tannin, but about shape, color, etc.”

“Very good observation,” Haplous said, his fingers touching his cross. “And yet if the squirrel’s behavior shows a prioritization by tannin content, we can still say that this surrogate quality the squirrel is relying on – whether it is size, shape, color, or whatever – is itself represented within the brain’s internal model by a neuronal proxy.”

“OK,” Synergos said, his gaze on the golden light strengthening through the oak’s ancient branches, “I can see that in any case you will say that for any consistent aspect of the squirrel’s behavior, this must involve the existence of a neuronal proxy for that sort of object or quality. I agree, though it seems that you are working with a sort of tautology.”

“Something like Darwin’s dictum of ‘Survival of the fittest,’ perhaps?” Haplous suggested gently.

“What do you mean by that?...” Synergos asked, then his expression cleared. “Oh, I see what you are saying. The quality of being fit is by definition a quality that makes organisms survive. And organisms survive because they are fit. Is that what you are implying?”

“Yes, sometimes a useful notion is nothing more than an obvious tautology. But as long as it helps us to remember the framework, and to think about it, it is useful.”

“So, it would seem,” Synergos said thoughtfully, watching the monastery cat move like a shadow between patches of morning sunlight, “I never thought of squirrels in this way. They have these things called neuronal proxies, but certainly they are not like ideas, such as a human would have, right? They cannot think in the same way that we can, right?”

“No, they can’t,” Haplous agreed firmly. “And we shall soon see why. But do you see that, in order to be useful, the neuronal proxies must necessarily have a consistent identity from one circumstance to the next, from one day to the next? Look, the squirrel has buried that first acorn, and is examining a second.”

Synergos became pensive for a moment, then said, “Well, since the time of Heraclitus we have known that nothing is ever absolutely the same from one moment to the next, from one situation to the next, and yet I must agree that, to have any usefulness at all, proxies would have to have a consistent identity from one circumstance to the next, or the animal would be constantly ‘reinventing the wheel,’ so to speak, and the proxies would serve no practical purpose.”

“There you go!” Haplous’s face lit up. “Now you have become the theoretician.”

“I hardly think so,” Synergos retorted, adjusting his papers against a cool morning breeze that rustled the oak leaves. “You seem to be equating theorizing with just thinking and making sense out of things. Because really I am just stating what must be true.”

“OK, yes, I see your point,” Haplous conceded with a smile. “So, continuing on this line of considering things that must be true, think about it – in the case of the squirrel a given proxy for a quality, for example, could be applied to certain types of objects.”

“Yes, it seems likely,” Synergos said, as the monastery cat paused to investigate a patch of lavender with intense sniffing. “When a cat recognizes a quality like ‘too narrow to balance on,’ it can apply this understanding to anything – a tree branch, a fence top, even these stone walls...”

“Just as in your administrative work,” Haplous suggested, his eyes crinkling with warmth, “the ‘over budget’ property remains the same whether applied to the kitchen accounts or the garden supplies?”

“Ah!” Synergos sat forward, then hesitated, his fingers absently straightening the papers in his lap. “But wait... we know, from observing squirrels, that they consistently respond to other qualities as well. A squirrel might run from a cat at first sight, but not a rabbit. It might learn to flee up climbable wooden poles, but not even attempt climbing the metal ones. So now, just from these first ideas that I granted you yesterday, we have arrived at a number of distinct neuronal proxies within the squirrel’s brain, which it relies on to navigate its environment?” The morning light caught his reddish-brown curls as he shook his head slightly. “It almost seems like this analysis might lead somewhere, but the idea seems so simple, too simple...”

“Sometimes the most profound truths are surprisingly simple,” Haplous replied, his fingers near his cross. “Remember, this system evolved over millions of years. The simplest solution that works is often what nature selects.”

“But then...” Synergos spoke slowly, watching a sparrow hop along the gravel path near their feet, “when the squirrel encounters something entirely new, like that cookie someone dropped...”

“Yes?” Haplous prompted.

“Its brain would... apply its existing proxies? ‘Sweet’ like berries, ‘crumbly’ like certain nuts...”

“Now you’re seeing something important,” Haplous said with satisfaction. “The brain builds understanding by combining these basic components that it has formed through experience.”

The morning bells began to ring, their sound clear in the crisp air. Haplous paused, letting their resonance fade before continuing. “But notice something crucial here – these components form through direct interaction with the world, long before any kind of conscious awareness or language.”

“Like a child learning about ‘soft’ things and ‘moving’ things before having words for them?” Synergos suggested, observing the golden light filtering through the ancient oak’s twisted branches.

“Precisely! Though...” Haplous smiled gently, touching his cross, “perhaps we should be careful not to rush ahead to human examples just yet. Let’s be very clear about how these components work in the basic brain system first.”

Synergos nodded, recognizing his mentor’s familiar way of ensuring solid understanding before moving forward. “Of course. Though I must say, this idea of simple components combining... it seems like it could explain so much about how brains work...”

“Perhaps,” Haplous replied mildly, as the monastery cat wove silently between stalks of lavender. “But for now, let’s not race ahead. We should focus on what we have discovered so far. I must go now. What do you say we continue this discussion tomorrow?”

Synergos readily agreed. “Yes, let’s please do!”

Knowing Haplous’s personal dictum of “Mens sana in corpore sano,” he asked with a smile, “I suppose you have to lead the brothers in some sort of physical exercises? Or teach some sports classes now?”

“No,” Haplous said, a twinkle in his eye. “Today I have some internet conferencing with an ecumenical association of Buddhist monks and Muslim scholars, searching for common historical roots of their ideas in exchanges between East and West in classical times. It gives me a welcome break, allowing my aged muscles to stop aching for a day.”

Synergos laughed heartily. “Ha ha, so your muscles won’t ache but you will be doing something that would make my mind reel. That’s so much like you, mind and body, right? See you tomorrow morning!”

The next morning was mild, with just a hint of autumn crispness in the air. Synergos found Haplous already seated at their usual spot beneath the ancient oak, two steaming cups of coffee waiting on the worn stone bench.

“Something puzzles me,” Synergos said, watching a novice hurry across the meadow at the sound of the morning bells. His papers rustled as he organized them – an old habit from his early days managing the monastery’s complex accounting systems. “When that young brother hears the bells and heads to chapel, is his brain working unthinkingly, like the clam and paramecium we mentioned, or is he thinking about his wanting to attend the chapel service, knowing that the path through the grove leads to it, that by walking he can get there, and so on?”

Haplous smiled, the morning light filtering through the oak’s twisted branches above them. “Maybe it will help to consider something from daily life,” he suggested, as the monastery cat paused beneath the old stone gate, surveying its domain. “When Brother Michael installs a latch on that wooden gate, what exactly is happening?”

The monastery cat appeared between the lavender plants, pausing to rub against Synergos’s leg before continuing its morning patrol.

Synergos followed Haplous’s gaze to the gate. “Well, he’s lining up the bolt so it slides cleanly into the strike plate.”

“Yes. And notice,” Haplous prompted, “how every small motion matters. The angle of the bolt, the pressure from his hand, even how the wood swells slightly in the morning dew. But does he need to consciously calculate any of that?”

“No,” Synergos replied with a knowing smile. “He just senses when it’s right.”

“Exactly. The whole system is behaving mechanically, adjusting through feedback until it reaches the goal state – the latch sliding perfectly into place.”

“Yes!” Haplous touched his wooden cross. “You see it clearly. Do you see it similar to a hungry lion whose goal is to get fresh meat into its stomach? At the initial state, it is far from the prey, and it must go through a number of steps – approach, stalking, running, pouncing, grabbing, biting, killing, and finally more biting, chewing, and swallowing – before the goal state is achieved.”

The sound of chanting drifted from the chapel as Synergos nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s clear. I see your point about cybernetic systems and feedback loops. The lion also has a number of sensors. It has things it can control, its muscles, and it has to calculate things like velocities, distances, etc. And I agree with you that a ‘goal’ is involved. How else can we make sense out of animal behavior?”

“But note something else,” Haplous continued, his expression animated. “Synergos, consider something fascinating about real brains. When scientists sent a spider named Arabella to Skylab in 1973, they observed something remarkable.”

“What happened?” Synergos leaned in.

“Despite never encountering zero gravity in her evolutionary history, she figured out how to build webs in space. But think about what that actually means. Without gravity, there was no ‘up’ to climb toward, no way to hang down in a vertical drop. Every movement that would have been second nature on Earth – letting herself dangle, reorienting with gravity’s pull – was gone. She was just floating, her legs grasping at nothing, every angle unfamiliar. And yet, she adapted. It took some trial and error, but she solved this entirely novel problem.”

“Interesting.” Synergos looked pensive, tapping a finger against his papers. “So you’re saying that even a spider’s brain is not just acting by some automatic, instinctive motor routines when it builds webs?”

“That’s just it,” Haplous said, his fingers near his cross. “She was genuinely solving a problem her species had never encountered. And consider how squirrels, when they are in a place like a concrete zoo cage without diggable ground to bury nuts, will often discover entirely new solutions – wedging them into cracks in the cement or stuffing them under carpets, for instance.”

“Ah!” Synergos sat forward. “So even these ‘simple’ brains aren’t just running automatic programs?”

“No, they’re actively solving problems as they move from initial to goal states.” Haplous nodded with emphasis. “The brain at large – even in these creatures we often dismiss as operating on ‘mere instinct’ – they’re constantly adapting. Their brains are made for that.”

“But there is yet another subtlety that we must talk about, which very often confuses people. It’s very simple and yet people often miss it.” Haplous paused, his gaze distant. “I’m talking about another fascinating aspect of how these brains operate. Consider a hungry lion whose goal is to get fresh meat into its stomach...”

“Well, at the initial state, it’s far from its prey,” Synergos suggested, adjusting his papers almost unconsciously.

“Yes. And think carefully about what must happen for it to reach that goal state. How does the lion’s brain know when it’s achieved its goal?”

“Well, when it’s eaten the meat, of course...” Synergos began, then stopped, understanding dawning. “But wait – how exactly does its brain know that?”

“Ah!” Haplous smiled gently. “Now you’re asking exactly the right question.”

“The brain can’t directly know there’s food in the stomach, can it?” Synergos leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “It has to rely on...”

“Yes?” Haplous prompted.

“Sensory data!” Synergos exclaimed. “Signals from the stomach, feelings of satiation... even the final achievement of the goal state can only be known through sensory information!”

“Exactly. And think about what this tells us about how the brain must operate...”

“Every step of the way – from initial hunger to final satiation – the brain can only know about and manage its state through sensory data?” Synergos spoke slowly, articulating the idea carefully. “Whether it’s seeing the prey, feeling itself getting closer, or finally experiencing satiation...”

Haplous exhaled softly, as if weighing his next words. He looked out toward the distant fields, where a gust of wind stirred the golden grass. “It has no awareness of anything. It is just shifting its internal state toward the goal, blindly following an imperative shaped by hundreds of millions of years of evolution.”

He glanced at Synergos, letting the idea settle.

“The brain is nothing but a system of electrical, chemical, and hydrostatic interactions. Currents firing. Cells responding. Pressure gradients shifting. All of it running, ceaselessly adjusting – without any observer inside.”

He allowed the silence to linger for a moment before adding, “Much like the thermostat in the furnace we began by discussing.”

Synergos’s expression turned nearly blank as he absorbed the implications.

“But perhaps most fascinating of all,” Haplous said, watching the monastery cat shift its attention to a leaf spiraling down from the ancient oak, “is what is happening in the lion’s brain while it is stalking...”

“You mean when the lion begins its approach?”

“Yes. Think carefully about what’s happening at each moment,” Haplous said, his hand going to his cross. “The lion wants to reach its goal state – having food in its stomach. But notice something crucial...”

“What’s that?” Synergos leaned in.

“No matter how hungry it is, no matter how fervently it wishes to move its internal state into its goal state, it can’t just do that internally...” Haplous paused meaningfully.

“Ah!” Synergos sat forward. “It can’t just imagine itself into catching the prey! It has to actually move through each step?”

“Exactly! And notice what guides every movement...”

“The sensory data!” Synergos’s eyes shone with the connection. “Each careful step, each adjustment of position – the brain is constantly checking its progress through what its senses tell it!”

“Yes. Like a mountaineer who can see the peak...” Haplous offered.

“But still has to actually climb there, confirming each foothold through real interaction!” Synergos completed energetically. “The brain can’t skip any steps – it has to manage its state through actual engagement with the environment!”

“And think about how precise this management must be...”

“Every muscle movement calculated to minimize sound, to stay downwind, to maintain the right distance...” Synergos spoke deliberately. “All guided by constant sensory feedback?”

“Rather remarkable process, wouldn’t you say?” Haplous said. “Though perhaps we should look more carefully at what happens in those final crucial moments...”

The monastery cat had frozen completely still, its entire being focused on the spiraling leaf, a perfect picture of sensory engagement guiding every micro-adjustment toward a goal.

“And now,” Haplous said, his eyes holding that familiar warmth, “consider those final crucial moments of the hunt...”

“When the lion makes its kill?”

“Yes. But think carefully about what’s happening in the brain,” Haplous said, his fingers touching his cross. “Even at this climactic moment...”

“It still can’t skip any steps!” Synergos interjected. “No matter how close it is to its goal...”

“Each action must still be guided by what?”

“By sensory data!” Synergos said animatedly. “The final sprint, the leap, the actual capture – every movement must be confirmed through real feedback!”

“And even after the kill,” Haplous suggested gently, “notice something fascinating about how the brain confirms its success...”

“Ah yes!” Synergos’s features lit up. “Just as we discussed – it’s not enough to have made the kill. The brain can only know it’s achieved its goal through actual sensory signals...”

“From where?”

“From the stomach, from the bloodstream – feelings of satiation telling the brain that its goal state has finally been reached!” Synergos paused thoughtfully. “It’s really quite remarkable, isn’t it? From first spotting the prey to final satiation...”

“Every step must be achieved through real interaction,” Haplous agreed. “The brain can never simply imagine its way to its goal.”

“Though I suppose that’s what makes it so reliable,” Synergos mused. “Since every state change must be confirmed through actual sensory data...”

“Rather elegant solution, wouldn’t you say?” Haplous offered with a quiet smile. “Though perhaps we should look more carefully at what this tells us about how all brains must operate...”

The monastery cat had returned to its resting spot among the lavender, demonstrating through its perfect contentment how goal states, once achieved, are maintained through ongoing sensory confirmation.

Synergos said after a moment of reflection, watching the monastery cat shift position in a patch of morning sunlight, “Something quite remarkable emerges from this example of the lion...”

“What do you see?” Haplous asked.

“Well, we’ve discovered several fundamental principles, haven’t we? About how any brain must operate...” Synergos straightened the papers on his lap.

“Go on,” Haplous encouraged gently.

“First, the brain maintains this sophisticated model of its world. But it’s not just a static map, is it?”

“No?” Haplous smiled, prompting him. “What else must it contain?”

“It’s filled with relationships!” Synergos leaned forward eagerly. “Patterns of expectation, understanding of cause and effect – like how the lion knows that approaching prey from downwind will yield different results than approaching from upwind.”

“Yes! And notice something fascinating about these relationship patterns...”

“They’re what allow intelligent action,” Synergos’s eyes brightened. “The brain doesn’t just know where things are – it understands how things work, how different actions will lead to different outcomes!”

“Rather sophisticated model, wouldn’t you say?” Haplous commented appreciatively.

“Yes! And then there’s our second principle,” Synergos continued, “that the brain can only manage its internal states through sensory data. Whether it’s a lion hunting or a spider making a web, it can only know about and affect its state through actual sensory feedback.”

“And perhaps most crucial of all...” Haplous began.

“It must achieve its goals through real interaction!” Synergos gestured animatedly. “No matter how sophisticated the brain’s model, it can’t just imagine itself into a goal state – it has to actually engage with its environment in ways that generate the right sensory signals.”

“Notice how elegantly these principles work together...” Haplous observed.

“Yes! The brain’s rich model of relationships helps it predict what actions will generate useful sensory data,” Synergos nodded enthusiastically. “It’s not just reacting blindly – it’s using its understanding of how things work to guide its behavior!”

“And all of this in service of what?” Haplous asked.

“Managing its internal state!” Synergos spoke carefully. “Moving gradually from initial state to goal state through actual interaction that generates confirming sensory data.”

The monastery cat appeared silently between the lavender stalks, its perfect poise and focused gaze a living demonstration of these relationship patterns guiding every subtle movement.

“Though perhaps,” Haplous continued, his gaze drawn to the morning light strengthening through the oak’s ancient branches, “we should look more carefully at exactly what makes up this internal model we’ve been discussing.”

“What do you mean?” Synergos asked.

“I mean that a system can perform incredibly complex operations without having anything like awareness or intention. Just think of a clam, or a paramecium. No one claims they’re reflecting on anything – but they still respond to stimuli in purposeful ways,” Haplous explained.

“Yes, I will grant you that. And I believe that most people would grant you that in terms of the clam or the paramecium as well. I’m not so sure about the lion though,” Synergos added thoughtfully. “Many people would say perhaps there’s something more involved. And certainly in the case of a human, people would say there is something more, involving awareness, thought, planning, and so on.”

“But scientifically, according to the principle of parsimony, which is to say we do not add elements unnecessarily, you can imagine a sort of continuous spectrum stretching from the paramecium, to the clam, to the earliest fish, amphibians, and finally humans, where the brain developed as a cybernetic system in an entirely automatic way?” Haplous offered.

Synergos considered this, absently straightening a stack of account ledgers on his lap. The morning mist was beginning to lift from the distant fields, revealing the monastery’s workers already tending to the early crops. “Yes, I can grant that. It seems like there could be a step-by-step continuum where the brain became more and more complex, while still retaining its basic nature as an automated cybernetic control system. At least up to the point of the lion. But with people, it seems that there has to be something more. We have awareness, we are conscious, our brains are somehow more than just a fully automatic cybernetic system, right?”

“You may think so, if you wish,” Haplous said. “But it’s not scientific if you are adding things unnecessarily. For example, thousands of years ago, and even today in different parts of the world, people believed, and sometimes still believe, that there must be a kind of supernatural spirit driving the wind, the rain, the trees, everything. This was called animism. And now in modern times, even though it is disproved by modern science, it is ignored as being an unnecessary addition, in the sense that meteorological principles are sufficient to explain wind dynamics, and biology is sufficient to explain the growth of trees and why their leaves turn color in the autumn, for example.”

“But wait,” Synergos countered, shifting on the worn stone bench beneath the ancient oak. “Did you begin these dialogues by saying that you were going to explain consciousness, and now it seems you are saying that you will allow me to see that the human brain is a totally automatic cybernetic system, like that of a thermostat, a paramecium or clam? Isn’t that a contradiction?”

The monastery cat paused in its morning patrol between the lavender stalks, turning its head to watch them with characteristic independence.

Haplous’s expression became one of intense bemusement. “That’s exactly what I admire so much about you. With your practical outlook, you have an instinct for the jugular. But don’t you know that contradictions and paradoxes have a lot in common? Contradictions are rejected by logic and by science. But paradoxes can stand, and often act as signposts to great truths. For example, is light a particle, or a wave? The paradox is that different experiments seem to show that it is either one, or the other, but how can it be both?”

Golden light filtered through the oak’s ancient branches as Synergos nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that. There are others in science as well, such as the famous Twin Paradox involving time in the theory of relativity. There is the Schrödinger’s cat paradox. I’m not a scientist, but I sometimes like reading about these things.”

“So in your readings, have you run across the paradox of the Ship of Theseus?”

“Oh I have,” Synergos answered. “And it is an important one about the continuity of identity, which does not seem to have a definite solution.”

The sound of morning prayers drifted from the monastery’s chapel, a gentle reminder of the daily rhythms continuing around their philosophical discussion.

The bell in the chapel signaled the end of Lauds, the early morning period set aside for prayers of praise.

Hearing this, Synergos looked up. “Oh there’s the morning bell, I imagine you need to be off to lead a Pilates session or to lead some important global ecumenical conference among clerics or perhaps an academic conference concerning the history of science?”

Haplous laughed, watching a sparrow hop between the lavender stalks near their feet. “My life here is not nearly as eventful as you make it. Actually, after Lauds today I have an appointment to bring the monastery cat to the vet. But we can continue this tomorrow.”

“After Lauds?” Synergos questioned, adjusting his papers. “So have you been amiss in your monthly duties, by talking to me about this framework of yours? Isn’t Lauds the time where you are supposed to be praying and giving praise to God?”

“How else, besides that, would you describe what I’ve been doing here with you?” Haplous asked, his hand going to his wooden cross. “How better to praise God than this? This is praise in action, two individuals of his creation working toward enlightenment.”

Synergos laughed. “That sounds like an excuse for playing hooky, but okay, I’ll grant you your point, and look forward to talking to you tomorrow. I must say, though, that I’m a bit skeptical about your claim that we are very close already to understanding what consciousness is. The framework you have sketched out is so absolutely simple, and you say it is lacking just one key aspect to being complete.”

“I must admit,” Synergos said, as the monastery cat wove through the lavender stalks beneath their stone bench, “all this talk of states and readings... it makes the brain sound like some kind of mindless machine. Surely there must be more to it than that?”

Haplous smiled gently, the morning sun catching his silver hair as a cool breeze stirred the oak’s ancient branches above them. “Consider something interesting – when scientists study the brain, looking at neural pathways, chemical signals, electrical patterns... what do they find?”

“Well, neurons firing, chemicals moving...” Synergos absently straightened the budget reports in his lap.

“Yes. And when they trace what leads to successful behavior – a bird catching a worm, a squirrel storing the right acorns, even complex human actions...”

“They just see... patterns of activity? Chemical and electrical changes?” Synergos watched the monastery cat pause to inspect a particularly interesting stalk of lavender.

“Exactly. No matter how closely they look, they find only mechanical processes. Cells responding to signals, states changing, patterns matching...”

Synergos shifted uncomfortably on the worn stone bench. “But that seems so... cold. So empty of meaning.”

“Ah,” Haplous touched his cross thoughtfully, his gaze on the golden morning light filtering through the oak’s twisted branches. “But notice something fascinating. This mechanical system, operating purely through state changes, achieves the most remarkable results. It keeps creatures alive, helps them find food, shelter, mates... even guides the complex social interactions in our monastery.”

“Through nothing but state matching?” Synergos asked, still looking unconvinced.

“Think about your accounts again. Those seemingly cold numbers, properly matched and balanced, help ensure our entire community thrives through the winter. The mechanical nature of the system doesn’t diminish its profound importance or effectiveness.”

“I see what you mean,” Synergos nodded slowly, watching Brother Michael tend to the chapel’s morning candles in the distance. “Even knowing that the neuronal states are nothing more than chemical and electrical interactions, working mechanically like a mercury switch in the thermostat of a furnace, that doesn’t make it any less...” he searched for the word.

“Elegant?” Haplous suggested. “Effective? Beautiful, even?”

“Yes! Though...” Synergos smiled wryly, straightening his papers again. “I suppose that’s rather philosophical for a practical administrator.”

“Not at all,” Haplous replied, his eyes twinkling as he watched the monastery cat resume its morning patrol through the lavender. “Sometimes the deepest insights come from seeing the elegance in everyday mechanisms. But let’s return to something specific. When that last brother hurried to chapel...”

“Let me understand this better,” Synergos said, his attention drawn to Brother Michael adjusting the latch on the ancient wooden gate beneath the spreading oak. “When Brother Michael does this...”

“Yes?” Haplous encouraged.

“At a very basic level, the internal states of his brain are just neurons firing, correct? At a certain level, there’s no real abstract thought or overall understanding, as we would talk about things or write about them. The neurons are just somehow trying to reach a goal state, that somehow satisfies a condition, correct?”

“Good! But let’s look even more carefully at what’s happening. When he sees the latch is not lined up...”

“There’s a kind of... tension? Like I mentioned with the account books?”

“Exactly. And notice something fascinating – this tension, this drive to adjust things until they ‘feel right’ – it’s everywhere in our experience, isn’t it?”

A gentle breeze stirred the lavender as Haplous gestured toward the chapel. “Consider Sister Agnes arranging flowers for the altar. How does she know when they’re right?”

“She moves them around until they look right... oh!” Synergos sat forward on the stone bench, careful not to disturb his papers. “She’s not thinking about artistic principles or geometric relationships, is she? Her brain is just seeking a state where the tension resolves?”

The monastery cat paused in its morning patrol, its head tilted as it watched a leaf spiral down from the ancient oak.

“And notice how many different things her brain must be matching simultaneously – colors, heights, balance...” Haplous continued.

“Just like Brother Michael when he’s installing a latch on the gate, lining up the bolt with the opening in the strike plate. Visual alignment, mechanical feel...” Synergos sat back thoughtfully. “It’s rather remarkable, isn’t it? All these different kinds of goals, but always the same basic process.”

“Yes, the same process. And it’s been studied before under different rubrics – including what some researchers call the ‘free energy principle.’ But all we’re really describing is something mechanical. The brain doesn’t ‘know’ it’s arranging flowers or measuring time. It’s just...”

“Moving from current state to goal state, using whatever tools are available!” Synergos finished enthusiastically. Then his brow furrowed. “But wait. How does the brain know what the goal state should be? If it were a spacecraft, we’d program its destination...”

“Ah,” Haplous’s eyes twinkled as morning light caught his silver hair. “Now you’re asking exactly the right question. The brain is old – more than 500 million years old. Many of its basic goal states are built in. Things like food, warmth, oxygen, reproductive success – these are hardwired.”

“Sure,” Synergos nodded. “But what about a person who wants to become president of a university?”

“Humans are social animals. We evolved in groups. Helping the group helps our own survival, and status within the group often translates into better access to resources, better protection, even more reproductive opportunity. So even something as abstract as career ambition can be traced back to deep evolutionary goals.”

“That still feels like a stretch,” Synergos admitted. “What about when someone just wants to go watch a movie? Or play a video game?”

“Even those activities achieve real, measurable outcomes – the release of dopamine, serotonin, endorphins. The brain experiences them as rewarding. But notice – if the person becomes too hungry, or if the room gets too cold, they’ll put the game aside and go fix those more urgent bodily needs. The older goal states always override the newer ones.”

“What about intermediate steps?” Synergos asked. “Like opening the car door just to put the key in the ignition.”

“You just answered your own question – intermediate. The brain’s internal model knows how to reach important goal states by moving through smaller ones in sequence. That’s what planning is. It’s still the same basic system, just operating at a more complex level.”

“Yes... I think I’m starting to see,” Synergos murmured, looking down at his notes.

“Good,” Haplous said. “So let’s consider something more fundamental. What drives a fish to snap at food?”

“Hunger?” Synergos suggested.

“Exactly! Think about what’s really happening. The brain has a current state – blood chemistry indicating hunger. It has a goal state – chemistry balanced by food. But to get from one to the other...”

“It needs an internal model of spatial relationships! Distance to food, movement patterns, water currents...” Synergos’s understanding was clearly deepening.

“Yes. And consider a squirrel seeking shelter when temperature drops...”

“Its brain detects the cold state, but to reach a warmer state...” Synergos spoke slowly, watching the monastery cat find a sunny spot among the lavender, “it must have an internal model of where shelter might be, how to get there, which routes are safe...”

“Now consider how basic and essential these goals are,” Haplous continued, his hand briefly touching his cross. “Maintaining blood chemistry, body temperature, physical safety. The brain’s internal model develops through experience with what works...”

“Like the fish learning which movements lead to food, the squirrel learning which locations provide warmth...”

“Yes! And all of this happened in brains long before any sophisticated capabilities developed. Even the simplest survival requires...”

“An internal model to guide state matching!” Synergos nodded decisively. “The monastery examples are interesting, but this really shows how fundamental the internal model is, doesn’t it? Without it, even basic survival would be impossible.”

“Before we get into how species develop different capabilities,” Haplous said, as the monastery cat appeared near the narrow stone wall surrounding the kitchen garden, its tail twitching slightly, “let’s understand something crucial about how brains build up their understanding of things. Have you ever noticed how cats learn what they can and can’t jump onto?”

Synergos turned to observe the monastery cat assessing the garden wall. “Well, they seem to just know...”

“But think carefully – when a cat encounters a new surface, what components must its brain process? Height, width, stability, texture...”

“Ah! Like our squirrel with the acorns – combining different aspects of information?”

“Yes! But notice something fascinating about these components. When a cat learns about ‘slippery’ from one surface...”

“It can apply that component to other situations!” Synergos leaned forward slightly. “Even if everything else is different – height, width, location – the ‘slippery’ component remains the same?”

“Exactly. And think about what this means for the brain’s adaptability. When it encounters something entirely new...”

“It can still understand it through familiar components!” Synergos watched the monastery cat testing the wall with a tentative paw. “Height like that fence, width like the chapel windowsill, texture like the chapel steps, stability like this stone bench...”

“And notice how crucial width is,” Haplous added. “The cat immediately knows if a surface is too narrow to land on safely, doesn’t it? That width component combines with all the others – height, stability, texture – but maintains its own distinct character.”

“Yes! Even when everything else changes – height, texture, location – the same width component helps determine if something is suitable for landing. The brain just combines these familiar components to understand each new situation!” Synergos concluded with discovery in his voice.

“Now consider how powerful this is,” Haplous continued. “The brain doesn’t need a separate representation for every possible situation...”

“It builds understanding by combining components it already has! Like...” Synergos paused thoughtfully, “like how I can understand a new budget situation by combining familiar patterns of surplus, deficit, seasonal variation...”

“Good example! And notice something crucial – these components maintain their identity even while combining. When you combine ‘seasonal’ with ‘deficit’...”

“The ‘seasonal’ component works the same way it does in other contexts! It’s not changed by being part of different combinations...”

The monastery cat leapt successfully onto the wall. Haplous nodded with approval. “Yes. And this helps us understand something profound about how brains work. Long before any sophisticated capabilities develop, they’re already building rich understanding through...”

“Through combining these basic components that form through direct experience,” Synergos finished reflectively. “But wait – how does the brain know which components to form in the first place?”

“Ah,” Haplous smiled, reaching down as one of the monastery cats wandered over to rub against his leg, “now you’re asking exactly the right question...”

“Something occurs to me,” Synergos said, his attention drawn to a mother cat, a former stray that had recently made the monastery her home, patiently teaching her kittens to climb a low tree. “These components we’re talking about – they all develop through experience?”

“Ah,” Haplous smiled, his gaze following the kittens. “Watch those kittens more carefully. Even on their first climb attempt, what do they already seem to know?”

“Well, they automatically reach for higher points, test for stability...” Synergos paused. “You’re suggesting some components must be innate?”

“Think about it – how could any creature survive if it had to learn everything from scratch? A newborn must already have components for suckling, for sensing warmth...”

“Of course! And basic spatial components – up, down, balance...” Synergos readily agreed.

“Exactly. Evolution provides these essential starting components. Like basic tools in a workshop...”

“That enable learning new ones,” Synergos nodded. “The kitten’s innate sense of balance and height lets it learn specific climbing patterns?”

“Yes. Just as their innate sense of prey movement lets them develop specific hunting skills. But notice something interesting about our squirrel friend...”

“Its innate components for gathering food let it learn about specific things like tannin content?”

“Precisely. The brain comes equipped with basic components that make survival possible, then builds new ones through experience.”

“Like having fundamental accounting principles,” Synergos mused with a faint smile, “that let me learn specific monastery budget patterns...”

“Though remember,” Haplous touched his cross with a knowing smile, “we’re just describing what must be true for brains to function. The exact balance between innate and learned components...”

“Yes, I understand,” Synergos acknowledged. “We can’t know precisely, but clearly both must exist. Some built in, some developed through experience...”

“And all working together to build the brain’s understanding of its world,” Haplous concluded.

“Look at that spider web in the chapel window,” Haplous said, gesturing toward where the morning sunlight was glinting on its delicate strands. “What a complex understanding its tiny brain must have of tension, spacing, adhesive properties...”

“Like our cat’s understanding of jumping and climbing?” Synergos watched the spider make a minute adjustment to its web. “Each species developing what it needs?”

“Exactly! Consider how different creatures use their brain’s system of neuronal components. That robin hunting for worms – its brain processes soil moisture, worm movement patterns, the best pecking angles...”

“While the squirrel we watched earlier processes nut properties, storage locations, seasonal patterns...” Synergos paused. “Each species building up exactly the neuronal components it needs for survival?”

“Yes. And they’re all using the same basic mechanism we discussed. Internal models, components combining, state matching...”

“But each evolved to process the specific aspects that matter for their survival! Armadillos with burrowing components, bees with flower recognition and navigation...”

“And all through that same simple principle – the brain matching current states to goal states using whatever tools evolved for that species,” Haplous summarized.

“It’s rather elegant, isn’t it?” Synergos mused appreciatively. “Each creature’s brain specializing in the components that work for its particular needs, but all using that same basic mechanism?”

“Like different craftsmen,” Haplous offered with a smile, “each with specialized tools, but all using the same principles of matching their work to a goal state.”

“But this raises an interesting question,” Synergos said, his administrator’s mind seeking patterns. “Among all these specialized abilities – web-building, flying, burrowing – what particular capability did our own species develop?”

“Ah,” Haplous’s eyes twinkled with anticipation, “now you’re asking exactly the right question...”

Haplous said thoughtfully, watching two sparrows coordinating the building of a nest in the eaves of the granary, “When we think about human communication, we often make it too complex too quickly.”

“What do you mean?” Synergos asked.

“Well, consider those sparrows. What advantages do they get from their simple signals?”

“They can warn each other of danger,” Synergos observed. “Coordinate nest building...”

“Yes! Now imagine early humans. What immediate benefits would they get from even the simplest ability to transfer information?”

“Well, they could warn of predators too. Share locations of food...” Synergos paused, considering. “Even basic signals would help with survival, wouldn’t they?”

“Exactly. And this doesn’t require complex understanding. Just like the spider doesn’t need to understand geometry to build its web...”

“Early humans wouldn’t need to be exceptionally intelligent to benefit from simple communication!” Synergos leaned forward. “Just being able to indicate ‘danger here’ or ‘food there’ would help survival?”

“Yes. Like any other specialized ability – the spider’s web-building, the bird’s flying – it starts with simple but immediate benefits.”

“But surely...” Synergos frowned slightly, “wouldn’t they need sophisticated brains to communicate?”

“Think about what we’ve discussed about brain components,” Haplous prompted. “If the brain already has rich internal models through its components...”

“Then communication might just need a simple way to transfer between individuals what’s already represented internally?” Synergos spoke slowly, the idea forming. “Like how the spider’s web-building ability is just a specialized way to use components it already has for sensing tension and spacing?”

“Now you’re seeing something important about how capabilities can start simply...” Haplous encouraged.

“But something fascinating happens,” Haplous continued, his expression becoming more animated, “when individuals can share more than just simple warnings. Consider two hunters tracking prey...”

“They’d need to coordinate their movements,” Synergos suggested.

“Yes, but think about what’s really happening. If they can share their neuronal proxies about the terrain, the prey’s behavior...”

“They begin to work with the same internal model!” Synergos exclaimed. “Like they’re sharing parts of their brain’s understanding?”

“Exactly. And when two individuals share the same internal states...”

“They can act as one system! Like how my left and right hand cooperate when balancing the monastery books...”

“Good analogy! But this doesn’t require some complex new mechanism. Just like our simple warnings of ‘danger here,’ it’s still just transferring states between individuals.”

“But the results are remarkable, aren’t they? When two people truly share understanding of a situation...” Synergos mused.

“They can coordinate naturally,” Haplous affirmed. “Each knowing what the other perceives, understands, intends...”

“Like the monastery bell-ringers,” Synergos offered. “When they’re really working together, it’s almost as if...”

“As if they share one understanding of the rhythm, the timing, the sequence?” Haplous finished.

“Yes! Each knows exactly what the other will do next...” Synergos paused, doubt surfacing. “But wait – are we making this too sophisticated? Surely this level of coordination would need...”

“Remember our spider,” Haplous reminded him gently. “Complex results can emerge from simple mechanisms. If individuals can share their internal states...”

“Then working together becomes natural, doesn’t it? Like different parts of the same system?” Synergos concluded, the doubt fading.

Haplous said, his gaze on two brothers attempting to move a fallen branch from the roof of the tractor shed, “There’s something fascinating about how people solve problems together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, watch what’s happening there. Brother James has just suggested something...”

“Yes, he’s pointing toward the smaller tool shed – maybe thinking they should get a rope or something,” Synergos observed.

“And notice Brother Franklyn’s response.”

“He’s shaking his head and pointing to... ah! He must see that the ladder would be more effective, for one of them to simply climb up,” Synergos followed the unspoken logic.

“Exactly. Now watch what happens next.”

“Brother James is walking toward the ladder and...” Insight crossed Synergos’s face. “So, when Brother James first spoke about the rope...”

“Yes?” Haplous prompted.

“It activated certain proxies in Brother Franklyn’s brain – about the branch’s position, the rope’s limitations... which led him to express something that activated new proxies in Brother James’s brain, about the ladder!”

“Go on,” Haplous encouraged.

“So they’re not just sharing fixed ideas – they’re building new understanding together! Brother James’s initial expression activates proxies in Brother Franklyn, who expresses something that activates new proxies in Brother James, leading to a solution neither might have reached alone!”

“And this happens naturally whenever people work together, doesn’t it? Whether it’s the kitchen team solving a problem with the soup, or monks discussing a difficult text...”

“Or when we’re working out the monastery’s accounts!” Synergos added. “Each person’s expressions activate proxies in others, leading to new combinations, new insights...”

“Yes. But remember – we’re simply describing what must be happening mechanically when meaning transfers between minds. The brain doesn’t ‘know’ it’s collaborating. It’s just...”

“Responding to proxy activation through expression!” Synergos finished excitedly. “But this is remarkable, isn’t it? The brain’s ability to activate proxies in other brains through expression – it means thinking together can achieve more than thinking alone?”

“An interesting possibility,” Haplous replied mildly. “Though for now, let’s focus on understanding exactly how this proxy activation works between individuals...”

“If meaning exists before language,” Synergos continued, “then this process we are talking about must be something quite different than we usually imagine.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not creating meaning or understanding. It’s more like... a simple processor that converts between components and language expression?”

“Yes! And think about what this suggests about its evolution,” Haplous said.

“It would have developed as a tool for interindividual communication – just a way to trigger similar components in other brains?”

“Exactly. Like a simple converting mechanism. No need for complex meaning-creation – it is merely transferring elements that already existed in the brain at large’s component system.”

“Very interesting,” Synergos observed, leaning forward slightly. “But does this mechanism have a name?”

“In this functional framework that I am laying out to you, it is called the proxy transfer device, or PTD,” Haplous stated calmly.

Synergos frowned, absently straightening the stack of account ledgers in his lap. “But wait – when you speak of these neuronal proxies and the proxy transfer device, are you suggesting we could locate them in specific regions of the brain? Perhaps with modern imaging techniques?”

Haplous smiled faintly, watching a leaf spiral down from the ancient oak. “That’s an understandable question, but it reflects a common misunderstanding about what we’re discussing. What I’m describing is a functional model, not an anatomical one.”

“What’s the difference?” Synergos asked.

“Think about how you understand the monastery’s accounting system,” Haplous offered. “You grasp its function – how information flows, how decisions are made, how resources are allocated – without necessarily knowing which desk in which room each specific calculation occurs.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Synergos conceded. “I could explain our entire financial system to someone without mentioning physical locations at all.”

“Exactly. And that functional understanding is often more useful than a physical map would be,” Haplous said, his fingers near his cross. “The framework I’m describing works the same way. These neuronal proxies, for instance, aren’t necessarily discrete physical entities or confined to specific brain regions. They’re functional patterns that might be quite distributed and dynamic.”

“So we shouldn’t think of them as particular neurons in particular places?”

“No more than you would think of ‘the monastery’s budget planning function’ as residing in a specific corner of your office.” Haplous smiled. “Modern neuroscience is often preoccupied with locating functions through imaging techniques like MRI or EEG. Those tools are valuable, but they have significant limitations – they show us energy consumption or electrical activity at a macro level, which might reveal bottlenecks more than fundamental operations.”

“Rather like how measuring foot traffic in the monastery might show where corridors get congested,” Synergos suggested, “but wouldn’t necessarily tell you why people are walking there or what information they’re carrying.”

“An excellent analogy!” Haplous acknowledged. “What matters for understanding this framework is grasping the functional relationships and information flow, not trying to map each component to physical locations. The proxy transfer device, for instance, is defined by what it does – converting between internal proxies and expressions – rather than where it might be found in neural tissue.”

“I think I see,” Synergos said thoughtfully. “It’s like how an economist might model markets without needing to specify the people involved, and the checkout counters of every transaction.”

“Precisely,” Haplous beamed. “This cybernetic approach lets us understand the brain’s fundamental architecture without getting lost in neuroanatomical details that might vary across individuals or even change within a single brain over time. So when I speak of these components, I’m describing functional subsystems, not physical locations.”

“That makes much more sense,” Synergos nodded. “Though I suspect many people would instinctively try to locate these functions physically, as I just did.”

“Indeed,” Haplous chuckled softly. “We humans do tend to prefer concrete, physical explanations. But sometimes the most powerful understanding comes from grasping functional relationships rather than physical substrates.”

Synergos reached out as the monastery cat passed by their bench again, giving its back a brief stroke. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“This is rather elegant, isn’t it? The brain at large already has rich understanding through components, and the PTD just... provides a way to activate similar components in others?”

“Exactly,” Haplous confirmed with a slight inclination of his head. “That’s how shared meaning works – through aligned proxies.”

Synergos hesitated. “But just to be clear – you’ve been calling it a brain subsystem. But how does one person’s proxy actually get into another’s? Brains aren’t connected. Isn’t the transfer just... language?”

“Good question,” Haplous acknowledged. “Yes – spoken or written, language is the major vehicle. The PTD begins in the brain, where the expressive signal is shaped. But in this framework, we draw boundaries by function, not by tissue. So anything that’s part of the causal chain – sound waves, gestures, marks on a page – is part of the transfer device, functionally speaking.”

“Even the air between us?” Synergos asked, surprise in his voice.

“If that’s what carries the signal, yes. The PTD is defined by what it does, not where it sits. If the proxy gets through – meaning, if it reactivates a similar structure in another brain – then the whole chain has done its job. And that entire chain, for that moment, is the PTD.”

Synergos looked off toward the fields, processing this. “So the device isn’t a thing. It’s a role – whatever carries the proxy across.”

“Exactly,” Haplous said. “We give it a name for clarity, but it’s not a fixed structure. It’s a function.”

Synergos nodded slowly, the picture settling into place. “So when children first begin using this system, they use it directly – straight from brain at large to expression? Without any...” He paused, a new thought dawning.

“Without any what?” Haplous prompted.

“Well, without any prediction of what they’ll say. Like that state of innocence we mentioned...”

Haplous said, his gaze turning to a toddler playing with a new toy in the monastery courtyard, “There’s something quite profound about how children acquire language.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, notice – that child clearly understands ‘soft’ things, ‘moving’ things, ‘noisy’ things... all before having words for them.”

“Because the components already exist through direct experience?” Synergos offered.

“Exactly! And this tells us something remarkable about meaning itself. When the child later learns the word ‘soft’...”

“They’re not learning what softness is,” Synergos said slowly. “They’re just learning which expression matches their existing components?”

“Yes! And notice what this suggests about meaning in general. The brain at large already has rich, complex understanding through these components...”

“And language just provides a way to map expressions onto this pre-existing meaning? This rather turns our usual thinking upside down, doesn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, we tend to think language creates or carries meaning. But really, it’s just... connecting to meaning that already exists at the component level?”

“This state you’re noticing in young children,” Haplous continued, his expression becoming reflective, “it’s quite remarkable, isn’t it? Their brain at large simply generates expressions through the PTD...”

“Yes, without any awareness of what they’ll say before they say it. Like someone on truth serum, in a way.”

“Interesting analogy! And what makes this state so significant?”

“Well, it shows the PTD can function perfectly well just converting directly from brain at large to expression. But something changes...”

“Yes, and this change is universal, isn’t it? Every child moves from this state of immediate expression to something else.”

“Which means,” Synergos said, a thoughtful frown appearing, “whatever pattern they discover must be there to be discovered. Like how the brain naturally finds patterns in electrode stimulation...”

“Exactly! And remember what we said about the brain discovering useful patterns in its own activity?”

“So the child’s brain would recognize some pattern between...” Synergos paused, searching. “Between what, exactly?”

“Well, think about what happens when a child speaks. The complete sequence...”

“When a child speaks,” Haplous continued, “what’s the complete sequence?”

“Well, their brain at large activates the PTD, which begins to generate expressions in the outward directed language faculty, they speak them, hear themselves...”

“And then?”

“The speech that they themselves generate is heard by them, activating corresponding configurations of neuronal proxies... ah!” Synergos leaned forward. “Their brain would recognize a pattern between PTD activity and the proxy activation that follows!”

“Yes! Like discovering any correspondence in its own activity. And remember how adaptable the brain is at finding useful patterns...”

“It would discover that certain patterns in the PTD reliably correspond to particular proxy activations later?”

“And once it discovers this pattern...”

“It could predict the proxy activation just from detecting the PTD activity?” Synergos paused, then added with conviction, “Like how it learns to use any new pattern it discovers?”

“Exactly. Though how it actually accomplishes this...”

“We might not know the exact mechanism,” Synergos acknowledged. “But we can see it must happen somehow. Every child makes this discovery.”

“Think about what this pattern discovery means,” Haplous said, his gaze steady. “Once the brain recognizes that PTD activity corresponds to later proxy activation...”

“It could get that activation directly? Without needing the complete physical sequence?”

“Yes! And notice something fascinating about this – what’s actually being activated?”

“The same neuronal proxies that would have been activated by hearing the expression. So the experience would be...”

“Would be exactly the same, wouldn’t it? Because it’s the same components being activated, just through a different pathway,” Haplous confirmed.

“Like learning any new pattern,” Synergos noted. “The brain finds a more direct route to the same result.”

“You know,” Haplous said, his expression turning thoughtful, “modern science has shown us something quite remarkable about how adaptable the brain really is...”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, consider some fascinating work being done with brain-computer interfaces,” Haplous said, his hand moving to his cross. “Researchers can now help blind people see, by connecting cameras to electrodes placed in general areas of the visual cortex.”

“Really?” Synergos straightened his papers, clearly intrigued. “But how can random electrodes help someone see?”

“That’s what’s so remarkable,” Haplous smiled gently. “The electrodes aren’t precisely placed on specific neurons. They just provide general stimulation to the region. Yet somehow...”

“Yes?” Synergos leaned in.

“The brain learns to interpret these patterns of stimulation as visual information!” Haplous gestured toward the light filtering through the oak. “People begin to recognize shapes, movement, even faces.”

“But how is that possible?” Synergos asked, his brow furrowed. “If the electrodes aren’t specifically connected to the right neurons...”

“The brain itself must explore and discover how to use these signals,” Haplous said. “Rather like a curious child exploring a new toy?”

“That’s extraordinary,” Synergos spoke carefully. “And this actually works? People can really see this way?”

“Yes! And it’s not just vision. Similar interfaces help paralyzed patients move robotic limbs, or people who can’t speak communicate through computers...”

“All by the brain discovering how to use these electrode patterns?” Synergos looked up, amazement clear in his expression.

The monastery cat appeared silently between the lavender stalks, its natural curiosity and adaptive movements a quiet echo of the brain’s own capabilities.

“But there’s something even more fascinating about these interfaces,” Haplous continued. “Consider exactly how the brain learns to use them...”

“You mean it’s not just trial and error?”

“Well, scientists have found something remarkable. When they study the brain’s neural activity during this learning process...” Haplous touched his cross thoughtfully. “It’s actively exploring different patterns, testing possibilities, fine-tuning its responses...”

“Like it’s naturally curious about its own activity?” Synergos suggested.

“Exactly! And the brain doesn’t need any outside guidance about which patterns to try. It naturally explores until it finds useful ones.”

“And once it finds a pattern that works...”

“It quickly learns to utilize it reliably,” Haplous confirmed. “Rather like how a cat discovers it can jump to a new perch?”

“Ah!” Synergos sat forward suddenly. “Then of course the brain can discover any useful pattern within its own activity!”

“Yes?”

“The brain would naturally find it and learn to use it!” Synergos’s eyes brightened. “Just as it learns to use these electrode patterns without needing to understand the electronics involved!”

The monastery cat appeared silently beside them, its calm presence a demonstration of nature discovering and utilizing patterns without needing to comprehend their underlying mechanics.

“That’s quite a profound insight,” Haplous said, genuine appreciation warming his voice. “The brain’s natural ability to discover and utilize patterns within its own activity...”

“It makes the whole framework more credible, doesn’t it?” Synergos straightened his papers, sounding more confident. “If we can actually observe the brain learning to use these electrode patterns...”

“Yes. And consider how quickly young children discover this looping pattern,” Haplous said, his fingers touching his cross. “Almost as soon as they begin speaking...”

“Ah!” Synergos leaned forward again. “Because their brains are constantly exploring and discovering patterns?”

“Exactly. And think about what this tells us about consciousness itself...”

“That it emerges naturally?” Synergos suggested tentatively. “Not through some mysterious process, but through the brain’s ordinary pattern-discovery capability?”

“Yes! Just as it learns to use those electrode patterns without understanding electronics,” Haplous smiled gently, “it discovers looping without needing to understand consciousness.”

“Rather remarkable how nature finds the most elegant solutions,” Synergos said with a note of wonder. “Using simple pattern discovery to achieve such profound results?”

The monastery cat appeared once more between the lavender stalks, its movements fluid and graceful, born of patterns discovered long before understanding might have emerged.

“Once the brain discovers this capability,” Haplous said thoughtfully, “it begins to find more and more uses for it. Rather like how a child who learns to climb soon discovers all sorts of new possibilities...”

“Like what?” Synergos asked.

“Well, as we discuss this mechanism further,” Haplous smiled, bringing his focus back to Synergos, “you’ll see how it becomes essential for all sorts of sophisticated human capabilities. From basic conscious perception to our most complex mental activities...”

“You mean we’ll discover it’s used for more than just examining our thoughts?”

“Oh yes,” Haplous nodded with certainty. “In fact, you might be surprised by just how fundamental this mechanism becomes to human experience. But perhaps we should take this step by step...”

“Though I suppose I could give you a glimpse,” Haplous’s eyes took on that characteristic warmth. “This simple mechanism we’ve discovered – this ability to activate meaning through the PTD – it turns out to be essential for our most basic mental activities: recollection of the past, imagination of possibilities, every kind of abstract thought. It’s how we examine our own experiences, plan for the future, and understand complex ideas. Through it, we engage in mathematical reasoning, philosophical contemplation, artistic creation. It enables emotional understanding, sophisticated problem-solving, even the comprehension of language itself. And perhaps most remarkably, we’ll discover that even our moment-to-moment conscious perception depends on this same basic mechanism.”

“All that?” Synergos looked genuinely astonished. “From this one simple pattern the brain discovers?”

“Like how we’re doing right now – examining experience, sharing understanding...” Haplous offered with a subtle smile. “But you’ll see all this unfold naturally as we continue our discussions.”

“Like how Brother James teaches woodcarving,” Synergos suggested. “First the basic principles, then letting students discover the full possibilities?”

“Exactly. Understanding how the brain discovers this pattern is crucial before we explore all its remarkable applications.”

The monastery cat appeared silently beside them, its quiet presence a reminder of how nature often finds endless possibilities in each new capability it discovers.

“Yes! Though we might not know exactly how it manages this...” Synergos mused.

“But we can see it must happen. Every child makes this transition from immediate expression to something else,” Haplous affirmed.

“And think about when this ability might be particularly useful...”

“When you need to hold your tongue?” Synergos offered. “When immediate expression wouldn’t be... appropriate?”

“Exactly. Consider how often children learn that blurting out everything immediately can be... problematic.”

“Ah yes! Like when they observe something embarrassing about Aunt Martha’s appearance...”

“Or when they’re angry at their parents,” Haplous added with a smile. “There’s quite a bit of social pressure to develop some control over immediate expression.”

“So this pattern discovery comes at just the right time developmentally...” Synergos considered.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “it’s rather remarkable that every child seems to make this discovery. What drives them to find this pattern?”

“Consider something interesting about children,” Haplous replied. “What’s one of their strongest early motivations?”

“Well, they want to please their parents, avoid causing distress...”

“Yes! And more specifically?”

“They hate to see their loved ones hurt by their words... Ah! That immediate pain when they see they’ve upset someone – that would be quite a powerful motivation to develop some way of checking expressions before speaking them?”

“Exactly. And notice something fascinating about this – it doesn’t require sophisticated thinking or planning. Just the basic emotional need to protect those they love from hurt...”

“Though I suppose there could be other paths to this discovery,” Synergos reflected, looking out at the fields. “Some children might find it through different pressures...”

“Of course. We can’t know all the possible paths. Different children might arrive at it through different experiences,” Haplous acknowledged.

“But the emotional motivation seems particularly compelling...”

“Yes, especially since it doesn’t require sophisticated thinking or planning. Just the basic need to protect loved ones from hurt.”

“And there’s something else quite remarkable about this capability,” Haplous continued. “Think about a practical problem – say, trying to get something down from a tree...”

“Without this ability, you’d have to actually try each possibility – climbing, throwing sticks, finding a ladder...” Synergos listed.

“Yes! But once you can activate proxies without actual behavior...”

“Ah! You could experiment with different approaches without moving a muscle! Test possibilities before attempting them?”

“Exactly! Notice how efficient this is – instead of physical trial and error...”

“The brain can run through possibilities internally first! Like a simulation...”

“Though remember,” Haplous smiled, “we’re still just talking about proxy activation through that pattern the brain discovered. The same mechanism that started with checking harmful expressions...”

“But now being used for practical problem-solving. Quite remarkable how the brain finds new uses for capabilities it discovers...”

“So,” Synergos said, a slight frown of concentration appearing, “the child can actually hear themselves before speaking...”

“Yes, but with its remarkable plasticity, the brain can do much more than that,” Haplous stated.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever noticed how sometimes when someone’s talking to you, you don’t really hear the words at all? The ideas just seem to appear in your mind? Like when you’re reading a book and suddenly you’re not even seeing the pages anymore, just experiencing the story directly?”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean!” Synergos said readily.

“Well, the brain, with its versatile neuroplasticity, will soon do the same thing with this prediction capability. Either right away or very soon, it learns to skip everything and go straight to the meaning. The activity for the potential expression in the proxy transfer device becomes converted directly into neuronal proxy activation.”

“You mean...” Synergos frowned, trying to grasp the full implication, “some sort of meaning would just suddenly appear in the child’s mind? But wouldn’t that be strange? Could something so radical ever really happen in a child?”

Haplous chuckled warmly. “Could it ever.”

Synergos began to gather up his papers, and then suddenly did a kind of double take. “Wait a second! Is that thing the child learns to do… is that what adults also do?”

Haplous looked amused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems as though you’re saying,” Synergos began slowly, “that what we experience as thinking – as having ideas and meanings appear in our minds – is actually this mechanism? The brain using the pattern it discovered to activate proxies directly?”

“Yes, that’s it!”

“My head is spinning a bit from all this,” Synergos said, pushing his papers into his leather valise. “The brain as a mechanical system, these neuronal proxies, the PTD, and now this... looping, is that what you called it?”

“I haven’t formally introduced that term yet,” Haplous said gently. “But yes – that’s a good name for this ability: the brain’s ability to activate its own proxies through its own PTD activity. Looping.”

The monastery cat was rustling among the lavender stalks, trying to catch a butterfly.

“It’s strange,” Synergos mused, watching the tips of the grass move as the cat ran about unseen below them. “You started out this morning talking about birds and thermostats, and now, if I’m not mistaken, we’ve arrived at the very nature of subjective experience  itself – thought, imagination, consciousness...”

“Not so strange, really,” Haplous replied, rising from the bench with a bit of stiffness that betrayed his age. “What else would you expect? Our thoughts do arise from the material organization of our brains. It’s not so strange that this happens – though it might seem amazing to understand the mechanism behind it for the first time.

The bell for mid-morning prayers began to ring, its sound sending a small flock of birds into flight from the roof of the granary.

“Same time tomorrow?” Synergos asked, now standing and adjusting the strap on his valise.

“If the universe so desires,” Haplous said with a smile. “Today we set up the foundations for the looping mechanism. Tomorrow we can take a closer look at what happens when this mechanism goes to work. There’s still a lot of ground to cover. And then maybe, some other day we can discuss other topics – dreams, mental phenomena that defy explanation by conventional approaches, how the framework is reflected in the world’s major religions…”

“Now you’re really trying to make sure I don’t sleep tonight,” Synergos laughed. “First you demolish my comfortable assumptions about consciousness, and now you’re promising to explain dreams?”

“Oh? So you already had some explanation of consciousness in mind?”

“No, not really, I mean just… well it seems to be different somehow than the material, whether it’s some immaterial soul or some emergent but nonmaterial property… but I always considered it as something transcendent, not explicable merely in terms of physical processes within the brain’s functional architecture.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing in this explanation that would warrant you saying ‘merely.’ The framework does not decrease the amazement and the mystery, it just provides a scientific basis for subjective experience.”

They began walking slowly back toward the main buildings, their footsteps crunching along the gravel path.

“You know,” Synergos said, as they paused at the fork where their paths would diverge, “I came here this morning expecting some sort of mystical theory about consciousness. Something vague and untestable. But this…”

“Yes?”

“Everything we talked about today makes me think maybe it is simply material. Physical and functional. Nothing immaterial. Nothing magical.”

Haplous’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “Perhaps because the most important things in existence have never depended on magic or another realm. Science has been replacing those ideas ever since we learned that Helios does not ride in a chariot across the sky. But our newfound knowledge didn’t make the sun less beautiful – or less important. Likewise, if love, meaning, beauty, and truth can be explained by mechanical processes, that doesn’t make them any less amazing.”

They parted ways at the fork in the path – Synergos heading toward the administrative buildings with a thoughtful expression, while Haplous made his way toward the chapel, his gait hinting at his anticipation of leading the yoga class.

As Synergos walked, he began to notice things in a different light. The way Brother Francis adjusted his wheelbarrow in the garden – was that his brain at large seeking a goal state? And those novices over there, chatting by the well – were they activating proxies in each other’s brains using their PTDs? Even his own thoughts felt different now, each idea that arose – was he catching the meaning of a potential expressive output?

Behind him, the monastery cat emerged from the patches of lavender and sauntered over to a patch of sun near the chapel doors. It lay down there, its eyes half-closed in perfect contentment – a living demonstration of a brain at large functioning just fine without any need of the looping mechanism that seemed so dear to the humans around it.

— End of Dialog 1 —