swiftcobra15 said:You write some truly bizarre, almost arbitrary nonsense over on the Philosophy subforum.
I find myself wondering if you might attempt to untangle the knotty distinction between self-awareness and character—and, more importantly, how on earth they actually intersect. It’s one of those deep, existential rabbit holes that I tend to fall down when I should probably be focusing on much more pressing matters, like why my local Starbucks always seems to run out of oat milk by ten in the morning. But here we are. Is self-awareness merely the mirror held up to the soul, providing us with that quiet, sometimes uncomfortable recognition of our own existence, while character serves as the actual architecture of our choices? Or is it something more fluid? One feels like the internal compass, while the other is the path we actually decide to walk once we realize which way north is. I'd love to hear your take on how these two forces dance together. 😕
I suppose I should have expected a lecture from the mainstream scientific establishment, so let me attempt a brief defense of my position—mostly because when you anticipate a critique, it’s much easier to dismantle the argument before it even lands. Honestly, the entire edifice of human civilization was built upon this very concept of anticipation; we thrive on predicting the next move, a survival mechanism that separates us from most other species, though if we’re being truly honest, you’d struggle to find a significant distinction between humans and certain higher mammals in that regard. It’s a basic system, really. But first, we need to establish the ground rules here: I am talking about the living versus the non-living, and my core contention is that everything possessing life possesses consciousness. Yes, even algae.
If we actually want to prove this, we’re going to need some kind of universal denominator that applies to all living things. One way I look at it is this: life is essentially any system that—and I'll use the word "only" here for emphasis—processes matter. Think of it like an internal combustion engine in a Ford F-150; it takes fuel, processes it, and spits out energy along with the various byproducts needed to keep that specific entity functioning and sustained. In our world, we usually just call those sequences of events "chemistry." To sum it up: my take is that anything "active" enough to process matter for its own survival qualifies as alive. Or, well, at least active enough that we humans, acting as observers, can perceive it as such. I suppose from the perspective of the entire universe, you could probably argue that every single bit of material matter counts, but if we want to narrow our focus down to what we actually recognize as "life," using categories like "activity" or "character" is a much more practical way to go about it. And here’s where it gets interesting—you can already see the threads of consciousness woven into this concept. Now, maybe that isn't quite enough for everyone, but there is certainly a level of awareness involved in the act of perceiving, which gives us a starting point before we even attempt to tackle the much messier concept of self-awareness. Ultimately, I believe the underlying principle remains identical whether we're talking about animals or plants, just as someone else mentioned, and it likely extends far beyond them to any other possible forms of life out there in the cosmos.
If you want to talk about character, you really only need to look at living things to see it in action. It’s quite simple, really—just watch the cats in your neighborhood. You have to allow for the fact that while the traits of other living beings might be more subtle than what our human consciousness typically registers, that doesn't mean they aren't there. But we have to start with self-awareness first, don't we? We can define it through the lens of the survival instinct. Whether it’s obvious or not, every single living creature possesses a fundamental reaction to defend its own life. That alone is enough to distill the bare minimum required to define self-awareness, regardless of how you choose to label it. It’s a much harder case to make when you're looking at plants, for instance, because a shrub isn't exactly going to bolt from the yard when you try to burn it with a blowtorch. Animals, however, certainly do. They even possess a sense of anticipation regarding what they perceive as a threat; if that expected danger fails to materialize, they usually end up being someone else's dinner instead. So, this foundational awareness of oneself and the drive to maintain one's existence is absolutely real. I’m sorry if you find that notion to be some sort of nonsense, but it truly exists. On top of that, it’s all passed down through the generations via genetic coding—it's baked right into the DNA.
Living things consume and process food, of course, but the sheer variety of ways they go about it is nothing short of fascinating. I’ve spent far too much time lately falling down rabbit holes watching documentaries on the various techniques creatures use to secure a meal, and I have to say, I am utterly floored by the mantis shrimp—or maybe it was a different crustacean, my memory is a bit fuzzy—that can snap its appendage with such terrifying efficiency. It’s like something straight out of a Popeye's cartoon, only instead of strength for comedic effect, you get this sniper-like precision that hits the victim exactly where it counts, ensuring a kill every single time. If you don't count that as high-level strategy, I don't know what does. And don't even get me started on the sheer cunning involved—the camouflage, the absolute stillness, the way they blend perfectly into the seafloor like a common rock. They just sit there, holding their breath, channeling every ounce of concentration and raw power into one singular, explosive strike. The force is staggering; it's practically ballistic, almost as if their eyes function as high-tech targeting systems to lock onto the precise impact point. Then, once the meal is secured, they just reset and do it all over again, day after day. Isn't that the very definition of a unique biological character? This specialized, repeatable behavior defines the creature. It’s the same story across the board; every organism "knows" exactly what it needs to do to stay fed. Even with something as simple as moss, as long as it keeps orienting itself toward the north, you could argue there’s a fundamental, inherent awareness of feeding—of survival—at work. Whatever form that consciousness takes, it's always there.
We have this persistent, almost pathological tendency to mystify our own reasoning, our capacity for creative problem-solving—what we like to call "imagination"—and our supposedly superior intelligence. We pat ourselves on the back as if we’ve unlocked some divine secret, failing to realize that all of this is really just the same old survival kit we’ve been lugging around since the beginning. It’s just the weaponry we use to stay alive, and honestly, we’re doing a pretty decent job of it. But let's be real: there is nothing inherently more sacred or transcendent about our cognitive processes than the fundamental principles guiding every other living creature on this planet. They aren't playing by a different set of rules; they're just using different tools. So, when you look at those three concepts in the subheading, they essentially all boil down to the exact same thing. There you have it—short, sweet, and brutally honest. ;D
