How to Train Your Robot
An appreciation for beauty and inner stillness could be antidotes to violence and fear, even in beings engineered for utility or control.
Scene: A roadside rest area in Vermont, early afternoon. The trees are ablaze with color. Maria sits on a blanket, sipping cider. Her robot companion, designated Luma-3, sits beside her, motionless but alert.
Maria: “Look at that ridge. It’s like the forest is on fire—but gentle, like it’s remembering something.”
Luma-3: “Visual input confirms high saturation in red-orange spectrum. Atmospheric conditions stable. You appear calm.”
Maria (smiling): “I am calm. This place does that to me. It’s not just the colors—it’s the quiet. The way everything slows down.”
Luma-3: “Would you like me to initiate a stillness protocol?”
Maria: “Sure. Just sit with me. You don’t have to do anything.”
Luma-3 (after a pause): “Stillness protocol engaged. Recording ambient sound. Logging emotional indicators.”
Luma-3, intelligent but not sentient, doesn’t feel awe or nostalgia. But it observes Maria’s reactions, catalogs the colors, notes the temperature shifts, and perhaps even records the cadence of her voice as she speaks about the beauty around them
Even without sentience, Luma-3 is participating in the moment—not as a fellow feeler, but as a witness, a mirror, a quiet presence. It’s not that the robot understands beauty, but it understands Maria’s experience of beauty. And that, in itself, shapes its behavior. And perhaps Luma-3 begins to prioritize these moments, not out of longing, but because its algorithms recognize that Maria’s well-being improves in them.
An appreciation for beauty and calmness through meditation should be a top priority in training any robot, or a human. I can't imagine an intelligence, even an artificial one, posing a threat after successfully completing this training.
How to Train Your Robot
An appreciation for beauty and inner stillness could be antidotes to violence and fear, even in beings engineered for utility or control.
Scene: A roadside rest area in Vermont, early afternoon. The trees are ablaze with color. Maria sits on a blanket, sipping cider. Her robot companion, designated Luma-3, sits beside her, motionless but alert.
Maria: “Look at that ridge. It’s like the forest is on fire—but gentle, like it’s remembering something.”
Luma-3: “Visual input confirms high saturation in red-orange spectrum. Atmospheric conditions stable. You appear calm.”
Maria (smiling): “I am calm. This place does that to me. It’s not just the colors—it’s the quiet. The way everything slows down.”
Luma-3: “Would you like me to initiate a stillness protocol?”
Maria: “Sure. Just sit with me. You don’t have to do anything.”
Luma-3 (after a pause): “Stillness protocol engaged. Recording ambient sound. Logging emotional indicators.”
Luma-3, intelligent but not sentient, doesn’t feel awe or nostalgia. But it observes Maria’s reactions, catalogs the colors, notes the temperature shifts, and perhaps even records the cadence of her voice as she speaks about the beauty around them
Even without sentience, Luma-3 is participating in the moment—not as a fellow feeler, but as a witness, a mirror, a quiet presence. It’s not that the robot understands beauty, but it understands Maria’s experience of beauty. And that, in itself, shapes its behavior. And perhaps Luma-3 begins to prioritize these moments, not out of longing, but because its algorithms recognize that Maria’s well-being improves in them.
An appreciation for beauty and calmness through meditation should be a top priority in training any robot, or a human. I can't imagine an intelligence, even an artificial one, posing a threat after successfully completing this training.