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You have already read my science-fiction story "In the Name of the Highest Principles of Good," written in 2000, in which I transposed the history of the whales of space. You have even listened to it in my audio drama...
But now the time of AI has come.
Part 1. Voices of the Deep
The ocean has always been something more to humans than mere water. It is a mirror of the heavens, a temple of mysteries, a space in which the planet’s breathing rhythm can be heard. We looked at the surface of the sea, listened to its voices, and thought it was merely the sound of wind in the waves. But through this “noise,” sounds that no one understood had been breaking through for centuries. It seemed as though the elements themselves were singing: low, resonant thuds, undulating moans, measured clicks.
Humanity long believed that it was something chaotic and meaningless. Like a child entering a foreign country for the first time, we heard an unfamiliar speech but did not know that it was speech. And only now, on the threshold of the twenty-first century, has it become clear: all this time, we had been witnessing a dialogue between beings that have lived beside us for millions of years. We heard the language of whales.
The First Myths and Fears of Sailors
Nineteenth-century sailors knew nothing about the science of marine-mammal acoustics. But they were poets against their will: the sounds coming from the darkness of the depths seemed to them the voices of spirits, omens of storms, warnings from the gods of the sea. Whalers’ diaries contain entries such as: “at night, the water spoke,” “blows came from beneath the hull, like the beating of the earth’s heart.”
The irony is that these very whalers, who killed marine giants for their blubber, did not even suspect that before dying, the animals cried out in their own language, called to their kin, and warned their young. To them, these were “noises”—but to us, they are now records of pain and memory.
The Birth of Scientific Listening
The turning point came only in the 1970s. That was when biologist Roger Payne recorded the songs of humpback whales and showed the world that the ocean sounded like a symphony. His album Songs of the Humpback Whale spread around the planet as a cultural sensation. People suddenly heard that whales created musical compositions lasting for hours. They changed themes, returned to motifs, and used repetition and variation just as Bach or Coltrane did.
At that moment, we experienced a shock for the first time: it turned out that we were not alone in the realm of art. There was another intelligence that expressed itself through sound. These songs became the beginning of the “Save the Whales” movement and saved several species from extinction.
The Theater Metaphor
To understand what this meant, imagine that you enter a theater, the curtain rises, the actors come out—and speak a language that no one in the audience understands. You hear emotions, see tears and laughter, and sense the drama, but the content remains inaccessible. That was how it was with the ocean. We sat in the audience, while the play had been running for millions of years.
The Mystery of the Ocean’s Thunder
Sperm whales turned out to be the loudest animals on Earth. Their clicks reach 200 decibels—louder than a jet engine. But almost until the end of the twentieth century, humanity did not even know that they made sounds. We saw their backs and their spouts, and killed them for oil—but we were deaf.
The problem was not only the lack of technology. We were not accustomed to listening to the world in any way other than through the prism of human logic. For us, “speech” had to consist of words and sentences spoken by a mouth. We could not imagine a language in which meaning was conveyed by the time between clicks, the speed of their rhythm, and the intonation of a pause.
Awaiting the Encounter
When Roger Payne said, “People have fallen in love with the sounds of whales. Imagine what will happen when we understand what they mean,” he was prophetically predicting the future. But for another half-century, no one could even begin to unravel the mystery. Only at the beginning of the twenty-first century did it become clear: the time had come to listen closely.
But now the time of AI has come.
Part 1. Voices of the Deep
The ocean has always been something more to humans than mere water. It is a mirror of the heavens, a temple of mysteries, a space in which the planet’s breathing rhythm can be heard. We looked at the surface of the sea, listened to its voices, and thought it was merely the sound of wind in the waves. But through this “noise,” sounds that no one understood had been breaking through for centuries. It seemed as though the elements themselves were singing: low, resonant thuds, undulating moans, measured clicks.
Humanity long believed that it was something chaotic and meaningless. Like a child entering a foreign country for the first time, we heard an unfamiliar speech but did not know that it was speech. And only now, on the threshold of the twenty-first century, has it become clear: all this time, we had been witnessing a dialogue between beings that have lived beside us for millions of years. We heard the language of whales.
The First Myths and Fears of Sailors
Nineteenth-century sailors knew nothing about the science of marine-mammal acoustics. But they were poets against their will: the sounds coming from the darkness of the depths seemed to them the voices of spirits, omens of storms, warnings from the gods of the sea. Whalers’ diaries contain entries such as: “at night, the water spoke,” “blows came from beneath the hull, like the beating of the earth’s heart.”
The irony is that these very whalers, who killed marine giants for their blubber, did not even suspect that before dying, the animals cried out in their own language, called to their kin, and warned their young. To them, these were “noises”—but to us, they are now records of pain and memory.
The Birth of Scientific Listening
The turning point came only in the 1970s. That was when biologist Roger Payne recorded the songs of humpback whales and showed the world that the ocean sounded like a symphony. His album Songs of the Humpback Whale spread around the planet as a cultural sensation. People suddenly heard that whales created musical compositions lasting for hours. They changed themes, returned to motifs, and used repetition and variation just as Bach or Coltrane did.
At that moment, we experienced a shock for the first time: it turned out that we were not alone in the realm of art. There was another intelligence that expressed itself through sound. These songs became the beginning of the “Save the Whales” movement and saved several species from extinction.
The Theater Metaphor
To understand what this meant, imagine that you enter a theater, the curtain rises, the actors come out—and speak a language that no one in the audience understands. You hear emotions, see tears and laughter, and sense the drama, but the content remains inaccessible. That was how it was with the ocean. We sat in the audience, while the play had been running for millions of years.
The Mystery of the Ocean’s Thunder
Sperm whales turned out to be the loudest animals on Earth. Their clicks reach 200 decibels—louder than a jet engine. But almost until the end of the twentieth century, humanity did not even know that they made sounds. We saw their backs and their spouts, and killed them for oil—but we were deaf.
The problem was not only the lack of technology. We were not accustomed to listening to the world in any way other than through the prism of human logic. For us, “speech” had to consist of words and sentences spoken by a mouth. We could not imagine a language in which meaning was conveyed by the time between clicks, the speed of their rhythm, and the intonation of a pause.
Awaiting the Encounter
When Roger Payne said, “People have fallen in love with the sounds of whales. Imagine what will happen when we understand what they mean,” he was prophetically predicting the future. But for another half-century, no one could even begin to unravel the mystery. Only at the beginning of the twenty-first century did it become clear: the time had come to listen closely.