Friday, February 10, 2006
Of Minds and Machines
Lots of us talk about machines in terms we’d use to speak about other people. “My car doesn’t like to start up on cold days,” we’ll say, adding, jokily: “Of course, neither do I.” An acquaintance will boast, “My coffee maker is fussy: it prefers filtered water,” as if the machine had discerning tastes of its own.
Earlier this week, I was making a last-minute hand-out for my students, and the photocopier stopped dead. The “Clear Paper Path” warning light came on, and prompted me through the tedious maintenance drill. “Open doors: right, left; turn lever up; pull out paper tray and check for blockage; push paper tray in; turn lever down; close doors: left, right. There was no jammed paper, but the warning light stayed on. Deep breath: Try again. Open doors: right, left; lever up; tray out; no jams; tray in; lever down; door slam. Light still on. Check watch. Deep breath. Repeat. Dang! I just couldn’t persuade the machine its innards were fine. Irritably, I grumbled: “The photocopier must be in a bad mood today,” and rushed to class.
Apparently, the machines in my life have moods and beliefs about their own states - jammed or not jammed - and some also have beliefs about me. Last time I logged on to an online bookseller to order a paperback, I felt mildly insulted by the books it suggested I’d like to read next. “Chicken Soup for the Graying Academic’s Soul,” I harrumphed, “I’d never read such tripe. It must think I have lousy taste.”
Of course, the website doesn’t really know me, it’s just using its records of my recent purchases to group me with customers in its database who bought the same titles. Its “personal recommendation” is based on the other titles most frequently purchased by folks in my group. The software is just making inferences about my likely future behaviour on the basis of patterns detected in my previous dealings with it. Hold on a minute though - isn’t that just what people do when they’re getting to know you?
It’s true, too, that a lot of human interactions are pretty formulaic. We learn scripts for different aspects of professional life: How to write a business letter; how to act in a job interview and so on. When business is transacted over the internet, it can be hard to tell whether your complaint is being handled by a real person, or a smart piece of software following a template: “Dear
Does it matter whether my e-correspondent is a piece of technology or a chunk of flesh? Is there such a deep difference between humans and machines? If a computer program has a memory, learns from its experiences and, as far as I can tell, interacts with me just like a person, why not say it is a person?
Not so fast, you say—a software programme doesn’t look anything like a human: nobody would mistake a CD-Rom for the boy next door. But as our lives are increasingly conducted online, it may be harder to tell. For all I know, perhaps the character I’ve met online, who responds so aptly to my typed expressions of endearment, may be a smart computer programme, a bot? I can love my i-Pod, but can I be in love with a bot? And can it have romantic feelings for me?
So what are the boundaries between artifacts and us, the inert and the animate, the born and the made? If you’re piqued by these questions, there’s a free public lecture entitled, “The Importance of Being Conscious: A Presentation on Minds and Machines,” at 7 pm in IUSB’s Wiekamp Auditorium on Valentine’s Day, Tuesday, February 14. Feel free to bring your beloved, whatever he, she, or it may be.