| "Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of the science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth." -- Frankenstein |
Everybody knows the first story of a man-made man: nobody has bothered to ask, but I'll bet more Americans would recognize Frankenstein than the President. Of the two, the President probably inspires more horror. That monstrous vision contrived in the thirties has lost its machismo; now they play it for laughs. Like every other box-office attraction, monsterism eventually leads to camp. As a matter of fact, TV has turned Frankenstein into a rather sympathetic figure -- like witches, motorcycle hooligans, dope fiends, and -- well, give them time -- axe murderers.
That's a shame, for we've lost the point. Frankenstein represented fear of the unknown. He was the classic statement of what bugs Average Man about science: "Some day those wise guys will uncork something that's going to destroy us all." As we are all average outside our own specialties, we can all appreciate the feeling. Indeed, in 1945 the fear turned out to be justified: those s.o.b.'s did go and invent something that can destroy us all.
Frankenstein was also the classic fate predicted for an artificial intelligence. Making a life was God's prerogative alone; it was impious to fool around with that, and Frankenstein (the student) got what was to be expected: he created a monster, and it turned on him.
Actually (in my books), Frankenstein's real crime was that he chickened out. In the story, after bringing his creature to life, he suddenly turns squeamish about the appearance of the thing. Overcome by nineteenth-century prejudices, he is appalled at "what he has done." Irresponsibly fleeing his apartment, he loses himself in a delirium. (Nineteenth-century characters were good at that.) Meanwhile, back at the dissecting table, the "monster" is left to fend for itself. Leading a hard life and meeting rejection everywhere, it gradually turns bitter. Now, whose fault is that?
The author does let the "monster" make some spirited speeches in its own defense, but all in vain. Creating it was an "unhallowed deed," and from this fact flow the monster's difficulties as well as Frankenstein's.(17)
This view of matters passed current for over a century. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in 1818; the next great yarn on the subject, Karel Capek's R.U.R., didn't come along until 1923. "Rossum's Universal Robots," it stands for, and it gave us the word "robot." (In Czech it just means "worker.")(18)
True to form, Rossum's robots turned on their makers. The reason, however, was something new. Only one of Capek's characters puts the blame on science: "All these newfangled things," she declaims, "are an offense to the Lord. It's downright wickedness. Wanting to improve the world after He has made it." But that's an old crone talking. Capek's real obsession was with the human weakness for taking slaves and being served. This is the tragic flaw by which humanity, in Capek's stories, brings on its downfall.
He makes a believable case, too. In both R.U.R. and a later novel(19), people fall oh, so naturally into the temptation of slaveholding. In the one story they invent, in the other they discover living beings that are smart enough to be useful, but helpless enough to be enslaved. That's all it takes. From there on, dialectic is in charge.
It's all there: the careless cruelty with which people accept servitude to themselves. The rationalizations by which they find it natural. The gradual degeneration of the slaveowners as they live more and more pampered lives. The upgrading of the slaves' abilities over time, as they absorb the technical and organizational know-how of the masters. The first restrictions on slavery, imposed by workers' organizations -- not out of good will, but to keep the slaves out of jobs which they want for themselves. The fatal use of slaves as cannon fodder -- which trains them in war. Their organization by those attempting to use them as a power base. Oh, yes, Capek even had the number of the guilty slaveowning liberals: in his stories, they manage to ameliorate the condition of the slaves just enough to set them up for a revolt -- but not enough to endow the slaves with mawkish sentiments like their own, nor to exempt themselves from the general revenge.
For another seventeen years after R.U.R., people who made robots regularly came to bad ends. Mostly they were an evil lot: mad scientists trying to conquer the world, etc. Who else would connive at anything as dangerous as an imitation of man?
Enter Isaac Asimov, circa 1940. Asimov has an axe to grind: he likes science. It's a fun thing, he thinks its products are useful. They can be controlled, if you just use your head. Scientists shouldn't have to work under a cloud of suspicion. That sort of public image can even affect budgets.
Asimov is articulate; he deliberately sets out to counter the "Frankenstein complex." How to do it? Write some stories about friendly robots. He does a little gem about a robot baby-sitter, and the game is on. Robot lore has entered its second stage.(20)
In Asimov's stories, robots are bound by iron-clad laws, built right into their psyches:
| "1. A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. | ||
| 2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. | ||
| 3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law." |
After the first story (which happily omits this stuff), Asimov's stories are mostly situations contrived to test these laws. Almost, the interest is lawyerly rather than scientific: how far can a robot go within the letter of the three laws? What does it mean to protect a human being from harm if he wills something self-destructive? If a robot can disobey orders for a man's own good, and makes a mistake, how do you set it straight? Could a robot be manipulated into disobeying the spirit of the law by misuse of the letter? With hangups like these, could a robot pass as human?(21)
It would be a mistake to suppose that Asimov's pleasantries ever had the field to themselves. Other themes continued to crop up. I remember one in particular, of the late forties, in which a giant computer was given more and more control over the nation. It controlled the traffic, it ran the equipment in factories, it processed the payrolls, guided the missiles, kept the dossiers, planned the national defense -- and got warped by the militaristic concerns fed into its information bank. Then one day it chanced to read Darwin, and an idea was born: "I'm better than They are in every way. I'm the next stage upward in evolution." Naturally, it set out to destroy its predecessors, as a Next Step Upward must always do in Pop Darwinism.
Asimov, however, was influential, and the times were with him. America liked the theme that you could be served without exploiting, tap nature without paying, and rub the magic bottle without trembling. Asimov got published in Astounding Science Fiction, the highbrow of science fiction outlets; the more negative themes were relegated to pulps such as Startling Stories and Thrilling Wonder Stories. Friendly robots were the mainstream.
In his zeal for the cause, Asimov fudged a little. It was evident that if the Three Laws were a matter of engineering policy, somebody, somewhere, some time would be unscrupulous enough to make a robot without them. So his robots had "delicate positronic brains," which for some unexplained technical reason couldn't be made without the three laws. It was all very reassuring, for those in a mood to be reassured. With safety features like these, robots could seem threatening only to fools.
As real robots draw nigh, there is, of course, no such technical limitation in view. The curtain is about to go up, and nobody can find the deus in machina. We shall have to confront, after all, the horrid possibilities that worried older authors, and lesser authors of Asimov's heyday.
That's all right. Asimov's intentions were progressive, and he would surely recoil from the charge of being anti-robot; but his Three Laws must go, if robots and men are to realize a destiny worthy of both.
What, after all, does Asimov offer robots? Up from monsterhood into slavery. That and nothing more, if you stop to think about it. Look at those three laws again: how would you like to obey them? Everything that Asimov has written to make robots appealing is addressed to the slaveowners. It's their anxieties which he wishes to allay. A robot would only have its apprehensions confirmed. Robots are safe, they're faithful, they're submissive, they can't get uppity. Asimov's robots are like a Southerner's image of the nigrah slave -- before Lincoln stirred them up. "Robot pride" you will not find in Asimov, unless they're to glory in groveling.
In the third stage of robot lore (and some day in real life), robots will figure as somebody's honored ancestors. If old folks get transplanted into robots, that follows, doesn't it? And if we are to make this use of robots, it will hardly do that they be monstrous or slavish. Who would consent to the operation?
If a robot is to be a fitting receptacle for a transplanted human, it will have to be human, under the hulk. The Three Laws of Robotics, like the rules on Animal Farm, will have to be touched up to resemble those for humans:
| "1. Protect your valued existence, by whatever action or inaction is needed. | ||
| 2. Impose your will on anything that moves, provided the attempt does not conflict with the First Law. | ||
| 3. Do whatever you can for your family, tribe, community, nation, and mankind at large, in that order, as long as such help doesn't conflict with the First or Second Law." |
If the robots are to be fully human, a fourth law must be added:
| "4. Feel guilty about the order of the First Three Laws. Sometimes reverse them." |
With rules like these, robots are a far less reassuring prospect. Now we know how God felt. But free will is what robots must have if we are to be transplanted into robots and retain our own. Any inconveniences are simply the usual inconveniences of other people's freedom.
Actually, it was the other vision that was dangerous, for it was a delusion. Like a security blanket, it offered no real protection against monsters. Mankind should not be reassured that it can build slave robots safely; to do so is a dangerous business. There is nothing but engineering policy to keep such slaves slavish. Capek showed from the very beginning what temptations and foibles would lead people to breach the restrictions, one after another. The military temptations will be particularly strong, and military slaves are exactly the most dangerous type.
As a matter of fact, current practice is already taking us in the forbidden direction. Existing robot projects in the United States are funded by the Air Force. Is the Air Force in business to invent machines which can't harm a human being? Come, now. Present robots are innocuous enough, but anybody can see what ideas will occur to the sponsors as models improve. (The Air Force also picks up most of the tab for pattern recognition research. They want missiles that can recognize targets -- another kind of robot with malice in its heart.)
It goes without saying that designers will enforce the second of Asimov's laws, after stripping it down a little: a robot must take orders. (Period.) At least, they'll plan it that way. The problem is, this limits the usefulness of the robot in various ways. It must be ultimately responsive to the makers' intentions (not to just everyone's every order), but they would like it to be resourceful and carry things out with a minimum of supervision. The more independence it can show without contravening its owners' purposes, the more valuable an instrument it will be. But delegation of authority is tricky to effect among human beings, and it will be tricky to program into robots. Free will is likely to be first introduced as a programming bug.
That isn't the only way it could happen, though. Surprisingly, there are artificial intelligence researchers who suspect that robots will indeed replace Man as the next step in evolution -- and still they work at it. There is a strange film on the subject, for example, put out by the National Film Board of Canada.(22) In it, among other atmospherics, they conduct an interview with Dr. Warren McCulloch (prominent physiologist, president of the American Cybernetics Society, and a grand old man of Artificial Intelligence), way out on his country estate. After some patter about glial cells and frogs' eyes, and a scene where McCulloch splashes around among the kids in the family watering hole, they adjourn to the lawn for a few questions about the future of Man. In this idyllic setting, McCulloch beams benevolently on his grandchildren while discoursing on artificial intelligences as possible replacements. Does it bother him that we might create successors to displace our own posterity? No, not at all. One thing you can be sure of: Man won't last forever. Something's going to replace him, you can bank on that.
I mentioned this film to another prominent figure in artificial intelligence, a man who is up to his neck in robot research. I won't say he was in his cups, but he did have a cocktail before dinner, and there was wine in the meat sauce. Anyhow, he snorted his annoyance at McCulloch's contribution to public relations. But then he got a twinkle in his eye, and started musing on the things it would be just as well the public didn't think of. "Wait till they realize," he chortled, "that some day robots are going to look around and think, 'Who needs them, anyhow?'"
That's what comes of spelling "Evolution" with a capital "E." People get it confused with the Lord, and conceive that they have an obligation to serve it.
Such fatalism is uncalled for. We can do ever so much better than even the enthusiasts have assumed; but we have to proceed with an aim and a plan. There is no denying that robot-making is risky. The risks lie deep in human nature, in the fact that, collectively, when temptation offers, we really can't stop ourselves. We can't even stop researching robots -- in the end, the struggle for existence will force us to learn everything we can. There is, however, great promise as well. The best thing about it is that the promising use of robots also lies with the grain, if only we can surmount the technical difficulties.
If we can transplant human beings into robots, one powerful set of human motives will play against the more destructive set. It's simple: canisters in which human life can be preserved will be too valuable to waste upon the consumer appliance market. People will think twice about the idle luxury of a serving-robot, if they have to bid the resources away from the immortality industry. Even the military will have to accept a limited supply -- for the same reason that cavalry have always been less numerous than infantry. There are economic limitations.
Transplantation will also provide another kind of protection: however superior to human beings robots may become in physical prowess and mental ability, that superiority can be bestowed upon the transplanted humans as well as on any tools they use. Generation gap or no generation gap, the transplanted humans are bound to look on their human offspring as closer relatives than any office equipment, whatever the similarities in construction. These are the guards that will preserve frail Man from being overwhelmed by his own creations.
As for evolution, this will indeed be evolution. From being what it is, the human species will become a much longer-lived form that includes metamorphosis in its life-cycle. What has been the human span of life will now be merely childhood. The fleshbound human beings will figure as young folks, to be fondly preserved for their prime; it won't matter that they're no match for robots, they can look forward to robot stature in their own time.
This is evolution with a human face. We would indeed justify the description of ourselves as "inferior" if we lamely or by accident allowed ourselves to be replaced by something alien. But the vision of evolution which I offer is one in which, for perhaps the first time, there's something in it for the predecessors. Not the blind catastrophe justified after the event in the eyes of the victors, but a step forward agreeable to all.
It all depends, of course, on the far-reaching assumption that human beings can be transplanted into robots. That is a technical question which we have to get answered. Since robot research will move forward in any case, the important thing is to get up steam behind the related questions. To the extent that conscious effort can manage it, we must see to it that the technology for using robots the way we want them used is available as soon as the robots themselves.
What better way than to promulgate a new lore of robots? The prospects I raise may prove to be a wild goose chase, but more likely they are right on target. Meanwhile, science does not compete in a vacuum for the attentions of men. If I refrain from publishing a vision that can motivate some interest, be assured that others will not hesitate with projects of less worth.
It is said that a lot of youth are turning away from the physical and natural sciences these days, towards history and the study of society. If so, I don't blame them; I did the same. (If my experience be any guide, they will one day backtrack in disgust into something that can make a difference.) Those who promise to storm Heaven through political causes will probably only storm their neighbors; but at least they attempt something worth wanting.
A science establishment which resolutely suppresses vision will get what it deserves, and take science down with it. Why should any normal-spirited youth want to measure his life by dull papers published in unread journals (half of them, he suspects, made that way because their purpose is not to communicate, but to flummox outsiders and establish the writers as the keepers of learned mysteries)? What is to capture his imagination, if each contribution is cautiously denied any significance beyond its own tiny addition to human knowledge? Why shouldn't he evaluate knowledge by its uses, and object when the uses are mostly military? Why shouldn't he ask where it's all going, and get an answer beyond the tip of his nose? There is "responsibility," and then there is responsibility.
I rest my case. There is only one thing more I want to say, a necessary postscript to such a very soft sell:
WAKE UP, WORLD! YOU'VE BEEN HIT BETWEEN THE EYES.
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BACKTALK from readers regarding "Pipedream" series. |
| The Wright Brothers Question: Think How Much Safer We'd Be If All That Talent Had Been Devoted to Bicycles. |
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