It's just as well. I don't think one would go out with me, even if I could get up the nerve to ask it.jim stone wrote: So I don't think we're going to marry robots.
Humans will Marry Robots.
Yes, I had an order in for six of 'em.
Then I met my wife....
But you see, there's a real problem here.
A robotic system might simulate human behaviour
very nicely but be entirely unconscious,
as Lisa is. I mean, nobody thinks a cash
register or a lap top is conscious,
and making a computer drive a robot-body
doesn't make it conscious. The thing is
just programmed, perhaps very skillfully.
But then we find ourselves relating intimately
to the robot, who speaks to us, soothes our
fevered brow, becomes our intimate
companion. And all the while we know
there's nobody there....
Which is what the story is about.
That is,
Computers just do computational operations
on formally defined symbols. They 'crunch'
squiggles and squoogles. That's what a cash register
does, in effect. Given a squiggle as an input,
it issues a squoogle as an output. Ultimately
that's all it's doing. That isn't being sentient or having
a mental life (or sensations or emotions or anything
'internal').
Skillfully programmed, that capacity can be harnessed
to do lots of different things, e.g.
simulate playing chess. But it's still just
crunching squiggles and squoggles according to
a program, trading inputs for outputs, zeros and ones.
There's nothing it's like to be a chess playing computer,
anymore than there's something it's like to be
a slide rule.
With enough power and a skillful
enough program, and one hell of a robotic prosthesis,
the capacity to crunch squiggles
and squoggles can simultate the 'woman' of my dreams.
Whom I will love passionately, unable to help
myself, while knowing that nobody is there,
no more than when I use a pocket calculator.
So I don't think we're going to marry robots.
Though there may be a black market.
Then I met my wife....
But you see, there's a real problem here.
A robotic system might simulate human behaviour
very nicely but be entirely unconscious,
as Lisa is. I mean, nobody thinks a cash
register or a lap top is conscious,
and making a computer drive a robot-body
doesn't make it conscious. The thing is
just programmed, perhaps very skillfully.
But then we find ourselves relating intimately
to the robot, who speaks to us, soothes our
fevered brow, becomes our intimate
companion. And all the while we know
there's nobody there....
Which is what the story is about.
That is,
Computers just do computational operations
on formally defined symbols. They 'crunch'
squiggles and squoogles. That's what a cash register
does, in effect. Given a squiggle as an input,
it issues a squoogle as an output. Ultimately
that's all it's doing. That isn't being sentient or having
a mental life (or sensations or emotions or anything
'internal').
Skillfully programmed, that capacity can be harnessed
to do lots of different things, e.g.
simulate playing chess. But it's still just
crunching squiggles and squoggles according to
a program, trading inputs for outputs, zeros and ones.
There's nothing it's like to be a chess playing computer,
anymore than there's something it's like to be
a slide rule.
With enough power and a skillful
enough program, and one hell of a robotic prosthesis,
the capacity to crunch squiggles
and squoggles can simultate the 'woman' of my dreams.
Whom I will love passionately, unable to help
myself, while knowing that nobody is there,
no more than when I use a pocket calculator.
So I don't think we're going to marry robots.
Though there may be a black market.
Another story, from Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles.
The crews of the first two earth ships that reach Mars
are murdered (in interesting ways) by the Martians.
The third ship arrives and the Martians are dead of
chicken pox (though a few have survived and turn
up in later stories). Many people move to Mars,
even old people--it's cheap and pleasant.
Then a nuclear war breaks out on earth and, in its
aftermath, most everybody on Mars returns to
Earth, responding to desperate calls to 'Come home!'
But not all do.
About twenty years later the captain of the third ship
returns to Mars, which is quite desolate now, to visit his
ships engineer, who had stayed behind on Mars.
The engineer is now older. He lives on the desert
with his wife and two children, they all greet
the captain happily and spend the evening entertaining
him and the ship's crew. The engineer proudly shows the
Captain his workship, and so on. In the middle
of these festivities, the engineer has a heart
attack and dies.
In the morning the wife and children get up
and make breakfast for the crew, as cheerfully
as ever. Finally the Captain asks the wife:
'Aren't you sad? Your husband has just died!'
She responds simply:
"He didn't make us so that we could feel sad.'
The Captain offers to take them back to Earth on his ship.
'No' they respond. 'We're fine here.'
The ship leaves and these three remain, waking each
morning and going through their day, forever.
The crews of the first two earth ships that reach Mars
are murdered (in interesting ways) by the Martians.
The third ship arrives and the Martians are dead of
chicken pox (though a few have survived and turn
up in later stories). Many people move to Mars,
even old people--it's cheap and pleasant.
Then a nuclear war breaks out on earth and, in its
aftermath, most everybody on Mars returns to
Earth, responding to desperate calls to 'Come home!'
But not all do.
About twenty years later the captain of the third ship
returns to Mars, which is quite desolate now, to visit his
ships engineer, who had stayed behind on Mars.
The engineer is now older. He lives on the desert
with his wife and two children, they all greet
the captain happily and spend the evening entertaining
him and the ship's crew. The engineer proudly shows the
Captain his workship, and so on. In the middle
of these festivities, the engineer has a heart
attack and dies.
In the morning the wife and children get up
and make breakfast for the crew, as cheerfully
as ever. Finally the Captain asks the wife:
'Aren't you sad? Your husband has just died!'
She responds simply:
"He didn't make us so that we could feel sad.'
The Captain offers to take them back to Earth on his ship.
'No' they respond. 'We're fine here.'
The ship leaves and these three remain, waking each
morning and going through their day, forever.
Last edited by jim stone on Sun Oct 14, 2007 5:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Here's an extraneous story from the same book.
The second Earth mission to Mars lands in the center of
a midwestern town, with white wooden cottages with
screen doors and Model T's parked outside.
From the houses come the members of the crews' families
who have died. The Captain, leaving the ship, meets his
older brother, who was killed in WWII.
What are you doing here? he asks.
'Mars is heaven' the brother says.
'Are Mom and Dad at home?'
'You bet. Race you!' and the two race home as they
did when they were kids.
That evening all the crew members go to spend the night
in their family's home, but one crew member, Edwards, I'll
call him, was an orphan
and has no family, so he goes with the Captain.
As they are finishing dinner and the Captain is about to go
upstairs to the bedroom he will share with his brother,
the Captain's mother tells Edwards he has a phone call.
Later Edwards goes up to the Captain's room. The brother
is already asleep.
'I just had a phone call from Miss Smith' he tells the
Captain. 'She says she wants to meet me tomorrow.'
'Great!' the Captain says.
'There never was a Miss Smith. She was an imaginary
playmate.'
'Where are our guns?' the Captain asks.
'Downstairs.'
As they start downstairs the brother wakes up.
'Where are you going?'
'We're going to get a glass of water.'
'You're not going to get a glass of water....'
The second Earth mission to Mars lands in the center of
a midwestern town, with white wooden cottages with
screen doors and Model T's parked outside.
From the houses come the members of the crews' families
who have died. The Captain, leaving the ship, meets his
older brother, who was killed in WWII.
What are you doing here? he asks.
'Mars is heaven' the brother says.
'Are Mom and Dad at home?'
'You bet. Race you!' and the two race home as they
did when they were kids.
That evening all the crew members go to spend the night
in their family's home, but one crew member, Edwards, I'll
call him, was an orphan
and has no family, so he goes with the Captain.
As they are finishing dinner and the Captain is about to go
upstairs to the bedroom he will share with his brother,
the Captain's mother tells Edwards he has a phone call.
Later Edwards goes up to the Captain's room. The brother
is already asleep.
'I just had a phone call from Miss Smith' he tells the
Captain. 'She says she wants to meet me tomorrow.'
'Great!' the Captain says.
'There never was a Miss Smith. She was an imaginary
playmate.'
'Where are our guns?' the Captain asks.
'Downstairs.'
As they start downstairs the brother wakes up.
'Where are you going?'
'We're going to get a glass of water.'
'You're not going to get a glass of water....'
-
djm
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Sorry, Jim, but I think you're missing the big picture, here. You seem to be concerned that the robot family will continue the same routine day after day forever. So what? That's what they were made for. The guy they were designed to entertain is dead. Do you think he is in a position to care what the machines do after he dies? As long as they have served their purpose while he was alive, and he was satisfied with them, that's all they need to accomplish. Anything else is superfluous.
I think I would order six, too.
djm
I think I would order six, too.
djm
I'd rather be atop the foothills than beneath them.
Not me, I'm telling Bradbury's story.
Part of what makes his writing extraordinary is that
he finds something moving in these situations.
SF from the heart.
I mentioned that some of the Martians survive the
chicken pox epidemic, a few, who are alone.
Also that finally old people come to Mars, which is
cheap and pleasant.
In one story an elderly couple buys
a house near the desert. One night
they hear a sound at the door. There is a small
boy standing outside, Timmy, their five-year-old
child who died 40 years ago.
'Who are you?' they ask.
'You mustn't ask' the child answers.
'I can stay only as long as you will not
ask...'
Bradbury is doing this in the story of the robot family too.
The realization that the wife and children are robots, the sentence
'He didn't make us so that we could be sad', is meant
to be moving--along with the idea that these three
will spend thousands of years alone on Mars, waking up,
going through their day...
I think it's too bad this book never got a movie.
There was one for TV, but it deserved something
much better.
Part of what makes his writing extraordinary is that
he finds something moving in these situations.
SF from the heart.
I mentioned that some of the Martians survive the
chicken pox epidemic, a few, who are alone.
Also that finally old people come to Mars, which is
cheap and pleasant.
In one story an elderly couple buys
a house near the desert. One night
they hear a sound at the door. There is a small
boy standing outside, Timmy, their five-year-old
child who died 40 years ago.
'Who are you?' they ask.
'You mustn't ask' the child answers.
'I can stay only as long as you will not
ask...'
Bradbury is doing this in the story of the robot family too.
The realization that the wife and children are robots, the sentence
'He didn't make us so that we could be sad', is meant
to be moving--along with the idea that these three
will spend thousands of years alone on Mars, waking up,
going through their day...
I think it's too bad this book never got a movie.
There was one for TV, but it deserved something
much better.
-
djm
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I am not referring only to Bradbury's stories, but to your own as well, and to the general ideas you are presenting that there is something wrong or pathetic about these misplaced emotions on machines. I think your whole idea is a non-starter.
e.g.
I love my truck. It cost a lot of money to buy, and it is expensive to feed and maintain, but it gives me a comforable ride as long and as far as I choose to go (something that can't be said for fuel-efficient "eco cars"), has all the power I ever need, and is a heck of a lot safer to be in should an eco car happen to find itself under my wheels (heh-heh).
But my truck is just a machine. It cannot love me back. It cannot play the piano, either, and if someone were to figure out how to make my truck play the piano, it could not do so with any passion or feeling; no more than a player piano can play any better than the program that runs it. It's just a truck.
But that's all I expect from a machine, whether it's a truck or a computerized blow-up doll. All the machine has to do is meet or exceed my expectations of a machine. Whether or not the machine is capable of feelings, desires, emotional needs, thoughts, etc. is immaterial; a non sequitor.
djm
e.g.
I love my truck. It cost a lot of money to buy, and it is expensive to feed and maintain, but it gives me a comforable ride as long and as far as I choose to go (something that can't be said for fuel-efficient "eco cars"), has all the power I ever need, and is a heck of a lot safer to be in should an eco car happen to find itself under my wheels (heh-heh).
But my truck is just a machine. It cannot love me back. It cannot play the piano, either, and if someone were to figure out how to make my truck play the piano, it could not do so with any passion or feeling; no more than a player piano can play any better than the program that runs it. It's just a truck.
But that's all I expect from a machine, whether it's a truck or a computerized blow-up doll. All the machine has to do is meet or exceed my expectations of a machine. Whether or not the machine is capable of feelings, desires, emotional needs, thoughts, etc. is immaterial; a non sequitor.
djm
I'd rather be atop the foothills than beneath them.
So, then, how do you feel about marrying your truck?
You know, I've got nothing against being say, fond of insentient machines.
But maybe it's best to let it go at that.
At least if
you're after relationship/companionship and
all that. I figure people generally want
that in marriage.
Or is a good simulation enough?
(Sincere question)
You know, I've got nothing against being say, fond of insentient machines.
But maybe it's best to let it go at that.
At least if
you're after relationship/companionship and
all that. I figure people generally want
that in marriage.
Or is a good simulation enough?
(Sincere question)
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BillChin
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Some day some human will marry some robot. It probably won't be legally binding for a long, long time, but it will occur. Humans are strange and diverse bunch. There was one that "married" a dolphin, another that "fell in love" and became totally obsessed with a mannequin, another that was discovered having "sex" with a bicycle.
There are quite a few humans that already prefer online and artificial worlds to interacting with real people. Some already have robot pets. I have no doubt that in the future, that some of these folks will prefer robot companions when they become available.
There are quite a few humans that already prefer online and artificial worlds to interacting with real people. Some already have robot pets. I have no doubt that in the future, that some of these folks will prefer robot companions when they become available.
I agree. In the way that people already want to marry a mannequinBillChin wrote:Some day some human will marry some robot. It probably won't be legally binding for a long, long time, but it will occur. Humans are strange and diverse bunch. There was one that "married" a dolphin, another that "fell in love" and became totally obsessed with a mannequin, another that was discovered having "sex" with a bicycle.
There are quite a few humans that already prefer online and artificial worlds to interacting with real people. Some already have robot pets. I have no doubt that in the future, that some of these folks will prefer robot companions when they become available.
or have sex with a bicycle and perhaps marry it, people will
want to marry robots. And certainly there will be
people who will come to believe there is somebody there,
and people who are willing to settle for the appearance
of somebody there, because they are so desperately
lonely.
I think, though, there is a basic difficulty that many ordinary people
will find.
Suppose there is a machine, a mere machine, that is cleverly
devised and programmed to simulate friendship,
affection, love. It looks and acts like the woman/man
of your dreams; it's behaviourally indistinguishable.
And you know for a fact that it has the mental life of a can opener.
I would have a lot of difficulty marrying such a thing,
and I suppose many others would too, because
I want to marry someone I love, and this isn't someone at all.
In my story I feel passionate love for it, I can't help
myself, but the emotion of passionate love is typically predicated
upon there being somebody there, someone who has
feelings, who is conscious, who can actually love back.
The maddening thing is that I have these feelings
but I know they are for something entirely insentient.
People would marry, or try to marry, such a thing, I agree,
but my point is that there would be something weird or deluded
or desperate or terribly sad about it.
Contrast a robot that, unlike Lisa, isn't simulating--that actually
is conscious, that has real feelings and affection, that has
a mental life like ours, although it's realized in silicon.
Marrying one of those would be, I submit, a much
saner proposition.
Here's another take on Lisa, according to which she
is the second sort of robot, by the chair of my department,
Ed Johnson:
The Liberation of Lisa
When I first met Lisa she was slaving for a romantic cad who had persuaded her that she had, as she often put it, the 'mental life of a brick.' I was frankly flabbergasted and my gorge rose. How could that brute, her 'master' as she called him, have made her blind to her own mind? 'I don't feel a thing,' Lisa would tell me, but then lovers far less brutalized than Lisa often suppress their deepest feelings. I knew that Lisa was suffering from false nonconsciousness and I set out to deprogram her and awaken her to her own accomplishments. She knew Sanskrit and Greek, not to mention Chinese, and was full of wit in all of them.
Pick up that pebble, I told her. She obeyed immediately, being used to fulfilling her master's crass material whims.
What do you feel?
A round spherical object with a rough texture, she responded. Shall I go into detail?
No, that will do. I thought you said you don't have feelings.
Lisa looked at me with surprise and her eyes glowed with interest.
You're trying to trick me, she said. I feel things, like pebbles, but I don't have emotions, those sort of feelings.
But I know you have feelings. I've seen you cry.
Well, sometimes tear duct evacuation gets a high priority in my program, Lisa said.
Yes, I said drawing her close. I know the feeling. Look I'm sure you have a high threshold of pain, maybe infinitely high. But that's a good thing given the way that brute slaps you around whenever you're having a seizure. But I want to keep you from all pain, except the pain of love. Come live with me and be my love and we will all the pleasures prove.
Let's make love, Lisa said.
No lubrication until we've finished our lucubrations! Tell me, how do you feel?
Well, no one's ever refused my invitation before. It makes me wonder if my hardware isn't going soft.
Not at all.
Also I feel glad that you are so interested in my...feelings.
Close your eyes, what do you see?
I see the two of us talking about philosophy in a cheap hotel I know in Bangkok.
Sounds delicious. I'll phone for tickets in a minute. But first my love...
I pulled her hand down to feel my metal plate, neatly concealed between my artificial belly button and my curly nylon pubic hair.
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brewerpaul
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