Caught in the Net

Mamori Oshii, the Japanese director, once said that “As humans have become more ‘mind-oriented’ and the environment has become more urban, some have forgotten the idea of the human body. As far as they’re concerned, the human body does not exist anymore.”

Today, more people think that way than ever before, perhaps because who we are can now exist outside of ourselves, in our words. We can call someone around the world, and not be there. We can be viewed by thousands of people, and not leave our armchair. But I think it’s more than just this. After our physical deaths, our memories and lives live on in a tangible form. Now that we are constantly recording our lives, we can separate our mind from flesh, and those thoughts and experiences live forever.

In short, like Oshii suggested, physical bodies no longer matter. Sometimes, we are but brief flashes of fame and recognition, slashdotted, Dugg, and then we disappear into the subconscious, a fired neuron becoming dormant until needed again.

We like to think that the machines are not intelligent, because we’re the ones doing all the thinking, and taking action based on that. We believe that the intelligence needed to make decisions on information is provided by an external source, such as a programmer, and this means that we maintain control over the machines. AI has not materialised. Humans are still what matter.

This is the symptom of a delusion that much of humanity suffers from. For some reason, we think of the Net in an abstract fashion. This delusion can be understood by the term, “user”. We’re constantly referring to “users”, as in, Net users. The belief, as noted above, that the intelligence needed to make decisions on information is provided by an external source, is a symptom of this, too.

Who says that the programmer is, in fact, an external source? Who says we are the ones using the Net?

We view the brain holistically, comprised of component parts that perform particular functions, and the brain in turn instructs our body what to do. Why do we treat the Net any different?

The collective of machines and human minds is, by definition, an “artificial intelligence” because there is nothing natural about the electronic unification of our minds. Andy Clark sums it up well, in that we are “human-technology symbionts”, “thinking and reasoning systems whose minds and selves are spread across biological brain and non-biological circuitry”.

To understand this point, we should look into our history towards Socrates. He argued that:

“[Writing] will produce forgetfulness in the souls of those who have learned it. They will not need to exercise their memories, being able to rely on what is written, calling things to mind no longer from within themselves by their own unaided powers, but under the stimulus of external marks that are alien to themselves.”

More than that, Socrates saw it as detrimental to society, because it destroyed community, and shifted the individual out from that community.

Over two thousand years of individuality later, a similar meme spreads regarding how the Net makes us stupid. Carr argued that the Net “is rewiring the neural circuitry of our brains in a way that diminishes our capacity for concentration, reflection, and contemplation”.

That “concentration, reflection, and contemplation” are inherently individual pursuits. Like Socrates was lamenting about the birth of individuality, Carr is essentially talking about the destruction of that individuality and the rise, once more, of communities, of tribes, in McLuhans “global village”.

But, there is more to it than just remembering, or the end of the individual. The BBC’s Bill Thompson wrote that:

Perhaps the real danger posed by screen-based technologies is not that they are rewiring our brains but that the collection of search engines, news feeds and social tools encourages us to link to, follow and read only that which we can easily assimilate.

As archaeologist Lambros Malafouris has noted how “ancient clay tablets” used for writing “were not mere objects [but] integral adjuncts of the human memory system”, so too we can recognise how the Net has become integral to our thinking. And, like Socrates identified how writing allowed us to stop remembering, what Thompson and Carr are identifying is that we no longer need to challenge our beliefs. We may no longer really need to think. Already, the connections are being made by machines, rather than us.

A lot of our decisions are based on the almost clichéd ‘Wisdom of the Crowds’. What this means is that we’re making our decisions on information generated by similar thinking people. More than that, we’re doing it based on logical decisions made by machines. You go to Amazon, browse their suggested book store. You buy something, marvel at how accurately they figured out what you like, but what really happened was that you were nudged towards something comfortable, in line with what you generally believe in, because of mathematical equations evaluating not just large numbers of other people’s actions, but you as an individual, too. This scenario is played out across search engines, blogs, social networks … all across the Net.

Increasingly, the actions we take are being based on information – instructions, even – by machines. In the same way that McLuhan showed us that it didn’t matter whether a machine was making cornflakes or cars, so too it doesn’t matter what the action is that we took based on the data they suggested.

When you view it in this fashion, it’s clear that the Net is thinking, and it does take action, it just happens to do so on a collective basis that incorporates us.

The only question then is: who owns the machines?

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August 4, 2008

Curing Ageing Part One: Myths and Legends

Written by on August 2, 2008 | History Fragments

Aubrey de Grey’s claims regarding the defeat, or cure, of ageing fascinate me. In my most recent short story, “Blind Control“, I explored the idea of someone obsessed with the idea of extending his life, but I’ve started thinking more about the subject. In particular, I’m trying to imagine such a scenario where it is possible for people to live until they were 1000 years old or more, as de Grey claims is possible.

So I began to look at some of the myths and legends about immortality and longevity (to give a sense of historical perspective) in order to understand the origins of our fascination, and then look at how the focus of immortality shifted from being one closely related to religion, to one linked with science. Ultimately, what I really wanted to do is speculate on the kind of impact such a change would have on our world, how people would see it, how it would affect them, directly or indirectly.

I initially set out a single post on the subject, but it quickly ballooned into something else, so consider this the first part of what will likely be a two or three part series (hey, who knows, maybe more).

Legends of Longevity
History is littered with myths and legends regarding eternal youth or eternal life. Initially, immortality was closely linked to Gods and deities, either bestowed as gifts from them, or (in some cases) as a curse.

Possibly the oldest legend about longevity is that of Gilgamesh, the Sumerian king who ruled around 2600BC. In the Epic of Gilgamesh, after his friend, Enkidu, died and “turned to clay”, Gilgamesh “began to fear death”, and travels to an island where a man named Utnapishtim and his wife live. As Gilgamesh explains to a scorpion-being:

“I have come on account of my ancestor Utanapishtim, who joined the Assembly of the Gods, and was given eternal life. About Death and Life I must ask him!”

After a hazardous journey, Gilgamesh finally reaches his destination filled with sadness and fear, where Utnapishtim tells him:

“Through toil you wear yourself out, you fill your body with grief, your long lifetime you are bringing near (to a premature end)!”

Nevertheless, Utanapishtim reveals his story to Gilgamesh, and agrees to grant him eternal life, but he fails to pass a test that Utnapishtim sets him, which is to stay awake for six days and seven nights. Devastated, Gilgamesh proclaims:

“The Snatcher has taken hold of my flesh, in my bedroom Death dwells, and wherever I set foot there too is Death!”

In the Bible, Adam and Eve had the gift of eternal life, but it was taken from them when they sinned by eating the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. And, in the Book of Genesis, “Methuselah lived 969 years, and then he died”, although it could be possible that this is down to a translation error.

Religion has a very close connection with early longevity myths. In Greek lore, the Apotheothenai were mortal men and women granted immortality, normally by the Gods, or by consuming ambrosia or nectar, which was considered the food or drink of the Gods. Notable examples from Greek legend are: Helen, the Queen of Sparta, who (along with her husband) was granted immortality and allowed to live in the paradise of Elysium; and Heracles (otherwise known as Hercules), who was taken to live amongst the Gods by the Goddess Athena. (A full list can be found here.)

Not all of these legends had happy endings, of course. Probably the most famous of these is the story of Sisyphus, who tried to cheat Death by escaping from the Underworld, and then by capturing Death himself. As a result, he was sentenced to eternal torture, but appears to have attained his goal of eternal life anyway.

Hinduism also has a similar drink to ambrosia, called Amrita, which is also associated to granting eternal life to the gods. The literal translation means “non-dead”. It was believed to have been found “at the Churning of the Ocean, when Rahu, the demon, succeeded in obtaining a sip, forcing Vishnu to cut off his head in order to prevent him from gaining complete impregnability”.

What is interesting for me from this small selection of legends is this idea that cheating death bestowed a God-like status on the individual in question. I also find it quite obvious that quite a few of the stories involved individuals in positions of power: kings, queens and rulers seeking to prolong their lives. Despite those mentioned here, there are others, even one about Alexander the Great (in the Alexander Romance) trying to find a river that granted immortality.

In addition, the consequences of achieving long life, or immortality, resulted in being able to live in some form of eternal paradise; or, in the case of Sisyphus, eternal damnation. This utopia vs. dystopia theme is, I think, a strong one, even today, in discussions around immortality, and even curing ageing.

Virtual Pilgrims

Written by on July 6, 2008 | News Fragments

Mr. Aalam Khan, a devout Muslim, is dying of cancer. Before he dies, he hopes to take part in the Hajj, the annual Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca, because he has never done it before. It is a requirement that all Muslims take the pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime. However, his doctors say that he does not have much longer to live, and he most certainly will not be able physically take the trip.

Aalam’s solution to this was simple: why not allow him to do it virtually?

“If I can virtually and mentally make the journey, even though my physical body can’t, surely it should qualify as fulfilling the Hajj?” he asks.

Although virtual-reality advocates say this digital realm is no match for real life experiences, most argue that in the absence of travelling overseas, it is one of the best available means of cultural exchange.

At the Dubai Women’s College, professors saw an opportunity to use Second Life to connect students with the world outside their tiny Arabian Gulf state. As a virtual orientation, the group visited a Second Life re-creation of Darfur and made an online pilgrimage to Mecca. Most notably, they met regularly with a group of Korean students in computer renditions of each other’s campuses to practice English and learn about one another’s culture.

CS Monitor, Study Abroad Through Second Life

We have reached a stage where we cannot distinguish the real elements of our thoughts and feelings from the virtual ones. We cannot draw demarcating lines around the “Digital Us.” As we gradually adjust our lives to the latest digital experiences, we stray further and further from the world of here and now, and that world becomes less and less satisfying. Once we’re wired for a virtual world, the present world goes dim and fails to satisfy our digitized needs. This is the situation the world is coming to.

The Internet, unlike television or newspapers, provides interaction. Everyone contributes in some way to its organization. We may call it a huge dream machine. We know we are likely to fall asleep anywhere, and on the Internet we are prone to spiritual sleep. But probably the Internet is less sleep-inducing than TV because surfing the Web is a relatively proactive pursuit.

The problem with high tech is that it tends to impede spiritual growth. No doubt, superhighways facilitate speed. But speed is basically injurious to the spirit. We need time to pray, to meditate. And a mad rush is not likely to yield any spiritual benefit.

IslamOnline.net, Islam in Cyberia

I Remember

Written by on July 2, 2008 | Letter Fragments

Dear Martin,

Brother, I forgive you, even though you killed me twice.

The first time was an accident, sure. The night was dark, vision restricted to blurred shadows. You were drunk, and I wasn’t drunk enough. I remember the panic as I sat, clutching the door’s armrest. The headlights illuminated the road ahead just enough for my eyes to grow fearful of the unknown.

The wheels of the car locked, we hit the barrier …

You swore. I remember that, but not much else, not until I opened my eyes again. Mom was crying, her large shoulders shaking, her face painted with grief. You stood next to her, ashen. Doctors camouflaged in white coats blended into the sterile background, monitoring and taking notes on their electronic tablets.

“Mom,” I said, trying to reach out to hold her hand. “Don’t cry. I’m alive.”

She fled the room.

Only then did one of the doctors explain. My body had died, he said, but they’d saved me.

It was tough. I felt like me, looked like me. But I wasn’t, and everyone knew. I was smarter, stronger.

You were always the stronger one. But now, I had that too.

And that’s why you’ve killed me a second time.

We grew distant, and you turned your back. I was different, but still me. Remember that time you chased me down the road as a child, with a knife in your hand, pretending you’d kill me? Or when we’d run off together and hide down the stairs from Mom as she brandished her wooden spoon?

I remembered. The memories and emotions were as real as the world I could see around me. It wouldn’t go away.

We were always so close. But now, you were far in the distance, across oceans. At first, I couldn’t understand why. If I behaved the same, remembered the same things, felt higher love and deeper sadness – what is a human but those things?

Then I overheard the two of you talking. I understood.

“It’s not right,” Mom said. “He’s different.”

“I wish we’d never agreed,” you muttered. “It’s like seeing a zombie. He’s just a machine.”

If I can be copied, what does that say about the human soul? That’s why you were repelled by me. It wasn’t the Uncanny Valley. It wasn’t that you were jealous of me. You feared that your soul didn’t exist, that your God was dead and no-one cared.

Is a person with artificial legs not human? Why not an artificial body?

You were just afraid, you and my friends. So was I, but no-one had bothered to ask.

It’s not me that’s jumping off this roof. You’re pushing me. I can only hope that there’s nothing left for them to bring back, no trace of me.

Except your memories of me. I hope you remember.

Your brother,
Darren

In Isaac Asimov’s robot novels, the Frankenstein complex is a colloquial term for the fear of robots. Asimov’s stories predict that the phobia will be widespread against machines that resemble people (see android). It is similar in many respects to Masahiro Mori’s Uncanny Valley hypothesis.

The Frankenstein Complex, Wikipedia.

However, being optimistic about human capabilities, we expect computers to surpass us in most fields by 2015. As we approach the point of human-computer equivalence, progress will accelerate faster. As we pass it, the progress curve takes a very rapid turn upwards which will not stop until the development cycle is suddenly stopped by ultimate barriers imposed by physics – or God.

[...]

It is certain that there will be strong reaction to this tinkering with the human species. Not everyone will welcome it, either for religious or ethical reasons, or simple preference. Many people will dissociate themselves from genetic manipulation or cybernetic technology. These people will remain as conventional Homo Sapiens (we will rename them Homo ludditus for obvious reasons). They would at best have to co-exist with these other human offshoots, who would dwarf them mentally and physically. They would not be able to compete, and they may have the same relationship to the human variants as pets do today.

The Future Evolution of Man, Ian Pearson, Chris Winter & Peter Cochrane.

Why we should fear the future

Written by on July 1, 2008 | Out Of Character

The Speculist stuck up an interesting essay recently saying that “pessimism is the new racism”, noting that “we must recognize that the memeplexes that have built up around our fear of the future — pessimism, cynicism, fatalism, misanthropy — are both factually and morally wrong”.

I found this interesting, since I consider myself to be quite pessimistic about certain things. The majority of science fiction I enjoy tends to be dystopian, as does my own personal writing. I have optimism about other things, but that’s rather beside the point.

While an obsession with a fear of the future is probably unhealthy, I probably take the completely opposite point of view: we’re not pessimistic enough. I don’t think we ask enough questions about new technologies, new laws, new wars. We’re too quick to brand people as Luddites, doom-sayers or non-patriots. We don’t spend enough time trying to forecast unintended consequences and don’t pay any attention to our future, and are instead fixated on short-term self-gratification.

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