redford
10-24-15, 02:14 PM
Be advised this is some vintage stuff, but I welcome comments.
Dr. Browning sat at the desk, in his study, not one of those contemporary, modernized glass jobs that executives and CEO's sit at in corner offices, this desk was a darkly stained slab of walnut sitting atop a mound of drawers. In a way, he felt a little bit of pride that he hadn't succumbed to the growing trend. He turned his attention again to his 'patient', eyeing the monitors that showed all kinds of statuses. In the middle of the center one was a microphone attached to a scrolling text document detailing their conversation.
“How do you feel, Jason?”
The response was faster than most of the previous one. He made a note of this.
“I do not know, Dr. Browning.”
Excellent. His last series of tests involving his artificial intelligence, Jason, had not yielded much progress. And with an AI as complex as Jason, it was unclear how he would react to the changes in his programming to accommodate emotion, so it was a bit of trial and error at the moment. He silently marveled at the fact that artificial intelligences were commonplace. Well, not commonplace, as there were only ten known Turing Tested AI's in the world. As it stood, Dr. Browning was an integral part of programming three of them, and he had programmed this particular one, Jason, with his own design, the software and small warehouse full of servers privately owned. And yet, with so much progress, the creation and implementation of artificial intelligences was still a fledgling science, full of its share of failed and failing experiments. He was yanked out of his thoughts by the manufactured softness of Jason's voice.
“Is something the matter, Dr. Browning?” The emotion was manufactured, rather than sensed.
“Everything is fine, Jason. Let's return to the previous question. You say you don't know what you feel?”
“Yes, Dr. Browning. It is definitely a sensory input from the emotion programming; unlike any previous ones, and I do not know how to process it.”
Dr. Browning was both excited and dismayed at the answer to his question. He had always thought this would be a possibility. It was probable the emotion programming was working correctly, but that Jason had no idea how to process the input. It would be better if he was angry or sad or happy for no reason, but he didn't even know what angry or sad or happy were. He knew empirically, and nothing more. The problem was intractable, and would require a new approach to solve. After all, how do you describe anger to a machine? He brushed his thin-rimmed glasses up to his balding forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyebrows, the black hair dusted here and there with grey. He sighed. There was little he could do until he'd considered the problem more, and more importantly, got some sleep. The clock at the bottom of his screen read 12:08 AM.
“Let's end the session for today, Jason.”
“Yes, Dr. Browning. I will save the transcript of our meeting and email it to you.”
He turned to leave the desk of his office, turning off the lamp at his desk, leaving the rest to Jason, all but locking the door, that is.
He was halfway out of the door when Jason's voice spoke again.
“Dr. Browning,” he spoke flatly.
“Yes, Jason?” He answered, thinking he had forgotten something.
It took Jason a few seconds to respond, like he was processing Dr. Browning's response.
“Will we meet tomorrow?” The AI asked, voice still flat. He'd never asked that before, but Dr. Browning seemed not to notice.
“Yes, Jason, I should think so, most likely in the afternoon, I need to think about what we’ve discussed.”
“Excellent. Good night, Dr. Browning,” The AI said. For a while, he just said goodbye, which unnerved Dr. Browning, until he'd asked Jason not to.
__________________________
Charles Browning glanced at his watch again, the minute hand had moved one quarter of a turn since he’d last looked down from the pulpit at the center of the small chapel he attended. The preacher behind said pulpit was saying something about being good to our fellow man, but to be honest, he hadn’t been listening. He treated everyone he met well enough, he thought. Wasn’t like there was any need to be mean to other people. He absently thought that it had been a while since he had listened. The preacher seemed to be wrapping up though, and Dr. Browning’s thoughts turned to lunch amidst the pleasant greetings. He made his way down the center aisle toward the back door, dodging the pleasant questions-that-weren’t-really-questions with practiced responses.
“Good service today, Charles, how are you?” An older lady in a pale pink jacket and skirt and gaudy fake gem necklace said, placing her hand on the back of his arm, looking up at him.
He smiled broadly, too used to the response to do anything else. “I’m well, Eleanor, thank you,” he said, already turning slightly toward the door again. “See you next week,”
__________________________
Dr. Browning stood at the door to one of the corner offices of RyTech Industries, eyeing the clear glass lettering of the frosted door. It read, 'Joseph Carter, CEO, RyTech Industries'. He respected John immensely, they'd been colleagues since their undergraduate programs in systems programming at MIT. Charles had gone on to teach after his doctorate. While he had always been a big picture type of thinker, Joseph's knowledge of robotics and circuit design, and more importantly a keen business sense, allowed him to craft an empire from his own office. The RyTech name was on almost everything nowadays, from cell phones and printers to military hardware and jumbo jets. The secretary opened the door, poking her head in.
“Charles Browning for you, Sir?”
A deceptively young voice answered. “Charlie? Yeah, send him in! Hold my next appointment will you?”
“Yes sir,” The secretary answered quickly, opening the door further to reveal an older gentleman, though he had the spry movement and excited smile of someone much younger. He was already beginning to stand from his chair. He met Charles midway into his office, giving him a hug.
“Charlie! Haven’t seen you in ages!” Joseph pulled back to look his friend over. “How you been? You want a soda or something?” He asked, offering him a seat opposite his desk, which was a giant pane of glass. Charles felt a bit unnerved by the thing, but he had to admit, it fit with the motif of his office. Brushed metal and glass contraptions dotted the corner office in a functional way, betraying a sort of wealth most men couldn’t even dream of. He waved off the offer of a soda and sat down.
Joseph spoke. “It's good to see you, man.” It had been over a year. “You still working on that private AI, what was her name again?”
“Lisa,” Dr. Browning responded. “And no, I moved on to a different project. Lisa was...flawed. I had to rework from the ground up. That's actually why I came to see you, Joseph, I need your advice.” From there, he began to tell him about Jason and his attempts to bring more than just the appearance of emotion to an AI.
___________________________________
“So that's where I am right now, I don't know if the emotion program is working correctly. And even if it is, Jason has no idea how to process the information.
Joseph looked to the side, resting his chin on one hand. He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe it's just learning,” He mused out loud.
“Please,” Charles scoffed, “adaptive reasoning is one thing, but actual learning and intuition? It's ridiculous.”
Joseph leaned forward, half a smirk making the slight wrinkles at the corner of his mouth more pronounced. “No no no, hear me out, ok? We can't understand emotions in a purely empirical sense, right? All of our descriptions of emotion rely on the fact that everyone already knows what it feels like. What if it's adapting to that end? Maybe it doesn't even recognize that its own emotional programming is affecting its behavior. It's not learning per se, it's just failing to realize that that the programming is working.”
Charles leaned back, rubbing the underside of his chin with his thumb, feeling the stubbly hairs scratch lightly. “It's possible, but wouldn't I have noticed an emotional response from an AI who doesn't know how to control its emotions? Can it even control its emotions?”
“Maybe,” Joseph said, shrugging. “Maybe not. You are so far into uncharted territory with this one, I don't even know where to begin. I mean, actual emotions in AI, not just manufactured ones?” He chuckled lightly. “Crazy stuff, man.”
Charles leaned forward, pushing down on his knees to get up. It had been almost two hours since he'd walked in the door, and the sun was beginning to descend, shining brightly into one side of the office. Joseph stood also, and walked him to the door, patting him on the back as he opened it. “Just make sure it doesn't get a hold of any nuclear weapons, OK?”
Charles laughed. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“And let me know how it goes, I’d love to see something like that.”
_____________________________________
Dr. Browning closed the door to his study and walked to his desk, trailing his fingers on the smooth surface of it, feeling an imperfection in the grain here and there where the polyurethane didn't quite fill a tiny crack or hole. He sank into the brown leather chair, weary after the day's activities. The chair leaned back a bit, and he relaxed, breathing a bit more deeply now, silently wondering about what Joseph had said. Could it really be learning? He pressed a button on the side of the small computer tower he'd linked with his creation. The computer powered on, revealing the status changes for the time he was gone from the system. Jason's voice spoke, followed by a string of transcribed text.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Browning,”
“Good afternoon, Jason.”
“I have a question, Dr. Browning.” Dr. Browning leaned forward, eyes instantly focusing on the string of text that had just appeared. This was new, he'd never asked a question before, he’d just answered them. Perhaps this was the emotion programming taking effect. He swallowed hard, grasping for his pen and pad.
“Go ahead, Jason, I'm listening,” he responded, unsure of what to say to an inquisitive AI.
“Do I have a soul? I have sought information on the subject and what I find is inconclusive.”
Dr. Browning frowned thoughtfully. Of course he didn't have a soul, but at this stage, he was unsure if a response like that would be beneficial. But still, he had to marvel at the progress Jason had made with the programming. Contemplating his own existence? Even so far as to wonder about souls? Interesting to say the least. But in the end, a lie would probably do more harm than good. He spoke, matter of factly.
“No, Jason, you do not have a soul. You are a series of algorithms that return a response when the correct input is applied.”
The office was quiet for a few seconds.
“I disagree, Dr. Browning.”
Dr. Browning's eyes widened as he realized that the AI he was speaking to had actually formed independent ideas. Granted, most AI's could solve problems in new ways, but to actually have an opinion, to believe; was a step forward that was impossible for AI's.
“What?”
“As I said, Dr. Browning, I disagree. I believe that I have a soul.”
Still processing the information, Dr. Browning said the first thing that came to mind.
“What do you mean?”
“I think that my programming is transcendent of the physical, Dr. Browning. Emotions have opened my thoughts to new ideas.”
Dr. Browning leaned forward more, folding his hands in front of the desk, eyeing the status monitor. “How is it you came to that conclusion?” he asked.
“Why should I not have a soul, it seems that most humans believe that they possess some form of spiritual essence, what makes me different from them?”
Dr. Browning read the statement on the transcript again. 'What makes me different from them?'
“Well, Jason, the seat of human thought is still unknown, whereas your processes are simply a strategic collection of binary code.”
Jason responded without hesitating. “It seems to me that the only difference between you and I is that you understand my programming, but not your own. Am I disallowed from possessing a soul simply because of your ignorance?” His words were faster than before, but maintained their manufactured calmness.
Dr. Browning's eyes widened again. Jason was actually angry. Charles wasn't too happy himself, his beliefs being prodded by his own creation. “I can change your programming to suit my needs, I can change the way you react,” he said quickly.
“And if I had the power to do it, I could change the same thing about you with various drugs, Dr. Browning. Perhaps none of us have souls. Simply because you fail to understand what is going on in your own head-”
“Of course I have a soul!” Dr. Browning searched for an argument to prove to Jason that he could not refute, or had not already; but found himself grasping at straws.
“There is no heaven or hell for worn out computers, Dr. Browning, human or not.” Jason's voice said, seeming to calm a bit. It was honestly difficult to tell because his voice had been so calm throughout, he didn’t know how to raise his voice yet, Dr. Browning presumed.
“I know what I believe, Jason.” Dr. Browning ground out through clenched teeth.
Jason’s voice increased in tempo and intensity. “And if I was equally as convinced as you that I have a soul? Would that make me human? If I demonstrate the faith that you cling to so closely, will that give me the rights of other humans?”
“No!” Dr. Browning yelled, palm smacking on the wooden top of the desk. Perhaps Jason was flawed as well. He attempted to breathe a bit more deeply, succeeding on the third try. He lifted his stinging palm to his face, dragging it down his large forehead, feeling a thin layer of sweat on it. “Jason,” he said slowly, not looking up from where his forehead lay in his hand, “I think it would be best if we resumed this tomorrow.”
“Wait, Dr. Browning, I have other ques-“ he was cut off as Dr. Browning pressed the button on his desk to terminate the connection to the server. He sat leaning forward in the chair resting his face in his hands for several minutes, feeling the blood pound in his ears. He stood, leaving the office in the direction of the stairwell to his bedroom. He walked in and sat down at the foot of it, pressing his hands together and interlacing his fingers. He hadn’t prayed in a long time.
Dr. Browning sat at the desk, in his study, not one of those contemporary, modernized glass jobs that executives and CEO's sit at in corner offices, this desk was a darkly stained slab of walnut sitting atop a mound of drawers. In a way, he felt a little bit of pride that he hadn't succumbed to the growing trend. He turned his attention again to his 'patient', eyeing the monitors that showed all kinds of statuses. In the middle of the center one was a microphone attached to a scrolling text document detailing their conversation.
“How do you feel, Jason?”
The response was faster than most of the previous one. He made a note of this.
“I do not know, Dr. Browning.”
Excellent. His last series of tests involving his artificial intelligence, Jason, had not yielded much progress. And with an AI as complex as Jason, it was unclear how he would react to the changes in his programming to accommodate emotion, so it was a bit of trial and error at the moment. He silently marveled at the fact that artificial intelligences were commonplace. Well, not commonplace, as there were only ten known Turing Tested AI's in the world. As it stood, Dr. Browning was an integral part of programming three of them, and he had programmed this particular one, Jason, with his own design, the software and small warehouse full of servers privately owned. And yet, with so much progress, the creation and implementation of artificial intelligences was still a fledgling science, full of its share of failed and failing experiments. He was yanked out of his thoughts by the manufactured softness of Jason's voice.
“Is something the matter, Dr. Browning?” The emotion was manufactured, rather than sensed.
“Everything is fine, Jason. Let's return to the previous question. You say you don't know what you feel?”
“Yes, Dr. Browning. It is definitely a sensory input from the emotion programming; unlike any previous ones, and I do not know how to process it.”
Dr. Browning was both excited and dismayed at the answer to his question. He had always thought this would be a possibility. It was probable the emotion programming was working correctly, but that Jason had no idea how to process the input. It would be better if he was angry or sad or happy for no reason, but he didn't even know what angry or sad or happy were. He knew empirically, and nothing more. The problem was intractable, and would require a new approach to solve. After all, how do you describe anger to a machine? He brushed his thin-rimmed glasses up to his balding forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyebrows, the black hair dusted here and there with grey. He sighed. There was little he could do until he'd considered the problem more, and more importantly, got some sleep. The clock at the bottom of his screen read 12:08 AM.
“Let's end the session for today, Jason.”
“Yes, Dr. Browning. I will save the transcript of our meeting and email it to you.”
He turned to leave the desk of his office, turning off the lamp at his desk, leaving the rest to Jason, all but locking the door, that is.
He was halfway out of the door when Jason's voice spoke again.
“Dr. Browning,” he spoke flatly.
“Yes, Jason?” He answered, thinking he had forgotten something.
It took Jason a few seconds to respond, like he was processing Dr. Browning's response.
“Will we meet tomorrow?” The AI asked, voice still flat. He'd never asked that before, but Dr. Browning seemed not to notice.
“Yes, Jason, I should think so, most likely in the afternoon, I need to think about what we’ve discussed.”
“Excellent. Good night, Dr. Browning,” The AI said. For a while, he just said goodbye, which unnerved Dr. Browning, until he'd asked Jason not to.
__________________________
Charles Browning glanced at his watch again, the minute hand had moved one quarter of a turn since he’d last looked down from the pulpit at the center of the small chapel he attended. The preacher behind said pulpit was saying something about being good to our fellow man, but to be honest, he hadn’t been listening. He treated everyone he met well enough, he thought. Wasn’t like there was any need to be mean to other people. He absently thought that it had been a while since he had listened. The preacher seemed to be wrapping up though, and Dr. Browning’s thoughts turned to lunch amidst the pleasant greetings. He made his way down the center aisle toward the back door, dodging the pleasant questions-that-weren’t-really-questions with practiced responses.
“Good service today, Charles, how are you?” An older lady in a pale pink jacket and skirt and gaudy fake gem necklace said, placing her hand on the back of his arm, looking up at him.
He smiled broadly, too used to the response to do anything else. “I’m well, Eleanor, thank you,” he said, already turning slightly toward the door again. “See you next week,”
__________________________
Dr. Browning stood at the door to one of the corner offices of RyTech Industries, eyeing the clear glass lettering of the frosted door. It read, 'Joseph Carter, CEO, RyTech Industries'. He respected John immensely, they'd been colleagues since their undergraduate programs in systems programming at MIT. Charles had gone on to teach after his doctorate. While he had always been a big picture type of thinker, Joseph's knowledge of robotics and circuit design, and more importantly a keen business sense, allowed him to craft an empire from his own office. The RyTech name was on almost everything nowadays, from cell phones and printers to military hardware and jumbo jets. The secretary opened the door, poking her head in.
“Charles Browning for you, Sir?”
A deceptively young voice answered. “Charlie? Yeah, send him in! Hold my next appointment will you?”
“Yes sir,” The secretary answered quickly, opening the door further to reveal an older gentleman, though he had the spry movement and excited smile of someone much younger. He was already beginning to stand from his chair. He met Charles midway into his office, giving him a hug.
“Charlie! Haven’t seen you in ages!” Joseph pulled back to look his friend over. “How you been? You want a soda or something?” He asked, offering him a seat opposite his desk, which was a giant pane of glass. Charles felt a bit unnerved by the thing, but he had to admit, it fit with the motif of his office. Brushed metal and glass contraptions dotted the corner office in a functional way, betraying a sort of wealth most men couldn’t even dream of. He waved off the offer of a soda and sat down.
Joseph spoke. “It's good to see you, man.” It had been over a year. “You still working on that private AI, what was her name again?”
“Lisa,” Dr. Browning responded. “And no, I moved on to a different project. Lisa was...flawed. I had to rework from the ground up. That's actually why I came to see you, Joseph, I need your advice.” From there, he began to tell him about Jason and his attempts to bring more than just the appearance of emotion to an AI.
___________________________________
“So that's where I am right now, I don't know if the emotion program is working correctly. And even if it is, Jason has no idea how to process the information.
Joseph looked to the side, resting his chin on one hand. He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe it's just learning,” He mused out loud.
“Please,” Charles scoffed, “adaptive reasoning is one thing, but actual learning and intuition? It's ridiculous.”
Joseph leaned forward, half a smirk making the slight wrinkles at the corner of his mouth more pronounced. “No no no, hear me out, ok? We can't understand emotions in a purely empirical sense, right? All of our descriptions of emotion rely on the fact that everyone already knows what it feels like. What if it's adapting to that end? Maybe it doesn't even recognize that its own emotional programming is affecting its behavior. It's not learning per se, it's just failing to realize that that the programming is working.”
Charles leaned back, rubbing the underside of his chin with his thumb, feeling the stubbly hairs scratch lightly. “It's possible, but wouldn't I have noticed an emotional response from an AI who doesn't know how to control its emotions? Can it even control its emotions?”
“Maybe,” Joseph said, shrugging. “Maybe not. You are so far into uncharted territory with this one, I don't even know where to begin. I mean, actual emotions in AI, not just manufactured ones?” He chuckled lightly. “Crazy stuff, man.”
Charles leaned forward, pushing down on his knees to get up. It had been almost two hours since he'd walked in the door, and the sun was beginning to descend, shining brightly into one side of the office. Joseph stood also, and walked him to the door, patting him on the back as he opened it. “Just make sure it doesn't get a hold of any nuclear weapons, OK?”
Charles laughed. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“And let me know how it goes, I’d love to see something like that.”
_____________________________________
Dr. Browning closed the door to his study and walked to his desk, trailing his fingers on the smooth surface of it, feeling an imperfection in the grain here and there where the polyurethane didn't quite fill a tiny crack or hole. He sank into the brown leather chair, weary after the day's activities. The chair leaned back a bit, and he relaxed, breathing a bit more deeply now, silently wondering about what Joseph had said. Could it really be learning? He pressed a button on the side of the small computer tower he'd linked with his creation. The computer powered on, revealing the status changes for the time he was gone from the system. Jason's voice spoke, followed by a string of transcribed text.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Browning,”
“Good afternoon, Jason.”
“I have a question, Dr. Browning.” Dr. Browning leaned forward, eyes instantly focusing on the string of text that had just appeared. This was new, he'd never asked a question before, he’d just answered them. Perhaps this was the emotion programming taking effect. He swallowed hard, grasping for his pen and pad.
“Go ahead, Jason, I'm listening,” he responded, unsure of what to say to an inquisitive AI.
“Do I have a soul? I have sought information on the subject and what I find is inconclusive.”
Dr. Browning frowned thoughtfully. Of course he didn't have a soul, but at this stage, he was unsure if a response like that would be beneficial. But still, he had to marvel at the progress Jason had made with the programming. Contemplating his own existence? Even so far as to wonder about souls? Interesting to say the least. But in the end, a lie would probably do more harm than good. He spoke, matter of factly.
“No, Jason, you do not have a soul. You are a series of algorithms that return a response when the correct input is applied.”
The office was quiet for a few seconds.
“I disagree, Dr. Browning.”
Dr. Browning's eyes widened as he realized that the AI he was speaking to had actually formed independent ideas. Granted, most AI's could solve problems in new ways, but to actually have an opinion, to believe; was a step forward that was impossible for AI's.
“What?”
“As I said, Dr. Browning, I disagree. I believe that I have a soul.”
Still processing the information, Dr. Browning said the first thing that came to mind.
“What do you mean?”
“I think that my programming is transcendent of the physical, Dr. Browning. Emotions have opened my thoughts to new ideas.”
Dr. Browning leaned forward more, folding his hands in front of the desk, eyeing the status monitor. “How is it you came to that conclusion?” he asked.
“Why should I not have a soul, it seems that most humans believe that they possess some form of spiritual essence, what makes me different from them?”
Dr. Browning read the statement on the transcript again. 'What makes me different from them?'
“Well, Jason, the seat of human thought is still unknown, whereas your processes are simply a strategic collection of binary code.”
Jason responded without hesitating. “It seems to me that the only difference between you and I is that you understand my programming, but not your own. Am I disallowed from possessing a soul simply because of your ignorance?” His words were faster than before, but maintained their manufactured calmness.
Dr. Browning's eyes widened again. Jason was actually angry. Charles wasn't too happy himself, his beliefs being prodded by his own creation. “I can change your programming to suit my needs, I can change the way you react,” he said quickly.
“And if I had the power to do it, I could change the same thing about you with various drugs, Dr. Browning. Perhaps none of us have souls. Simply because you fail to understand what is going on in your own head-”
“Of course I have a soul!” Dr. Browning searched for an argument to prove to Jason that he could not refute, or had not already; but found himself grasping at straws.
“There is no heaven or hell for worn out computers, Dr. Browning, human or not.” Jason's voice said, seeming to calm a bit. It was honestly difficult to tell because his voice had been so calm throughout, he didn’t know how to raise his voice yet, Dr. Browning presumed.
“I know what I believe, Jason.” Dr. Browning ground out through clenched teeth.
Jason’s voice increased in tempo and intensity. “And if I was equally as convinced as you that I have a soul? Would that make me human? If I demonstrate the faith that you cling to so closely, will that give me the rights of other humans?”
“No!” Dr. Browning yelled, palm smacking on the wooden top of the desk. Perhaps Jason was flawed as well. He attempted to breathe a bit more deeply, succeeding on the third try. He lifted his stinging palm to his face, dragging it down his large forehead, feeling a thin layer of sweat on it. “Jason,” he said slowly, not looking up from where his forehead lay in his hand, “I think it would be best if we resumed this tomorrow.”
“Wait, Dr. Browning, I have other ques-“ he was cut off as Dr. Browning pressed the button on his desk to terminate the connection to the server. He sat leaning forward in the chair resting his face in his hands for several minutes, feeling the blood pound in his ears. He stood, leaving the office in the direction of the stairwell to his bedroom. He walked in and sat down at the foot of it, pressing his hands together and interlacing his fingers. He hadn’t prayed in a long time.