The Book of Machines

The writer commences:—“There was a time, when the earth was to all appearance utterly destitute both of animal and vegetable life, and when according to the opinion of our best philosophers it was simply a hot round ball with a crust gradually cooling. Now if a human being had existed while the earth was in this state and had been allowed to see it as though it were some other world with which he had no concern, and if at the same time he were entirely ignorant of all physical science, would he not have pronounced it impossible that creatures possessed of anything like consciousness should be evolved from the seeming cinder which he was beholding? Would he not have denied that it contained any potentiality of consciousness? Yet in the course of time consciousness came. Is it not possible then that there may be even yet new channels dug out for consciousness, though we can detect no signs of them at present?

The writer begins: “There was a time when the earth appeared to have no animal or plant life at all. According to our best philosophers, it was simply a hot, round ball with a crust that was gradually cooling. Suppose a human being had existed while the earth was in this state. Suppose, too, that he could see it as another world, one that was no concern of his, and that he knew nothing of physical science. Would he not have said it was impossible for creatures with anything like consciousness to evolve from that apparent cinder? Would he not have denied that it had any potential for consciousness? Yet, in time, consciousness came. Is it not possible, then, that new channels for consciousness may still be opened, though we can detect no signs of them at present?

“Again. Consciousness, in anything like the present acceptation of the term, having been once a new thing—a thing, as far as we can see, subsequent even to an individual centre of action and to a reproductive system (which we see existing in plants without apparent consciousness)—why may not there arise some new phase of mind which shall be as different from all present known phases, as the mind of animals is from that of vegetables?

“Again, consciousness, in anything like its current meaning, was once new. As far as we can see, it arose after even an individual center of action and a reproductive system. We see plants with these features but no apparent consciousness. So why might a new form of mind not arise? It could be as different from all currently known forms as the animal mind is from the plant mind.

“It would be absurd to attempt to define such a mental state (or whatever it may be called), inasmuch as it must be something so foreign to man that his experience can give him no help towards conceiving its nature; but surely when we reflect upon the manifold phases of life and consciousness which have been evolved already, it would be rash to say that no others can be developed, and that animal life is the end of all things. There was a time when fire was the end of all things: another when rocks and water were so.”

“It would be absurd to try to define such a mental state (or whatever we may call it). It must be so alien to humans that our experience cannot help us imagine what it is like. But consider the many forms of life and consciousness that have already evolved. Surely it would be rash to say that no others can develop, and that animal life is the end of all things. There was a time when fire was the end of all things. At another time, rocks and water were the end of all things.”

The writer, after enlarging on the above for several pages, proceeded to inquire whether traces of the approach of such a new phase of life could be perceived at present; whether we could see any tenements preparing which might in a remote futurity be adapted for it; whether, in fact, the primordial cell of such a kind of life could be now detected upon earth. In the course of his work he answered this question in the affirmative and pointed to the higher machines.

After discussing the above for several pages, the writer asked whether signs of this new phase of life were already visible. Were structures emerging that might, in the distant future, be suited to house it? In fact, could the first cell of this kind of life now be found on earth? Later in his work, he answered yes and pointed to the more advanced machines.

“There is no security”—to quote his own words—“against the ultimate development of mechanical consciousness, in the fact of machines possessing little consciousness now. A mollusc has not much consciousness. Reflect upon the extraordinary advance which machines have made during the last few hundred years, and note how slowly the animal and vegetable kingdoms are advancing. The more highly organised machines are creatures not so much of yesterday, as of the last five minutes, so to speak, in comparison with past time. Assume for the sake of argument that conscious beings have existed for some twenty million years: see what strides machines have made in the last thousand! May not the world last twenty million years longer? If so, what will they not in the end become? Is it not safer to nip the mischief in the bud and to forbid them further progress?

“Machines have little consciousness now. But that is no guarantee,” to quote his own words, “that they will not eventually develop consciousness. A mollusc does not have much consciousness either. Consider the extraordinary progress machines have made over the last few hundred years. Now notice how slowly the animal and plant kingdoms are advancing. Compared with the whole of past time, the most highly organized machines are not so much creatures of yesterday as creatures of the last five minutes, so to speak. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that conscious beings have existed for about twenty million years. Look at the strides machines have made in the last thousand! Might the world not last another twenty million years? If so, what might machines eventually become? Would it not be safer to nip the trouble in the bud and forbid machines from advancing any further?

“But who can say that the vapour engine has not a kind of consciousness? Where does consciousness begin, and where end? Who can draw the line? Who can draw any line? Is not everything interwoven with everything? Is not machinery linked with animal life in an infinite variety of ways? The shell of a hen’s egg is made of a delicate white ware and is a machine as much as an egg-cup is: the shell is a device for holding the egg, as much as the egg-cup for holding the shell: both are phases of the same function; the hen makes the shell in her inside, but it is pure pottery. She makes her nest outside of herself for convenience’ sake, but the nest is not more of a machine than the egg-shell is. A ‘machine’ is only a ‘device.’”

“But who can say that the steam engine does not have a kind of consciousness? Where does consciousness begin, and where does it end? Who can draw the line? Who can draw any line? Isn’t everything connected to everything else? Isn’t machinery linked to animal life in an endless variety of ways? A hen’s eggshell is made of a delicate white material. It is as much a machine as an egg cup. The shell is a device for holding the egg, just as the egg cup holds the shell. Both serve the same function in different ways. The hen makes the shell inside her body, but it is pure pottery. She makes her nest outside her body for convenience, but the nest is no more a machine than the eggshell. A ‘machine’ is only a ‘device.’”

Then returning to consciousness, and endeavouring to detect its earliest manifestations, the writer continued:-

Then, returning to the subject of consciousness and trying to identify its earliest signs, the writer continued:

“There is a kind of plant that eats organic food with its flowers: when a fly settles upon the blossom, the petals close upon it and hold it fast till the plant has absorbed the insect into its system; but they will close on nothing but what is good to eat; of a drop of rain or a piece of stick they will take no notice. Curious! that so unconscious a thing should have such a keen eye to its own interest. If this is unconsciousness, where is the use of consciousness?

“There is a kind of plant that eats organic food with its flowers. When a fly lands on a flower, the petals close around it. They hold it fast until the plant has absorbed the insect. But the petals close only on things that are good to eat. They take no notice of a drop of rain or a piece of stick. Curious! Such an unconscious thing has such a keen eye for its own interest. If this is unconsciousness, what use is consciousness?

“Shall we say that the plant does not know what it is doing merely because it has no eyes, or ears, or brains? If we say that it acts mechanically, and mechanically only, shall we not be forced to admit that sundry other and apparently very deliberate actions are also mechanical? If it seems to us that the plant kills and eats a fly mechanically, may it not seem to the plant that a man must kill and eat a sheep mechanically?

“Should we say that the plant doesn't know what it's doing just because it has no eyes, ears, or brain? If we say that it acts purely mechanically, won't we have to admit that other apparently deliberate actions are mechanical too? If the plant seems to us to kill and eat a fly mechanically, might it not seem to the plant that a man must kill and eat a sheep mechanically?

“But it may be said that the plant is void of reason, because the growth of a plant is an involuntary growth. Given earth, air, and due temperature, the plant must grow: it is like a clock, which being once wound up will go till it is stopped or run down: it is like the wind blowing on the sails of a ship—the ship must go when the wind blows it. But can a healthy boy help growing if he have good meat and drink and clothing? can anything help going as long as it is wound up, or go on after it is run down? Is there not a winding up process everywhere?

“But it may be said that a plant has no reason because its growth is involuntary. Given soil, air, and the right temperature, a plant must grow. It is like a clock that, once wound up, runs until it is stopped or runs down. It is like the wind blowing on a ship’s sails. The ship must move when the wind blows it. But can a healthy boy stop himself from growing if he has good food, drink, and clothing? Can anything stop running while it is wound up, or keep running after it has run down? Isn’t there a winding-up process everywhere?

“Even a potato⁵ in a dark cellar has a certain low cunning about him which serves him in excellent stead. He knows perfectly well what he wants and how to get it. He sees the light coming from the cellar window and sends his shoots crawling straight thereto: they will crawl along the floor and up the wall and out at the cellar window; if there be a little earth anywhere on the journey he will find it and use it for his own ends. What deliberation he may exercise in the matter of his roots when he is planted in the earth is a thing unknown to us, but we can imagine him saying, ‘I will have a tuber here and a tuber there, and I will suck whatsoever advantage I can from all my surroundings. This neighbour I will overshadow, and that I will undermine; and what I can do shall be the limit of what I will do. He that is stronger and better placed than I shall overcome me, and him that is weaker I will overcome.’

“Even a potato⁵ in a dark cellar has a certain low cunning that serves him very well. He knows perfectly well what he wants and how to get it. He sees the light coming from the cellar window and sends his shoots crawling straight toward it. They will crawl along the floor, up the wall, and out through the window. If there is a little soil anywhere along the way, he will find it and use it for his own purposes. We do not know how much thought he gives to his roots when he is planted in the earth. But we can imagine him saying, ‘I will have a tuber here and a tuber there. I will take whatever advantage I can from everything around me. I will overshadow one neighbor and undermine another. What I can do will be the only limit to what I will do. Whoever is stronger and better placed than I am will overcome me, and I will overcome whoever is weaker.’

“The potato says these things by doing them, which is the best of languages. What is consciousness if this is not consciousness? We find it difficult to sympathise with the emotions of a potato; so we do with those of an oyster. Neither of these things makes a noise on being boiled or opened, and noise appeals to us more strongly than anything else, because we make so much about our own sufferings. Since, then, they do not annoy us by any expression of pain we call them emotionless; and so quâ mankind they are; but mankind is not everybody.

“The potato says these things by doing them, and that is the best language. If this is not consciousness, what is? We find it hard to sympathize with a potato’s emotions. We find it just as hard with an oyster’s. Neither makes a noise when it is boiled or opened. And noise appeals to us more strongly than anything else because we make so much noise about our own suffering. So, because they do not annoy us by expressing pain, we call them emotionless. And as far as mankind is concerned, they are. But mankind is not everybody.

If it be urged that the action of the potato is chemical and mechanical only, and that it is due to the chemical and mechanical effects of light and heat, the answer would seem to lie in an inquiry whether every sensation is not chemical and mechanical in its operation? whether those things which we deem most purely spiritual are anything but disturbances of equilibrium in an infinite series of levers, beginning with those that are too small for microscopic detection, and going up to the human arm and the appliances which it makes use of? whether there be not a molecular action of thought, whence a dynamical theory of the passions shall be deducible? Whether strictly speaking we should not ask what kind of levers a man is made of rather than what is his temperament? How are they balanced? How much of such and such will it take to weigh them down so as to make him do so and so?”

If someone argues that the potato’s action is purely chemical and mechanical, and results from the chemical and mechanical effects of light and heat, the answer would seem to lie in asking some questions. Isn’t every sensation chemical and mechanical in how it works? Are the things we consider most purely spiritual anything more than disturbances of balance in an infinite series of levers? These range from levers too small to be detected by a microscope to the human arm and the tools it uses. Doesn’t thought involve molecular action, from which a dynamical theory of the passions could be derived? Strictly speaking, shouldn’t we ask what kinds of levers a person is made of, rather than what their temperament is? How are those levers balanced? How much of this or that will it take to weigh them down and make the person do one thing or another?”

The writer went on to say that he anticipated a time when it would be possible, by examining a single hair with a powerful microscope, to know whether its owner could be insulted with impunity. He then became more and more obscure, so that I was obliged to give up all attempt at translation; neither did I follow the drift of his argument. On coming to the next part which I could construe, I found that he had changed his ground.

The writer went on to predict that one day a single hair could be examined under a powerful microscope. This would reveal whether its owner could be insulted without risk of retaliation. His writing then became more and more obscure, so I had to give up trying to translate it. Nor could I follow the direction of his argument. When I came to the next part I could understand, I found that he had changed the subject.

“Either,” he proceeds, “a great deal of action that has been called purely mechanical and unconscious must be admitted to contain more elements of consciousness than has been allowed hitherto (and in this case germs of consciousness will be found in many actions of the higher machines)—Or (assuming the theory of evolution but at the same time denying the consciousness of vegetable and crystalline action) the race of man has descended from things which had no consciousness at all. In this case there is no à priori improbability in the descent of conscious (and more than conscious) machines from those which now exist, except that which is suggested by the apparent absence of anything like a reproductive system in the mechanical kingdom. This absence however is only apparent, as I shall presently show.

“Either,” he continues, “we must admit that much action called purely mechanical and unconscious contains more consciousness than previously allowed. (In that case, traces of consciousness will be found in many actions of the more advanced machines.) Or, if we accept evolution but deny consciousness in plant and crystal activity, humans have descended from things with no consciousness at all. In that case, there is no a priori reason to think conscious machines could not descend from those that now exist. Nor is there any such reason to think machines with more than consciousness could not do so. The only exception is the apparent absence of anything like a reproductive system in the mechanical kingdom. But this absence is only apparent, as I shall soon show.

“Do not let me be misunderstood as living in fear of any actually existing machine; there is probably no known machine which is more than a prototype of future mechanical life. The present machines are to the future as the early Saurians to man. The largest of them will probably greatly diminish in size. Some of the lowest vertebrate attained a much greater bulk than has descended to their more highly organised living representatives, and in like manner a diminution in the size of machines has often attended their development and progress.

“Do not misunderstand me. I do not live in fear of any machine that exists today. Probably no known machine is more than a prototype of future mechanical life. Today’s machines are to future machines what the early Saurians were to humans. The largest machines will probably become much smaller. Some of the simplest vertebrates grew much larger than their more highly organized living descendants. Similarly, machines have often grown smaller as they have developed and advanced.

“Take the watch, for example; examine its beautiful structure; observe the intelligent play of the minute members which compose it: yet this little creature is but a development of the cumbrous clocks that preceded it; it is no deterioration from them. A day may come when clocks, which certainly at the present time are not diminishing in bulk, will be superseded owing to the universal use of watches, in which case they will become as extinct as ichthyosauri, while the watch, whose tendency has for some years been to decrease in size rather than the contrary, will remain the only existing type of an extinct race.

“Take the watch, for example. Examine its beautiful structure and observe the intelligent movement of its tiny parts. Yet this little creature developed from the bulky clocks that came before it. It is no worse than they were. Clocks are certainly not getting any smaller now. A day may come when watches are used everywhere and replace clocks. If that happens, clocks will become as extinct as ichthyosauri. Watches, which have tended to shrink rather than grow for some years, will be the only surviving type of an extinct race.

“But returning to the argument, I would repeat that I fear none of the existing machines; what I fear is the extraordinary rapidity with which they are becoming something very different to what they are at present. No class of beings have in any time past made so rapid a movement forward. Should not that movement be jealously watched, and checked while we can still check it? And is it not necessary for this end to destroy the more advanced of the machines which are in use at present, though it is admitted that they are in themselves harmless?

“But returning to the argument, I repeat that I do not fear any of the machines that exist today. What I fear is how extraordinarily fast they are becoming something very different from what they are now. No class of beings has ever advanced so quickly. Should we not watch that advance closely and check it while we still can? To do that, must we not destroy the more advanced machines now in use, though they are harmless in themselves?

“As yet the machines receive their impressions through the agency of man’s senses: one travelling machine calls to another in a shrill accent of alarm and the other instantly retires; but it is through the ears of the driver that the voice of the one has acted upon the other. Had there been no driver, the callee would have been deaf to the caller. There was a time when it must have seemed highly improbable that machines should learn to make their wants known by sound, even through the ears of man; may we not conceive, then, that a day will come when those ears will be no longer needed, and the hearing will be done by the delicacy of the machine’s own construction?—when its language shall have been developed from the cry of animals to a speech as intricate as our own?

“So far, machines receive impressions through human senses. One moving machine calls to another with a shrill alarm, and the other immediately moves back. But the first machine’s call affects the second through the driver’s ears. Without a driver, the machine being called would be deaf to the caller. There was a time when it must have seemed highly unlikely that machines would learn to express their needs through sound, even through human ears. So can we not imagine a day when human ears will no longer be needed? Might machines then hear through the sensitivity of their own construction? Might their language develop from the cries of animals into speech as intricate as our own?

“It is possible that by that time children will learn the differential calculus—as they learn now to speak—from their mothers and nurses, or that they may talk in the hypothetical language, and work rule of three sums, as soon as they are born; but this is not probable; we cannot calculate on any corresponding advance in man’s intellectual or physical powers which shall be a set-off against the far greater development which seems in store for the machines. Some people may say that man’s moral influence will suffice to rule them; but I cannot think it will ever be safe to repose much trust in the moral sense of any machine.

“It is possible that by then children will learn calculus from their mothers and nurses, just as they now learn to speak. They might even speak the hypothetical language and solve problems using the rule of three as soon as they are born. But this is unlikely. We cannot count on human minds or bodies advancing enough to match the much greater development that seems to lie ahead for machines. Some people may say that man’s moral influence will be enough to control them. But I cannot think it will ever be safe to place much trust in the moral sense of any machine.

“Again, might not the glory of the machines consist in their being without this same boasted gift of language? ‘Silence,’ it has been said by one writer, ‘is a virtue which renders us agreeable to our fellow-creatures.’”

“Again, might the glory of the machines lie in their lack of that much-praised gift of language? As one writer said, ‘Silence is a virtue that makes us pleasant to our fellow creatures.’”