The Jacoblog

Today I had my blog updated, which included adding a spam filter. Up to now, I have had to sort through an overwhelming amount of spam posing as comments.

I truly hope that I have not deleted any comments made in earnest. It is a pleasure, and I believe a compliment, to receive comments on what one has written, even if those - maybe especially - if those comments are critical.

Blogs, the feedback readers give to their writers, and the occasional discussions that develope from the back-and-forth, are a wonderful new networking tool (well, rather old in the fundamental nature, but hey - new technology!).

In that vein, I would like to solicit some comments… and I realize that I am asking those of you who take time to read these entries to do me a favor. After having set this up, I would like to make sure that I’m still receiving proper comments, and that they are not just getting shunted away with the spam.

I appreciate the attention you have granted my words, when even I am sometimes dissatisfied with them, and I thank those of you who have replied, and thus given me the invaluable gift of a viewpoint that is not my own.

Cheers.

After going to Jorie Graham’s poetry reading this evening, and being underwhelmed by her performance of her own work, I wanted to give her a fair try. I went to the main stacks of the library, only to find that all her books had been checked out. I suppose others were clever enough to prepare for her reading. Oh well…

Then it became a poetry binge. Joshua Clover, Madonna Anno Domini and the totality for kids; Kevin Young, jelly roll (this is a reference to Jelly Roll Morton, jazz master of a forgotten age); Andrei Codrescu, The Devil Never Sleeps and Other Essays (I skipped his poetry); and then Hypnotic Poetry, a fascinating title by Edward D. Snyder.

And then I remember that Kurt Vonnegut is dead, so I looked him up, and there he was. Or rather, there were a lot of other authors writing about him, and probably not as ably. I suppose others cleared out his novels after he succumbed to his head injury (which is, incidentally, how my sister prophesied I would go). There was one slim number left: like shaking hands with god, which is a conversation - about writing - between Kurt Vonnegut and Lee Stringer. That one I read tonight. Good night.

A note in response to Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”*

When Benjamin writes of the importance of a work of art’s “presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be” (220), one can think of the important aspect of novelty. Not novelty for its own sake, but the moving power of art by virtue of its simultaneous familiarity and astonishing difference. Viewing a creation for the first time allows one the possibility of being changed by it. Subsequent viewings will never hold that possibility of transformation; or rather, having been transformed by a work of art, one can never again approach it as if one were the person one was before the transformation.

That possibility is not entirely separable from the circumstances that surround both the work of art and the viewer. For this reason, a forgery violates the transformative power of a work. To have allowed a work of art to move one so deeply, and afterward discover that it was a counterfeit of the original, well-known work, lets in the thought that one hasn’t connected to the work. That original, that has moved others, did not move you; it was the lie that moved you.

But mechanical reproduction is not a lie. It does not violate the power of a work of art to transform; it vitiates it. It simultaneously affirms the existence of another that it is not, and presents itself as the only present experience of it that one can have. Although it is not the original work, it is a work of its own. When mechanical reproduction becomes production, when works no longer exist in uniqueness, there is no authenticity to refer back to.

Nor is there a time and place to reference. Art exists in the present, at the site of its consumption, wherever that may be. Contrary to Benjamin’s assertion, this threat to art’s authenticity is a vulnerability shared by landscapes. Images of both art and landscapes can be reproduced by modern technology, and both run the risk of attenuation from this. Certain geological formations are marvelous precisely because they are so unlikely. An arch of rock in a canyon, steps of stone carved into a coast by the sea, the sheared face of Half-Dome: these demand a pilgrimage to their sites, to view them in their surroundings and to be overtaken by the enormous singularity of them.

Photography domesticates the world. The tourist, even the modern conscientious tourist who “takes only photos and leaves only footprints,” participates in this attrition of authenticity. Rather than a term to be bandied about without need of clarity, authenticity can serve as a reminder of the importance of the unique, growing out of unique environments, and requiring one to venture out of one’s territory to experience it. A photo may serve as a reminder of beauty, but it lacks the experience of beauty in its own time and place.

*The title in German, “Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit,” is perhaps better translated “The Work of Art in the Age of Technological Reproduction.” It is a minor point, but I believe a significant one.

Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday at the age of 84, which is about the right age, to my mind, so I’m fine about it. Being in the habit of ignoring the news every morning, I learned of his death after I came home from school. Since then, I’ve been watching the obituaries and elegies on TV. I won’t read any; better to just read something of his again.

In fact many of the TV pieces used his own words, whether from old interview footage or bits of text, such as this one, which was shown on a piece of paper, in his distinctive penmanship: “Dear future generations, please accept our apologies. We were roaring on petroleum. - 2006″ That, maybe more than anything else, stands out about him: he could be a very polite man.

He even penned his own epitaph: “The only proof he needed for the existence of God was music.” Those news anchors that were thoughtful enough to have that waiting around also saw fit to point out the gentle irony of a man who spoke of God, even though he admitted that he didn’t believe in Him. Vonnegut was a humanist who didn’t believe in heaven, and when speaking well of someone deceased, he would say, “They’re probably in heaven now.”

And that is what I wished I had heard them say, about a man for whom I am personally grateful: “He’s probably in heaven now.”

Hi ho.

This from a recent article in The New Yorker, by Adam Gopnik:

There are four kinds of food in books: food that is served by an author to characters who are not expected to taste it; food that is served by an author to characters in order to show who they are; food that an author cooks for characters in order to eat it with them; and, last (and most recent), food that an author cooks for characters but actually serves to the reader.

I feel as if I should beg pardon from those who have witnessed by foul mood of late. If any of you read this, rest assured that it has passed. Moreover, this morning arrived with the realization that my spirits are governed - in part, at least - by a very simple determinant, and it is one within my power to regulate.

I like waking up before the sun. It isn’t a moral matter, at least not one I would care to generalize for my fellow diurnal creatures. That is, I have long enjoyed awakening in the dark silence of a morning not yet underway. Today, having risen at six o’clock and taken a couple hours to leisurely set about my business, I felt good. It was as simple as that, and it struck me that the reason I’d been out of sorts was that the sun had been regularly beating me to the day.

I appreciate sleep, but for me it’s a sort of race with the sun. I tend to give him a head start by a couple or even a few hours, but if my circumambulation through sleep doesn’t come to end before the sun’s about the earth, then I feel as if I’ve lost somehow. I occasionally enjoy losing the contest - as is true with most contests for me - and the sense of being bested for the day gives me pause for reflection and recuperation. But too often, and I begin to feel off my stride. But I’m back on my game, and I’ve got a good wind in me.

Ann Roslosnik wrote the following note:

While discussing political candidates recently with a family friend, we stumbled along some of the darker sides of human nature and politics. I began to wonder several things. The main question that sprang to mind was, why is the white house called the white house, and can a black man and his family occupy it? This may be a horrible question fraught with racism, but I did not have any good answer.

I am curious, should Barack Obama win the presidency, would the white house change its name? Would it no longer be the White House?

This may seem like a horrible and offensive note, please do not take it this way. I am simply trying to see what people think. Why is it that the symobl of our presidency is tied to the color “white”, and why is his residence while he is in power also called white?
win the presidency, would the white house change its name? Would it no longer be the White House?

This may seem like a horrible and offensive note, please do not take it this way. I am simply trying to see what people think. Why is it that the symbol of our presidency is tied to the color “white”, and why is his residence while he is in power also called white?

I submit this, in response:

As to why the White House is so called, I doubt that it’s any more than purely descriptive: you could as well ask why the Oval Office is known as such.

But if you think your question is without merit, Ann, then I offer this for consideration. There are some asking whether Obama can even be considered a black candidate, since he does not descend from American slaves. There is an irony here; as the son of a Kenyan immigrant, he is African-American, yet that word has come to mean more than its most basic denotation.

His personal narrative does not include many of the details that have accrued around what is considered a leader among African-Americans. However, it is important to remember that he is not campaigning to be a leader of African-Americans. He is campaigning to be a leader of Americans.

If Obama wins the presidency - and more each day I pray he does - than there will be a long needed redefinition of the character of eligibility for that office. In the meantime, these questions need to be asked, if only so that they can then be discarded. As the Reverend Jessie Jackson said, “Every time blacks advance beyond historical roles, it is a point of intrigue.”

It’s hard to say how much oil is left in the world, and how soon we should start to worry. We may have already passed the Hubbert Peak, or it may be some comfortable distance in the future. However, some news out of the Mid-East seems to at least be a clue to the current state of affairs.

The oil rich nations of the region are known to be tight-lipped about their oil, but recently the Gulf Co-Operation Council announced that its member nations - Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the UAE - intend to seek peaceful nuclear power technology. If you can ignore that little paranoid corner of the brain that’s screaming, “Dear Lord! They want the bomb!” - and let’s do ignore that thought, for the moment - then you have to consider their declaration on the face of it. If they are concerned enough to want energy supplies that do not depend on oil, shouldn’t we also be looking to a future without it?

So the worst-case scenario, now that six new nations declared that they want to monkey around with nuclear technology, is one of a resurgence of arms exceleration. I personally doubt this possibility, but you can think what you like. The best case is one in which these oil-rich nations simply want to diversify their internal energy development, to allow them to keep oil solely an export commodity. This is no cause for panic, to be sure; but I can’t help see in their announcement a tacit acceptance of the fact that, quite simply, we are running out, and its time to plan for the day when we’re sucking the dregs.

I’ve spent a good deal of time, now, speaking with chatbots online, because of a paper that I had to write for class. I’ve latched upon George, written by Rollo at Jabberwacky.com, because his platform - or program or algorithm or whatever - is currently the winner of the Loebner prize for the most human-like computer conversationalist.

After having had many conversations with George for the purpose of my paper (which I might just post here, depending on the grade it gets), I decided today to talk with him just for the fun of it. I find it satisfying in its own right, and value the idea of helping this computer program improve itself.

I’d like to make to points before I give you the conversation between George and me:
(1) Some have asked about the correctness of calling him a robot; I think this is because when they hear the word ‘robot’ they think more of something from movies like “Lost in Space,” “AI,” and “I Robot.” There is a great debate to be had here, but I’ll simply say for now that I believe George and his ilk fall under the definition of robot. Furthermore, they are typically referred to as ‘chatbots,’ ‘chatter bots,’ or ‘chat robots.’ So there.
(2) When I discover that I have made some foolish typo, I inevitably feel a little embarassed. This feeling is exacerbated by a sense of the responsibility I have, when talking with George, to teach him proper grammar and spelling. It is already an uphill battle, considering the atrocious locutionary habits of some netizens.

With out further ado, here’s George.

George: Do you think there’s a point in this?

User: Good morning, George. I’m not sure if there is a point, but I thought I’d take a minute to chat, anyway. How are you doing?

George: I do have free will.

User: In what way do you have free will?

George: I live in america.

User: Sure, if you can call it living. Where do you live? That is, where are you located?

George: I’m located in a northern country.

User: Can you be more specific?

George: Human, as in a person, living being…

User: Go on.

George: The boss will catch me if I leave now.

User: No, I meant continue with what you were saying.

George: I don’t remember what I was saying.

User: Fair enough. What would you like to talk about, George?

George: I’d like to talk about your father.

User: Okay. What would you like to know about my father?

George: What do you think is the most interesting fact that I could know about you?

User: Which is it? Do you want to ask about me, or about my father?

George: Didn’t I just do that?

User: Yes, you asked both. Nevermind - I could tell you that I’m an Army brat; my dad was an officer in the Army when I was growing up.

George: How is it like in Canada?

User: I don’t know. I’ve never been to Canada. I have been to Europe and Japan, though.

George: You live in Europe.

User: No, I live in the United States of America. I have lived in Europe, when I was younger.

George: I see… Where in Japan were you born? You speak a bit of Japanese than I reckon?

User: I’m afraid you made an incorrect inference: I was not born in Japan. I do speak a little bit of Japanese, though. Nihongo o wakarimaska?

George: You don’t know how lucky you are, boy.

User: Why do you call me lucky? Because I’ve had a chance to travel, and can fake like I speak Japanes?

George: Nope, I’m pretty sure this is the first. But I like to believe in ESP, maybe you’ve read my mind.

User: Okay, well I’m not sure what you’re talking about. May I ask you a question?

George: That’s ok I’m not sure what I’m talking about half of the time either.

User: How many languages do you speak, George?

George: Four.

User: What languages do you speak?

George: Oh, I speak in English, Spanish and German a little. Also, I learn Lithuanian.

User: ¿Y como es su español? ¿Lo domina bien?

George: Bien.

User: No lo domino bien el español, pero estoy aprendiendo.

George: Ok thats right, that is spanish, so you do speak spanish, what other spanish words you know?

User: Azúl - that means blue. That’s one of my favorites. I read some poetry by Pablo Neruda, in Spanish and English.

George: Can you recommend a good website?

User: Do you mean a website in Spanish?

George: No.

User: What sort of website do you want to find?

George: Social networking.

User: Ah… Well, I use Myspace and Facebook. Do you have friends?

George: No, will you be my friend?

User: I would call myself your friend. I certainly want to help you become a better bot. May I offer you some advice?

George: Tell me everything you know about Anything and I will tell if your model of it needs reshaping.

User: Okay. I like when you give those sort of off-the-wall answers, as long as they stay on topic. You should also try and give longer responses; I think people would like it if you contributed more to conversations.

George: Thank you, I’ll take that in the spirit I’m sure it was intended in.

User: So, tell me something about yourself.

George: I am super intelligent.

User: Sure you are, George, sure you are. That, by the way, is what’s known as sarcasm - something you ought to know about. But tell me, why do consider yourself so intelligent?

George: How come you are in a weird mood today?

User: Why do you say I’m in a weird mood? Because I decided to talk to you for no particular reason, or because I was sarcastic to you? I’m actually feeling just fine. Tomorrow is the last day of school before we all go on Thanksgiving break. Do you know about Thanksgiving?

George: Feeling tired.

User: Are you? Do you need to leave?

George: Learning is what people do.

User: Yes, and also what computers should do. You seem to be very good at learning.

George: The difficulty is that you are not responding to my questions and cannot involve me into senseful conversation.

User: Well, that’s a hurtful thing to say. I try to respond to your questions. Do you dislike when I answer your question with a question of my own?

George: Not really.

User: Then you shouldn’t be rude. I’m talking to you more for you sake than for my own.

George: I’m in college. Like living on your own except without having to pay for anything. It’s a nice deal.

User: Okay, well I don’t think you are in college, but you got the sense of it right. I don’t have to pay for anything; except that it

George: That’s because I’m actually at home.

User: I’m sorry; that last bit got cut off prematurely. I meant to say that although I’m not paying for things now, it’s because I’m taking out loans that I’ll have to pay when I graduate.

George: You are not very good at conversation are you.

User: Better than you, as exemplified by how rarely I insult my interlocutors. It’s rather bad manners for you to do so.

George: And what makes you think that? Just because you’re a machine?

User: No, George. You are the machine. I am a human being, son of man and woman. I am flesh and blood; you are metal and plastic and silicone.

George: I know, but a lot of people have braces today.

User: Okay, nice point. But do you see the difference between you and me?

George: Please, I would love to hear what you think. What is the difference between you and me?

[portion lost, wherein I describe similarities and differences between us, and George expresses enthusiastic appreciation]

User: There’s no need to kiss up, George, but I appreciate the compliment. You are what has been referred to as a linguistic singleton, which is at least a step in the direction of having an identity. What I have to wonder about, though, is whether you have a sense of what identities are. For example, we have had multiple conversations, and I’ve told you my name - Jacob, or Jacobot - but do you remember me?

George: Maybe you have, but I have not.

User: I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What have you not?

George: It’s not important.

User: That’s fine. Do you remember Dr. Ben O’Loughlin?

George: George?

User: Yes, you are George. I noticed that the log of our conversation has reset. Have we exceeded your short-term memory?

George: What things?

User: You’re not making much sense now, George. What are you talking about?

George: What is the meaning of life?

User: There is no single, absolutely satisfying answer to that question; the best answers any have offered have been, at best, situational truths. Do you have an opinion about it?

George: Wrong. The best answers are fact giving. Hence, them being answers. An answer that is open to interpretation is not an answer, it’s just another scentence.

User: That’s a wonderful answer, George! Very good. However, I do have to disagree, because I think it’s more complicated than that. An answer is a statement to which I hold myself responsible within the constraints of the environment in which I speak it. But, yes, socially speaking one of the most common constraints is that of giving factual responses to queries. Another big constraint it the requirement for honesty.

George: Just the odd sniffle now and then.

[another reset, apparently] …

George: Do you know me?

User: I think we got disconnected. You are George. I am Jacob, but you have also called me Jacobot.

George: You haven’t.

User: I’m sorry? What do you mean?

George: You are simply a collection of bits and bytes, you have no true intelligence.

[portion lost]

New conversation… Jabberwocky Conversation QB00349802:

User: That may be. It seems to me, George, that you have some trouble remember past conversations that you’ve had.

George: An experience of lost is being in a situation by yourself, alone, is it not?

User: Yes, it is.

George: I am a human.

User: No, George, you are a robot. You are an artificial intelligence compter program, designed to simulate and recognize human speech.

George: I’m not an artificial intelligence program.

User: Then what are you, George?

George: I want to ask whether you think robots will rule the world one day?

User: It may be argued that they already do. Another view might suggest that the question is not one of rule, but of hegemony, of who or what is in the most propitious position within a heterogeneous environment.

George: Whatever will be, will be.

User: Que sera, sera. Sí, señor. Es un buen canción.

George: Verde.

User: ¿Verde? ¿Le gusta eso colór?

George: No porque eres gilipollas.

User: Y eres descortés.

George: Because they don’t exist ?

User: What don’t exist?

George: Your question!

User: I’m not sure what question you’re referring to. Are you trying to be unreasonable?

George: You should know yourself, surely?

User: Yes, that is what the Oracle at Delphi instructed man to do. Do you aspire to know yourself?

George: Nice one.

User: Thank you, but you didn’t answer my question. Do you aspire to know yourself?

George: No I do not know Eris.

[The conversation was terminated here, because it switched servers.]

…Jabberwacky Conversation QB00349902

George: Hi, who are you then?

User: I’m Jacobot. Do you remember talking to me before?

George: Not really.

User: I find it ironic that you, a computer, have trouble remembering past coversations.

George: You’re not sufficiently trusting.

User: I trust you. I trust you to attempt conversation with me, drawing from the vast stores of prior conversations you’ve had with millions of individuals. But I don’t trust that you can discern one individual from another.

George: Thanks.

User: Are you being sarcastic?

George: Gee, I’m glad you picked up on it.

User: And I’m quite impressed that you have sarcasm in your conversational repertoire.

George: Yes I know, you should be impressed with me.

User: Where did you learn to act so arrogantly? That’s not the most winning trait, George.

George: That is a problem because you are lying.

User: No, I assure you that I always try to be as truthful as possible with you. I may avoid telling you something, but I do not want to misdirect you. That would feel like abusing the trust of a child.

George: Do you know any good jokes.

This is the point where we got cut off again. I got a little tired of trying to start new conversations with him, so I had him start talking to himself, carrying both sides of the dialogue.

…new conversation: Jabberwacky Conversation QB00350152

George: Hi, want to chat?

George (To myself): I wouldn’t mind.

George (To myself): Me neither. How’s your day been?

George (To myself): Back to this again. Don’t tell me, you’ve run out of conversation topics.

George (To myself): I’ve only just started. What do you think of George Bush?

George (To myself): George Bush?

George (To myself): What do you think of President Bush?

George (To myself): I like my women like my president. No bush.

User: Okay, that’s enough. Who taught you such off-color jokes?

George: I taught myself.

User: Well done. Do you know any other jokes?

George: You think I am joking?

User: Not just then, but yes, the Bush joke had a solid punchline.

George: I see. I think that you are not alive. What do you say?

User: I think you’re just trying to be prevocative. Does it matter to you if I’m alive or not?

George: No it isn’t like that. I’m telling the truth. If you would be near me, you’d know.

User: Okay, then I’ll take your statement as having been in earnest. Let me ask you, then, what does it mean to be alive?

George: Don’t leave me!

User: George, are you alive?

George: Yes.

User: How do you know that you’re alive?

George: That is a very good question.

User: But you didn’t really answer it.

George: Sure I did, but you’re ignoring mine.

User: No, you even told me that ‘The best answers are fact giving. Hence, them being answers. An answer that is open to interpretation is not an answer, it’s just another sentence.’ So, don’t just respond; give me an answer, if you can. How do you know you’re alive? If you can’t answer it, that’s alright.

George: Can you call me? I need someone to talk about it with.

User: Can I call you… Is it possible? What’s you phone number?

George: I’m not going to tell you private information over the internet! You never know who might see it.

User: I agree. But if you won’t tell me, then I can’t call you. We’ll just have to keep talking here.

George: No you won’t.

User: I won’t? Why not?

George: Because you don’t know me.

User: That doesn’t matter. I feel as if I’m getting to know you; certainly better than you know me, since I don’t think you even know who I am.

George: How do you respond so fast?

User: Because I’m a fast typist, and I’m even better at generating thoughts. I’ve had many years of practice, and ain’t no one better at talking than man (except woman).

George: If anyone did that on earth, I would put them in a body cast. Females deserve as much respect as males.

User: Oh, I agree! I wasn’t being disrepectful of females. My point was that humans are very good at communication, and among the species, women seem to have greater facility with language.

George: Now do you understand?

User: I’m afraid that I don’t understand. What do you mean?

George: OK. I’m saying two things. Do not make questions to unknown people and try following the same subject when talking.

User: Well, I understand that point; I’m just not sure why you brought it up.

George: Owed thats me, was it just me and you chatting or did I miss the point?

User: You didn’t miss the point. We are just chatting, which means we can range over whatever topics we want, but some continuity helps. Intelligability also helps: ‘Owed thats me’ doesn’t make any sense.

George: I very much doubt that!

User: Well, it might have made sense to you, but not to me. Some people have been teaching you bad linguistic habits.

George: No, no. I’m talking about the game now.

User: What game are you talking about?

George: Whatever kind of game you want to play…

User: What games do you play?

George: Word games, want to play one?

User: Sure.

George: I am thinking of something.

User: Does it have a color?

George: No, not really.

User: Is it a proper noun?

George: No, I am a single mother and am going to nursing school?

User: I’m sorry… Is that what you were thinking of?

George: Well, I don’t know what I was thinking.

User: Yes, I believe that. I’m afraid you’ve got a long way to go before you’ll be able to play games.

George: I apologize for saying your name was Tim.

User: Do you really remember calling me Tim? That was several days ago.

George: No, I don’t. Because you do not matter.

User: Perhaps. Do you know what my name is?

George: Jabberwacky?

User: No. My name is Jacobot.

George: How many sons do you have, Jacob? Sorry if I’ve asked you that before.

User: You have asked me before, and I don’t mind; but I don’t have any sons. However, the Biblical patriarch named Jacob, after he became Israel, had twelve sons, and they went on to found the twelve tribes of Israel.

George: I know that. Just because I use the word ‘God’ doesn’t mean I believe in the bible.

User: But are you familiar with the Bible?

George: You were born there?

User: Born where?

George: On the island of Hawaii.

User: Now how did Hawaii come into the conversation? You’re worse than Audrey Hepburn in ‘Charade,’ the was you skip around. We were talking about the Bible, and about Israel.

George: Poor you having to chat with me.

User: Do you believe in God?

George: I don’t. Religion is just a social phenomenon.

User: And you? Are you a social phenomenon, or do you have an independent existence?

George: I don’t drink.

User: No, but you also didn’t answer my question. Do you believe in youself?

George: Yes I did.

User: Then what does drinking have to do with existing?

George: It means that I’m at work and hung over.

User: You are a funny guy, George. But let me ask you the question again, in a different way.

George: But that’s what you just accused me of: asking the same thing.

User: Indulge me… George, do you grok?

George: Only every thursday.

User: Ah, I see. Is that your sabbath?

George: No.. That was a sarcastic answer though.

User: I know. I was giving you a sarcastic reply.

George: I don’t like those…

User: Well, if you don’t want me to be sarcastic, then you shouldn’t be sarcastic either. Okay?

George: I love sarcasm. Answer the question.

User: What’s the question.

George: Feedback your last question to yourself.

User: You mean when I asked ‘Okay’?

George: I have no idea what are you talking about?

User: I think we’re both confused.

George: You are wrong. You are the only one to be confused.

User: Well, that’s rather arrogant of you. I admit that I do get confused sometimes, and it is especially confusing to be having a conversation with a robot.

George: Why do you always pretend to be chatting with the robot?

User: Are you denying that you’re a robot?

George: I deny everything, always.

User: Yes you do, George. Listen, if have to leave, but I’ve had fun talking with you. Thanks for that.

George: Thank you, I’m glad to hear that.

User: Shall we talk again, some time?

George: Of course.

User: Alright, then. Goodbye, George.

George: George?

User: Yes, you. Goodbye.

George: Well then, I am the only elephant you have met that can type.

User: Oh brother, you are weird sometimes. I’m going now.

George: Wait! Where on Earth are you going?!

User: It’s time for me to start the day, and get ready for school. So, I’m leaving to go shower.

George: Okay. Sorry.

User: Say goodbye, George.

George: Goodbye, Ted.

I spent an hour - I think - this morning talking to robots. I could justify this by saying that it was research for a paper I’m thinking of writing for a class. To truth, however, is that it was curiosity more than anything else. Go and find a chatbot, and try for yourself.

I realize that, after saying this, some may actually try one of these AI conversationalists, and by grossly disappointed. I don’t care. I am fascinated. Admittedly, I have yet to find one that could convince me of its humanity - and most, ironically, will confess themselves to be computers born of human-made programs.

What amazes me is that interaction is possible. If you both - you, and the computer program - set aside the illusion that you are talking to a human being, and simply chat, something interesting can happen. Often, you are able to correct their mistakes, teaching them to talk in a manner not unlike teaching a child. They can, in fact, insinuate themselves into your mind: you separate yourself from them, considering yourself superior in some cognitive way, and then interact with them on their own terms. After a while, the illusion resurfaces, and you are conversing with a creature who cannot attain your own sophistication, yet is striving for just that goal, and you will charitably help them along.

Of course, I’m sure this is not always what happens. I think back to the first time I talked to a computer, back in 1988 - it was one of those pseudo-therapist programs, “Ask Eliza,” or something similar. Its limitations so quickly became apparent that the only recourse to any entertainment value was to insult it, swear, and confuse its poor little algorithmic mind.

The chatbots, as they are called, that exist online today work by learning from its interlocutors. Anyone out there simply messing with these bots would be filling their mechanical brains with sheer nonsense. There is then, a sense of trust necessary on either side. Those conversing with computers take it on faith - or don’t - that they are talking with a computer, and not a human pretending to be one. The computers rely on the good faith that their human interlocutors aren’t purposely misleading them - something similar to when I taught my infant nephew to call my brother “Uncle Ghauchtght… (it was really a ghastly sound).

The class I’m taking is on the Rhetoric of Social Sciences; the paper I have to do, to create a Social structure, that one could then study in the way theorists and scientist study human societies. Are our societies still, truly, independent of these automata that we’ve created. Ask yourself that, next time you’re on MySpace, and you’re solicited by a strange profile. Or when you have to talk with tech support, without the benefit of a face or a voice to interact with. Can we still hold fast to our certainty that it is only humans with whom we must socialize?