Twenty: And then some

At the age of 22 it feels like I'm finally coming to terms with what it might be like to be an adult.

Being dependable.  Having people of my very own to look after, albeit only my boyfriend and our cat.  Visiting Ikea to buy wardrobes for his room.  Having to plan meals in advance and cook. Cleaning and doing laundry not because someone tells you to but because actually, if you don't, it starts to get to you.  Keeping in touch with family.  Learning to express your needs in moderation, and to give a fair hearing to those of others.  Leaving difficult situations in time to keep yourself safe when you feel overwhelmed.

Only four months ago things were very different.  Loneliness combined with perverse "coping mechanisms" I've had a lifetime to learn and perfect imposed a Jekyll and Hyde like structure onto my existence.  The days would be spent pushing down tempests of anxiety -  an almost compulsive fear that worsened if any sort of attention was paid to it. I felt, almost always, on the edge of calamity.  Danger lay in every unoccupied moment, and no matter how carefully I planned my day, there would always be more than one. My classes done, at night (or, on bad days, late afternoon), I dived into chaos.  I was exhausted and I just couldn't contain myself anymore.  The GP on campus had told me that if I continued to starve myself I would not be able to remain at university, and for once I had listened.   During the day I would eat enough to satisfy my appetite and give me the energy to work - but I managed this partly (and problematically) only by shutting my eyes to it. 

I knew the nutritional content of what I was eating.  I knew what constituted a healthy, balanced diet, and I aimed towards it.  My body, however, was aiming for more.  It was aiming for curves, periods, and everything else a healthy woman should have - but for me these things also possess unpalatable and still mostly unexplainable psychological implications.  As soon as it got dark I let go.  I would spend £10 to £20 on food and spend the next two hours eating and vomiting  - gorging also on the kind of trashy tv my day-time schedule would never allow for.  When I was done, and I was reassured that my stomach was entirely empty, I would eat a small meal and go to bed.  Ultimately I knew I couldn't afford to lose weight. 

But it was draining.  Sustaining any sense of self in the midst of a raging war between bits of you that you still don't really understand and  that insist on their fulfillment with ceaseless cruelty is difficult.  It's even harder when you're trying to work towards a first-class degree.  Luckily I was able to get through the term.  Two arterial bleeds and two visits to A&E in ambulance, days when I just couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed and clear up the mess (blood, food and vomit) of the night before and recommendations to take leave of absence from university -  regardless,  I got through.  But my God - it feels a world away from now.  I have enjoyed four of the most healthy months I have had since I was sixteen,  and I'm terrified - terrified - to let them go.

Term begins on October the 10th.  I may have more support  in York than previously, since the psychiatrist I saw on Thursday who works for the psychotherapy service thinks I do need psychiatric reviews and a support worker and is writing to the CMHT in support of both.  Briefly, I would say that this was the single positive of  a difficult and frustrating meeting.  More will follow later.

Fifteen: Brand power

What is it that entices me to buy expensive clothes on no income to speak of?  I'm not in any kind of debt, but I do feel ever so slightly guilty spending money the government gives me to support my *disability* on apparel that I really, really don't need.

The particular purchase I have in mind is a pair of jeans, reduced from £170 to £85 by Acne, "The Fashion House and Creative Collective from Sweden".

(Same jeans, unfortunately different legs)




I found many ways to justify my (expensive) lust for denim, none of which are wholly convincing but may as well be stated nonetheless:
1.  They were reduced.  By a lot.
2.  They were very soft, and (possibly) good quality
3.  I haven't bought new clothes for AGES.  It used to be easy when I was skinny (read, emaciated) - everything looked the same on me since I had no curves to speak of.  Now I have a more "womanly" shape it is rare that I dare to buy something that shows my body off in new and alarming ways.
4.  I haven't made myself sick, or bought food in order to do so, for a decent period of time.  This accords with the vast amount of money I have saved from abstaining.  It was not unusual for me to spend £15 + per DAY on food that ended up straight down the toilet.
5.  Spending  money on clothes implies a new-found respect for my body and the person inside it, and even if this respect or compassion is shaky at best, dressing as if it existed may help to re-affirm my sense of self-worth.
6.  There are many people who spend even more on clothes.  I refuse to take my boyfriend shopping, now that I've seen the amount he can charge to his Amex in a single afternoon.

Not convinced?  Me neither.

Glancing through the Evening Standard last week brought home the real reason I bought the jeans. I don't particularly admire Peaches Geldof, but there is certainly something about a moneyed "fashion icon" yapping on her smartphone, shopping bags from said brand in hand, that makes Acne clothing seem desirable.  Never mind the unfortunate name.  The company could be called "Rich Bratz" and it would still probably sell, in an ironic post-modern sort of way. When I initially saw the jeans my eyes were drawn to two things:   the name and the price.  I had been shopping unsuccessfully for three hours, and I wanted to buy something - anything.  I had of course seen Acne clothes featured in magazines, product placement in which is hugely influential in creating the prestige attached to the brand.  I knew I was buying "cool".  I am ashamed to say that had they not been reduced (and £85 is still pretty hefty), I may still have considered buying them.  The price promises exclusivity - even though for all I know the item may have been produced in the same factory that manufactures Primark.

I like my jeans.  A lot.  But the spell is bound to wear off before too long, and drive me to another unnecessary purchase.

Seven: "Ghosts in the Machine" - Locating the Soul in the Bionic Age

Parts of a group presentation I'm giving tomorrow, for my "Bodies and Minds" module.  Since I ended up writing nearly the whole thing myself (which I'm bloody annoyed about, but hey, these things happen...), there shouldn't be a problem with me putting it up here.

Metropolis - Fritz Lang, 1927

The phrase "ghost in the machine" was coined by the philosopher Gilbert Rye in his book, “The Concept of the Mind”.   Rye criticised Descartes' mind-body dualism, arguing that the terms "mind" and "body" should not be considered as belonging to the same category, and that mental and physical states are inseparable.   In the film “I, Robot”, the phrase is used to refer to inexplicable actions by robots that possibly hint at the existence of a soul or mind that works beyond their mechanical bodies.

As a group, we examined our own beliefs about the soul, or more generally, what it is that for us separates man from machine.  Of those that we examined, we selected the ability to love and make ethical decisions as the most “human” of human aspects, or those that a machine would find hardest to imitate.  As our presentation will demonstrate, however, the increasing sophistication of Artificial Intelligence problematizes this assumption.  

We have placed the examination of these issues within the context of the "Bionic Age", which we define as an age in which machines and mechanical parts are used by humans to carry out tasks that are difficult, intricate, or dangerous.  The question of where and how we locate the soul as man and machine become ever more closely linked continues to be explored in science fiction film and literature, and across the fields of science, philosophy and psychology.

R.U.R

Karel Capek coined the term 'robot' in his 1920 play "R.U.R." in defining his artificially created creatures, the word 'robota' in Czech literally meaning "work", or "labour". Traditionally, "robota" was the term used for the work period of a serf, an unpaid member of the lower classes required to work for their superiors. Serfdom was banned in Bohemia in 1848, but this obsolete term would have carried its meaning across to Capek's early 20 century audience. This immediately colours the way in which the artificial beings of R.U.R. are viewed, reduced by the concept of slavery. They are introduced as "goods"(p3), and are a highly demanded product: willing slaves in attaining the ultimate human ideal of an elevation to a god-like status where "Man will do only what he loves doing, free and sovereign, with no other task than to better himself"(p23), unfettered with the need to labour. From Domin's point of view, this is ethically sound. The robots' intended purpose is to work; they are "without will, passion, history or soul"(p20).

However, young Helen arrives, adamant to dispute this. She is determined to see their usage as exploitation, her "League of Humanity"(p17) extending to the "liberation of the Robots" (p20). Immediately the audience is posed with a contradiction. The robots seen are apparently soul-less, unable to comprehend human emotion, yet their complete assimilation of outwardly human manifestations staggers her. "Can't tell the difference, eh? Feel this hair we gave her! Soft and blonde! M-mm, lovely!" (p11). JD Humphries, in his introduction to "The Robots are Coming", draws attention to the problematic nature of " 'other minds' ". Humans "cannot be directly aware of any other consciousness in other human beings […] One has, therefore, to assume, in terms of similarity of appearance and overt behaviour, that other people are in fact much the same as oneself." (p18)

 Helen is unable to come to terms with the fact that "they're not bothered what you feed 'em […] And no-one's seen them laugh yet!"(p20), when they appear so absolutely human. By her understanding it must be unethical to treat those who appear so similar to ourselves with such flippant disregard for their welfare. Yet apes are similar to humans, and we treat them also as soul-less. Humphries continues his introduction by stating that "Theologians argue that though man's thinking processes may be similar to those of an ape, the man possesses something extra - his 'soul'. In “R.U.R” it seems unethical to treat the robots as if they have no consciousness, or personality, or however our sentient conscious "soul" is defined, yet unless the existence of such a soul can be empirically proved, their status as slaves cannot be contested.

Play – intro. 

One possible way that we could attempt to measure and quantify the soul in articulate beings is via the “Turing Test”, an idea introduced by Alan Turing in 1950.  Designed to  discern intelligence, a human judge engages in conversation with one human and one machine, programmed to appear human.  If the judge cannot correctly guess which is the machine, it is assumed to be an “intelligent” entity.   The concept of the test has inspired the short play that follows, in which we attempt to distinguish human from robot by posing a series of ethical questions.

                                                                *****DRAMA*****

Class questioned.

                                                                              Play – conclusion

As our scenarios illustrate, finding a universal definition of what it means to be human is exceedingly difficult.  It is not possible to say that being able to adapt to new situations, communicate and interact with others, feel love and empathy, and respond appropriately to ethical questions are characteristics shared by all humans. If it were possible to create an organic, intelligent robotic being, would we be able to differentiate it confidently from one of ourselves?

 LOVE.

As we have tried to do with ethics, could we design a Turing Test for love?  If a machine behaves in a way that suggests loving emotion, should we assume that it is capable of loving, whether it is itself, other robots or even human beings?

In understanding how our attitudes towards robots who love are shaped, it may be helpful to examine the ways that love is conceptualised in Western philosophical tradition. 

Rousseau’s second Discourse, in which he discusses the views of Thomas Hobbes, proposes three different kinds of love:  amour- propre (base self-love), amour de soi (gentle or at least benign self-love), and charite (love of God and things public).

In stating that charité is a "natural repugnance at seeing any sentient being, and particularly those similar to us, suffer pain or death",  Rousseau placed the capacity to suffer above the ability to reason in describing what makes creatures worthy of compassion. 

This view is one that is widely held today, but love in the philosophical tradition has not always been held to emanate from compassion.  In the thirteen century, Thomas Aquinas picked up on the Aristotelian theories of friendship and love to proclaim God as the most rational being and hence the most deserving of one’s love, respect, and considerations.  Accordingly, in the Summa Theologica, he states: “Each human being has a share of the eternal reason, whereby it has a natural inclination to its proper act and end: and this participation of the eternal law in the rational creature is called natural law” ( Summa Theologica, 1a2ae, 90.2)

 Could YOU Share a bed with your Robot?

Perhaps the real question is not whether robots, possibly the most rational creatures of all, are able to love, but whether we, as humans, have an appetite for robots to have this capability.

Extolling the virtues of sexbot cyborgs trained to help humans improve their sex lives, David Levy hypothesises that marriage with robots will be legalised in some countries by 1950.

Even if this rather outlandish prediction is fulfilled, however, our creation of beings that are allowed access to our deepest needs and desires has profound implications for how we understand ourselves as human beings.

As Sherry Turkle says, in her book “The Second Self”,

"We ask [of the computer] not just about where we stand in the world of nature, but about where we stand in the world of artefact.  We search for a link between who we are and what we have made, between who we are and what we might create, between who we are and what, through our intimacy with our own creations, we might become".

The darker side of robotic, soma enhanced and psyche reduced love is explored in Aldous Huxley’s 1931 novel, “Brave New World”, where soulless, impersonal love is a form of social control.  Unlike R.U.R, the protagonists of Huxley’s novel are all ostensibly human, and yet in Brave New World it is only in the past that “there was a thing called the soul and a thing called immortality”.  The tragic irony at the heart of the novel is that the marginalised “savages” appear more human than those that inhabit the civilised, sanitised world where physical pleasure is maximised and love forbidden.   The novel warns of the danger of a creator becoming engulfed by his creations – where love is deemed redundant and unnecessary, there is no place for a soul – it is literally destroyed by the machine of society.

In recent years, attempts have been made to tackle our anxiety and distrust about machines that too closely approximate humans.  In Pixar’s Wall-E, the love between two robots (Wall-E and Eva) is redemptive, and leads to the recolonisation of Earth.  The film does not attempt to deny the robots’ mechanical nature, incorporating it instead into the way they communicate their love for each other.  Despite this, it must be acknowledged that the degree of anthropomorphic animation of the robot characters that the film-makers indulge in does not really challenge popular, human-centric notions of what it is to love.

Conclusion

Whilst our terror of hypothetical “ghosts in the machine” must be balanced against the growing needs and demands we have for artificial intelligence and the ways it can serve humanity, it is important to remember that the problem does not end here.  It is not simply a question of whether ethical and loving robots could live alongside their human counterparts.  As we make the transition from the post-modern to the bionic age, we must use the privilege that human status grants us wisely to negotiate the ethical and moral dilemmas we will face in the coming century. We must accept that as we adapt and change the world around us, our conception of ourselves will inevitably change too.     Some of us, none of us or all of us may have souls in the bionic age –but if we are to retain them, they must be guarded fiercely.