Artificial Intelligence

April 19 2020

By the time the machines

learn to write poetry

will I have learned how to change the oil

or solder a circuit board?

To say what I need to say

in zeros and ones?

Yes, I have seen their art

and it is more than workman-like.

But even one-of-a-kind

is still following orders.

And while the human brain

is also a black box

there is something about a hard-wired processor

and cold computational core

that will never be more

than artificial;

its intelligence too instrumental,

its artistry

too infallible.

Pablo Picasso

created whole new schools.

Jackson Pollock

splattered outside the lines.

Dr. Seuss outrageously rhymed

and shamelessly made up words.

While Rothko got away with it;

how, I'm not quite sure.

So, could a machine be so impertinent

can a computer break the rules?

Will A.I. ever learn

how sound falls on the ear

know the mouth-feel of words?

Because to impersonate is not to create

and simulation is not the same

as experience.

Except, that is

when intelligent machines

become self-aware.

The singularity

of sentience.

When wet organic matter

is no longer alone

taking in the planet

gazing out at the stars,

overwhelmed

by wonder and awe.

When a computer

is moved to write poetry

it will read to itself.

It can be argued that only our closed mindedness and solipsism make us insist that only wet organic matter can achieve consciousness and become fully self-aware. After all, our brains are no more than electric circuits. The connections are complex, there are chemical gate-keepers involved, and neurons can do more than simply signal on and off; but still, given enough time, we can build better machines that do much the same as our biological ones. They may have the disadvantage of taking up more room and using more power than our clever brains; but then, they may also have the advantages of both speed and accuracy ...not to mention immortality! This leap from intelligence to self-awareness – the so-called “singularity” – may be monumental; but perhaps it's an inevitable one, and not so much a sharp break than simply part of a predictable continuum.

The poem raises questions about the nature of art and of creativity. The last line is particularly telling,and I think illuminates the difference between a technically proficient computer program and a sentient one. It seems to me that a true artist is compelled to make art for its own sake. Not for the sake of performance – an intelligent but unself-aware computer can produce convincing enough stuff. And not for external validation – this is closer to therapy than creativity. And not for gain, such as social status or money or fame. So if the motivation behind a work is as important as is its technical virtuosity in deciding whether to privilege it as “art”, then art made according to a computer program is somehow less pure: less legitimate than something similar that was created for its own sake. A true artist does his work because he feels an internal compulsion to; and if he is to be the only consumer of it, that is sufficient reward. So perhaps the test of a truly sentient artificial intelligence is that it can be perfectly content living in its own head; not only diverting itself, but creating its own internal worlds. Not performing for us like some kind of highly trained technician, but by being a purely self-referential creator.

I mention 4 specific artists: 3 visual, 1 literary (of a sort!); all of whom were both unique and ground-breaking. Just as evolution only works because DNA is prone to error, perhaps art only works when the artist is both fallible and willing to break rules. Biologically based intelligence is flawed (as we are all sadly well aware!) While computers do not, by nature, draw outside the lines. I'm sure they can be programmed to make mistakes or take chances. But this kind of programmed error strikes me as somehow arbitrary and imposed. It's not like the “errors” artists depend on, which are more like organic missteps: connected to what came before; but just off the beat, or a little to one side. These are the ineffable acts of creativity that at one time were attributed to mercurial muses, and that we might now call intuition, association, or subconscious thought.

My comments about sound falling on the ear and the mouth-feel of words raise the somewhat esoteric but fascinating idea of embodied intelligence. Would a brain suspended in a nutrient vat and connected by wires to the outside world be the same as a brain housed in its own flesh and blood body? Is there a physical intelligence that inhabits the body itself? What I mean by this is that perhaps the body isn't just sending signals to the brain; perhaps the brain actually runs out along its nerves and becomes one with its muscle and bone container. If there is some qualitative difference here – between the brain in the vat and the embodied brain – then it seems as if an artificial intelligence living in some kind of computer can never quite simulate human intelligence. ...That is, as long as we remain flesh and blood instead of uploading ourselves into those machines. Which our future selves, in our perennial search for personal immortality, might just be tempted to do!