Chapter XXIII: The Book of the 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?
"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?
"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."
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.
"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?
"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.'"
Then returning to consciousness, and endeavouring to detect its
earliest manifestations, 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?
"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?
"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?
"Even a potato {5} 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.'
"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 qua mankind 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?"
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.
"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 a 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.
"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.
"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.
"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?
"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?
"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.
"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.'"
Erewhon : Chapter XXIV - The Book of the Machines, continued
Erewhon