Sentient Robots or Why Robocop is actually a pretty good movie

I bet that whenever we are finally scientifically advanced enough to produce sentient life in the form of robots, that those sentient robots will be a little different than we expect.

We often think of robots that can think for themselves and know that they are alive as still being automatons and being completely emotionally void. Kind of like Robocop for the first part of his (re)existence. But as we all know, Robocop himself could not function without his emotions getting the better of him.

I sometimes think that people really do believe that the highest level of human functioning is devoid of emotion. And if not that, then they think that at least the normal mode of functioning is emotionless. We constantly try to stifle expression of our emotions, especially in public situations. I myself am guilty of this and tried for many years to be as stoic a man as I could be. That led me through some pretty terrible responses to things that had gone on in my life; and shifted me into the position of an uncaring boyfriend, brother, and son.

Two examples of emotional stifling that have come to my attention recently:

1. 
   
   I ride on public transportation pretty frequently. If you never have, you should. Everyone sits facing one direction and shows no signs of what is going on in their lives. It’s a real blast! Sure, every now and then you get the guy who actually does open up a little, but most people just think he is crazy. I noticed this the most as I was in England last summer and traveling on some form of public transport almost every day. I would listen to some funny podcasts sometimes and felt embarrassed when I would randomly crack up because of something funny. I even went to lengths to try to hide those outbursts. We have simply made public spaces a haven for emotional restriction. But why? And at what cost?

I have noticed this trend here in Dallas as well on the DART. Everyone just sits and stares or listens to music or reads. I have no problem with that, but where is the joy or mourning that we experience? Why do we feel the need to suppress it?

2. 
   
   I believe it was my sophomore year in college during marching band practice. It was a frustrating rehearsal and everyone was up-tight. After one move the band director called the drum line out on something (that most likely really wasn’t our fault), and Michael (our drum line captain at the time) stood up to him and forcefully asserted his stance. Soon, they were yelling at each other. Everyone immediately felt the tension and the first reactions of myself and the drum line instructor were to calm Michael down and stop the yelling. But why?

If you really think about it, Michael’s reaction probably expressed the feelings of just about every other band member who did not have the guts to express themselves (myself included). Also, Michael’s outburst shows that he actually cared about what was going on. He was not content to just sit back and let things continue to be sub-par. True, it was probably also brought about because of many other reasons including pride, but at least he felt something, at least he showed he cared about what we were doing. I’d say a worse reaction would be to just let things drift along while remaining totally removed from the situation.

I have often talked with friends about how much of a shame it is that our first reaction when a baby starts to cry is to get it to stop. This may have good foundations sometimes (i.e. the baby is probably crying because it is uncomfortable), but not so when we carry this mindset out through our lives and always try to comfort people as they cry and do whatever we can to get them to stop crying. Maybe crying is exactly what we need to do. I honestly think that one of my major faults is that I do not cry enough.

I do not mean to imply that we should exist at the whims of our emotions. True, a world in which everyone constantly expressed whatever emotion they were feeling would most likely be a wreck. But do we ever have an opportunity to share? Do we have the communities in place to be open in such a way? And, do we allow a suppression of our emotions to restrict our love of others and eat away at our hearts like termites? Perhaps as we are careful not to act at the whims of our emotions, we should simultaneously be careful to not censor what makes us, us. Both extremes tend to separate us from others, but in our individualistic world, I think the greater threat to true community and true love of others is our lack of transparency as we too cautiously and irrationally guard our hearts.

Take these observations as you will. I just don’t think that our sentient robots would be content without emotion and that they would proceed to find ways to invent emotion for themselves. And we all know where that eventually leads…

1 Corinthians 12:26

Another take on this...

A True Story

I have been taking pain medicine regularly the past two weeks because of an injury I unfortunately sustained from my adventurous, heroic life.  I think it is because of this medicine that I now have the strange urge to just sit in a chair for up to an hour doing nothing but staring and dozing in and out of consciousness. 

It was in this state on Saturday that I suddenly pulled myself together and realized I needed to leave and go to Sherman in order to get my car inspected (this was planned in advance, not a further product of the medication).  State automobile inspections cost about $25 less there than in Dallas, fyi. 

By the time I made it to Sherman, the place I had intended to go was closing for the day.  I was only staying in town until Sunday, so I was anxious to find a new place.  My mom called a couple of places while I rushed to check my car over, and finally found a place that would stay open long enough.  The second problem arose in that we were planning on meeting my grandparents for dinner at 6:30, so we would have to leave Sherman at 5:30.  My mom went ahead and bumped that appointment back a half hour.

I finally made it to the auto shop, which was completely filled with people.  There were 6 adult costumers and 3 children.  I filled out the paperwork knowing that there was no way I would be out of there within the hour.  Luckily I had brought my book with me, so I approached one of two empty seats to allow my mind to stray from thinking about the time I didn’t have to spend waiting to thinking about the wondrous late 1700s. 

In hindsight, the seat I chose was notably strange.  There was one seat on my left occupied by a little girl and then a man on his cell phone in the seat on my right.  I thought it was unusual that the girl was sitting alone, but, eager to dig into my book, I sat.  Soon the man left to talk outside and I was left with mild curiosity as to whom the little girl belonged. 

This is the part of the story where I could easily stray from the truth, which I am very tempted to do.  Although that would perhaps make it much more interesting, I am committed to telling this story as honestly as I can, even if its oddness lacks extraordinariness.

After a few minutes, a woman emerged from the restroom and I intuitively knew she had previously occupied the seat I was now in, providing the understandable link between estranged-seat girl and aloof father.  I was embarrassed.  She refused the stolen seat I offered back to her and simply took the girl outside. 

My physical impairments at the moment include the annoying limitation of not being able to turn my head very far, and since I was facing away from the window, I could not see what the reunited family was doing, but I don’t think they came back in at any point.

At almost the same time, another couple left the waiting area with their two young sons, who had previously been attempting to create dirt angels on the floor of the building.

This left me alone with the final couple, who sat modestly in the corner.

A comparatively long time passed before the stillness of the waiting room was disrupted by the man.  He asked me what I was reading.  I told him and explained a little of what it is about (proud to be caught reading this cool new book about explorers, inventors, and scientific discoverers).  The man, however, was simply interested in the way the pages were cut – they have a rough raggedy look on the top. 

I was glad for the conversation, although a little disheartened by the content.  Nevertheless, we continued to talk about books and how he wants to read more.

Time passed; my car sat in the parking spot ignored by all; and I sat in the waiting room sticking out like a dedicated, fast paced college student in a modest auto repair shop where time stands still (sort of). 

Finally, a mechanic came in, and just to tease me, grabbed my keys and a clipboard and opened the door to go outside.  Then he stopped, walked back in and addressed the couple sitting in the corner.  He started by saying, “You know how I like to tell jokes?...” and my heart sank a little. 

To tell the truth, I was not in any rush (remember I was medicated).  But I knew my mom and grandparents were eager to go to dinner, and I did not want to be the reason to delay it too much. 

The mechanic continued by saying, “There were two blond girls talking to each other about men.  One asked the other, ‘What kind of man do you like?’ The other responded, ‘Actually, I am dating a Brazilian.’ The first replied, ‘Wow! Now, how many is that?’”

I couldn’t help but laugh along with the corner couple, which gave the mechanic more confidence as he spouted off several more from his fine collection of Obama jokes and other topics that were not worth remembering.

Then, satisfied that he had humored us, he finally went to check my car.  It looked like I would be getting out on time to rush home and then rush an hour away from there to dinner.

It was harder to read.  I kept looking up anxious that the inspection would go quickly and that I would pass, when suddenly I saw the mechanic talking to someone else who had walked up to my car.  I tried to stick to reading, but looked up again to see my car deserted and the mechanic joker to be across the parking lot talking with someone who had just pulled up. 

Minutes ticked by.  The friendly owner of the store came in from working on another car and chatted with the other couple as they slowly paid and left.  And finally, my car was inspected.  I was free, well, at least after I talked some more with the owner who pegged me as a college student from the local college.  He told me the story of the shop, how long he’d been there and all the moves he had to make.  I could tell he cared about his job and that it brought him a lot of joy.  Maybe that’s why the busyness and the business of the place seemed so relaxed.

I will definitely go back.

P.S. I learned a lot from this 2 hour segment of my life, and I hope that this story is more than merely a personal anecdote.  Hopefully, there are many things for you to consider.

I will leave you with one:

This encounter leaves me wondering, what would it be like if we had yearly people inspections?  Would it be merely biologically oriented, like a medical physical, or would there be other tests (such as those of social skills and patience)?  And would any of us pass these people inspections?

I think I met some people that would.