Turing Machines (1 January)

If you are unaware of the notion of the Turing Machine, allow me to elucidate the subject. A Turing Machine is any contraption that, when fed an typical input from a person (person meaning a being with consciousness), the subsequent output is insufficient for an observer (who may be the person inputting the data) to identify the Turing Machine as a machine or as a person. Alan Turing--incredibly important for a handful of other reasons--came up with the notion a little after World War II, presupposing the issue of artificial intelligence and its effect on humanity's centrality in the intellectual cosmos. That may have all been somewhat heady, so here is a narrative description: In front of you are two computers and you are told that connected to one of those computers is a human person and connected to the other is a computer; you strike up a conversation--as far as typing allows--with one, then with the other, and if you are unable to decide which computer is connected to a person and which to machine, the Turing Machine passes the Turing Test.

So, the Turing Test, as described above, suggests a few things about consciousness and artificial intelligence. First, if we cannot discriminate between "a" and "not a," then we have no grounds in saying that they are categorically different; for the Turing Test, "a" and "not a" are entities with which you are striking up conversations. Therefore, if "a" is a human person and "not a" is a computer (that is, if we can agree that a computer is "not a human person") and we are trying to say that only one is a conscious being, but we can't decide which, then we very well may be forced to say that both are conscious beings. (Notice some of my diction here: "A" is still a human person, and "not a" is still a computer, but if what makes either interestingly communicative, the similarity lies in our notion of consciousness; that is, "a" and "not a" remain distinct but share "consciousness, which makes them good conversationalists.) In addition, the Turing Test--in its very nature--means that what we identify with the term "consciousness" is not specific to certain types of persons--human, animal, vegetable, mechanical, organic, artificial--and can allow a multiplicity of types of persons.

This is all pretty odd to bring up in the dawning of the New Year, I recognize, but after some wonderful festivities, I am struck with the story of Alan Turing, his machines, and his test. If you are curious why, it is because, despite my best efforts, I do not know if I pass the Turing Test in the company of friends. Sure, friends of mine may vouch that I have a certain kind of personage behind my skin, mouth, and eyes; but in the company of strangers, what is someone to say to one such as me? I stand quietly, batting my eyes at newcomers, books on shelves, hung photos and art prints, maybe even locking eyes now and then; what in that makes someone think, "Oh, there is someone, a person"?

I recognize a melancholy flipside here. That flipside involves me reading into some serious shortcomings in my sociability. Often, I find myself flummoxed by the humdrum rhythm of acquaintances conversations. If I do not share in the certain academic environment, that particular clique of comrades, that cadre of leisurely lounges, and just such is the subject of conversation, then I can feel myself gradually vanish. I know that I experience some social anxiety issues; I know that because I feel them pretty regularly and have to handle them in this or that way. Something about the feel of a situation where I might attempt to navigate others' social fields just wearies me, it just buzzes like a gnat, a gnat I can ignore entirely if I so choose.

This is not where I want to end, but it is important to me to remark on one other little realization. I found myself, at the end of this evening, very literally muffled by the some aspects of my social environment. It is, as if, an event transpires and it forces a wad of cotton over my sense organs; it is akin to discovering that light makes you blind, but that your eyes do not easily become accustomed to the brightness. Or, it might be trying to handle the delicate tools of stitching, drawing, or calligraphy, and feeling thick callouses on your fingertips and--though you might comprehend and have even practiced the feat--you are unable to practice what you have once done without pause.

I choose not to post this immediately and will plan on posting it with the appropriate post-date. This is not the sort of post I wish to open the year to and is not descriptive of the fine company of which I enjoyed this evening. All the same, it is where my thoughts, my feelings, my consciousness has moved with the night's termination. If I might, after all that I have already said, I wish many blessings on all my friends and loved ones, and a particularly affectionate one on someone specific especially, someone I get to see very shortly.