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This essay was written for my “Science Fiction and American Culture” class.

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“Who Am I?” and “What is my purpose?” are questions often asked in art. The answers have taken the form of 2-inch think novels, 10-page short stories, and 2-hour films. The question has been cried out in sculpture, paintings and music. Some say it is this longing to know that separates us from the beasts. A while back, an explosion of change, called the Industrial Revolution, gave birth to a new way to answer this question — science fiction.

A continuous theme in science fiction is humankind’s relation to “the machine.” The machine is symbolic of “the Other” which helps define “the Self.” The Other helps make the boundaries between Self and not-Self more clear, but the Other can also threaten the existence of the Self. In science fiction, the Other is often some representation of technology.

Science fiction often challenges the concepts of what is Self, what is Other and whether there really is a distinction. It asks: What happens to one’s image of oneself when a machine begins to acquire human characteristics? If machine intelligence can perform the functions of human intelligence, are we then nothing more than machines?

Computers are compelling machines. They are “stupid” in that they only do what you tell them to do. But they are “smart” because they are thinking machines. Sherry Turkle, in her book The Second Self , suggests that computers are mirrors, reflecting what is already inside the user. In one respect, the computer is Other. It is separate, distinct. It is not connected, physically, to the user. But if it is a mirror, then it is at the same time an integral part of the user, psychologically.

She continued, “The simplest force that makes the computer seem more than a machine among other machines is its behavior…. It is hard to capture the computer by seeing it in terms of familiar objects or processes that existed before it was invented.” (p. 272). Of all the machines we have created, the computer is the most like us. Computers are made of logic. And thinking about the core of a machine as logic leads people to thinking of the computer as mind. People tend to have strong opinions about artificial intelligence:

“The vehemence of response expresses our stake in maintaining the line between the natural and the artificial, between the human and the mechanical. Discussion about computers becomes charged with feelings about what is special about people: their creativity, their sensuality, their pain and pleasure. But paradoxically, when faced with a machine that shows any degree of ‘intelligence,’ many of these same people seem pulled toward treating the machine as though it were a person.” (Turkle, 1984, p. 271)

Computers don’t look like people, they don’t walk around and they don’t have faces. So, what happens when a computer brain is placed in a humanoid shell?

In his robot stories and novels, Isaac Asimov explored the robot other. Because his robots were ruled by the three laws of robotics, they were benevolent. They freed humankind from doing the drudgery work. But not all tales of robots are optimistic. There is the fear that robots will replace us, leaving us with no reason to exist. In movies like Westworld, Futureworld, The Day the Earth Stood Still, and The Terminator, robots are a menace to humankind. They are relentless, virtually unstoppable foes bent on the hero or heroine’s destruction.

When a robot is humaniform — is indistinguishable from a person — the fear can be even stronger. How can you fight an enemy when you can’t recognize it? How can you recognize the Other when it looks just like the Self?

Asimov explored this idea in his novella “The Bicentennial Man,” in which a robot seeks to become human. According to Warrick (1980), the implication of “The Bicentennial Man”

is that a line between the animate and the inanimate, the organic and the inorganic, cannot be drawn. If the fundamental materials of the universe are matter, energy, and information patterns (or intelligence), then man is not unique. He exists on a continuum with all intelligence… (p. 73)

However, if a humaniform robot is physically superior to a human, will it try to eradicate us? Turkle poses the question, “Can an intelligence without a living body, without sexuality, ever really understand human beings?” (pp. 19-20). Will what makes humans special and unique as a life form be treasured or reviled by robots? Phillip K. Dick, in this novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, asked the question “When does a machine cease to be a machine and start to be alive?” His robots, or replicants, were so much like people that the only way to tell them physically apart was to have a bone marrow analysis performed. His answer was that the difference is moot.

In Ridley Scott’s film version, Blade Runner , Scott took Dick’s vision and made it more poignant. The replicants, with their implanted memories, were even more like humans. “The replicants,” says J. P. Telotte in his article “The Doubles of Fantasy and the Space of Desire,” “threaten to render their creators superfluous and take their place” (pp. 154-155). But Scott’s version offers us a hope the book does not — in the form of Rachael. Rachael, although a replicant, Telotte argues, “mirrors something significantly human… a loneliness and longing for others wherewith that loneliness might be overcome” (pp. 156). Rachael “awakens Deckard’s slumbering desires and effectively serves as a mirror in which he might see his humanity.” In other words, the Other, in becoming more like the Self, helps define the Self more sharply.

As computers and medical technology advance, the idea of brain implants has come to the forefront. If we can replace the human heart with a plastic and metal pump, why can’t we insert high-tech computer chips into our brains? The movie Total Recall : showed what such technology could be capable of. People could go on vacations without ever leaving their homes — with the aid of false memory implants.

In Tom Maddox’s short story, “Snake Eyes,” a man fitted with computer implants in his brain is confronted with the Other which is really just a suppressed part of the Self. He does not recognize — nor does he want to — that what he calls “the snake” is actually a part of himself. This part of his brain “compels” him to do strange, and often violent, things that he finds repugnant. However, he is confronted with the fact that these actions are a part of himself. A highly advanced computer which he can “plug into,” says to him: “There is no snake. You want to believe in something reptilian that sits inside you, cold and distant, taking strange pleasures. However … the implant is an organic part of you. You can no longer evade the responsibility for these things. They are you” (p. 27).

Stories like “Snake Eyes” and Total Recall tell a tale of the alien within. As postmodernism becomes a way of life, it is becoming more difficult to tell the difference between what we have traditionally considered the Other and what we have traditionally considered the Self. Kenneth Gergen suggests that “as consciousness of interdependence expands, so withers the distinction between Self and other, mine and yours” (p. 255).

Asimov (1990), in his essay, “The Machine and the Robot,” stated that “the great fear is not that machinery will harm us — but that it will supplant us. It is not that it will render us ineffective — but that it will make us obsolete” (p. 440). Turkle suggests, people tend to “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” (p. 12). Machines, computers and robots are the fruit of our labor. They are our surrogate children and they are mirrors of our souls. They are tools to understanding ourselves. In literature and film, we use them to face our fears and express our hopes. We use them to symbolically embrace the Other in order to affirm the Self.

This essay was an assignment for my “Science Fiction and American Culture” class.

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Science and technology are mirrors in which humankind can see who they are, what they want to be and what they are afraid of. In novels, movies and on television, popular culture explores these possibilities through works of fiction and horror. Sherry Turkle, in her book The Second Self, said, “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.” Science fiction films and novels explore the possibilities and implications that our science and technology may have for us.In the 1800’s, Mary Shelly told the tale of a scientist who created life from death and then in fear and revulsion of his creation fled. The monster he created, a child of Dr. Frankenstein’s intellect, used all manners of persuasion to gain parental attention. Frankenstein is a story about what humankind is as seen through the eyes of a human creation.

Other works have explored this same idea. With the passing of time and the increase in our technology’s capabilities the “Frankenstein’s monsters” of today have become more machine than human. In the movie Demon Seed, a computer takes control over a woman’s life in order to reproduce. In The Lawnmower Man, a machine distorts a man’s mind until he becomes one with the machine. In the Terminator movies, a computer takes over the world and attempts to eradicate humankind altogether.

Many works of science fiction explore how, in our quest, to be free of the mundane things in life, we might bring our own downfall. In 1964, a Twilight Zone episode told the tale of a factory that transferred control over to a computer (”The Brain Center at Whipple’s”). It illustrated how science and technology can dehumanize life.

In the movie War Games, directed by John Badham, a similar scenario is played out. Professor Faulken creates a computer that can learn from its mistakes. The computer is childlike. In a way, this echoes Frankenstein.

When Lightman, the main character, contacts it by using Dr. Faulken’s code, it responds with what seems like happiness at talking with its father. When asked, “Is this a game or is this real?” it answers, “What is the difference?” It hasn’t learned the difference. The climax of the movie centers on the computer’s struggle to learn. If it does not learn the futility of global thermonuclear war, humankind will die at its “hands.”

In less technological times, the fear of the future was manifested in literature as the coming of the antichrist, the monster with seven heads or other terrible creatures. Now we have the computer and the implications for its use.

Today our monsters are robots from the future, our own willingness to relinquish control to a machine, and the dangers of the environments that our technology can take us to. Popular culture manifests our hopes and fears of the future in literature, film and television. Visions of the future can be hopeful (Star Trek), wary (War Games) or Armageddon (The Terminator), although it has been my experience that the negative visions out number the positive ones.

Fear is a common reaction to something new. Science and technology are bringing in new things at such a pace that it can be overwhelming. I think this is the reason that there are more visions of what we fear in science and technology than there are of what we can be and what we can accomplish.

Contents

• Introduction
• The Self vs. The Other
• The Computer as Other
• The Robot as Other
• The TV as Other
• The Other becomes a Part of the Self
• Conclusion
• References

Introduction

There is a thin line between pleasure and pain, so too with fear and attraction. Sherry Turkle (1984) noted that "what disturbs is closely tied to what fascinates and what fascinates is deeply rooted in what disturbs" (p. 33). A continuous thread running through the literature and films we have explored this semester is humankind’s relation to "the machine." The machine is symbolic of "the Other" which helps define "the Self."

Through time, the Other has been something to embrace and something to fear. The Other helps make the boundaries between Self and not-Self more clear, but the Other can also threaten the existence of the Self. The Other can be as innocuous as one’s mate and as frightening as Satan. In science fiction, the Other is often some representation of technology. Patricia Warrick (1980), in her book The Cybernetic Imagination, noticed trends in science fiction relating to the love/hate relationship humankind has with its own creations:

The literature about automation from the early antecedents to the present reveals an interesting pattern of oscillation. From the Greeks through the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, man’s imagination created optimistic visions of the fruits of technological innovation. Then the opposite view began to appear…. Early American SF, splitting away from mainstream fiction in the twentieth century, was optimistic. But since about 1950, it has become negative…." (pp. 55-56)

Brian Stableford (1987), in his book The Sociology of Science Fiction, found a slightly different trend: "The science fiction of the Fifties clearly gave voice to public anxiety about technological ‘progress’ and its products, but the dominant opinion within the genre … held that this anxiety was unjustified, and that the fear was misdirected. The real danger … was not the machines themselves, but our moral and intellectual inability to deal with them" (p. 110). Either way it is seen, technology plays a role in the dilemmas of humankind — it embodies the evil, it mirrors the evil or it makes the evil possible.

When humankind creates something, it is often compared to playing God. The act of creation is seen as God-like. The implications of this comparison are both appealing and terrifying. If people can play God, then they can also have power like a god. However, there is always the fear that God will frown upon such actions and the fool who plays God will pay dearly for such audacity. There is a Native American tribe which purposely puts imperfections into their art so as not to anger the gods. "Technology can now create almost anything man can imagine; and man is horrified and fearful when the products of his imagination become actual" (sic, Warrick, 1980, p. 56).

In early science fiction there is a clear distinction between Self and Other, human and machine. The Other was a machine, a computer or a robot. It was distinct and separate. There was no melding, no physical symbiosis, no interfacing between the human Self and the mechanical Other. But as time progressed, and science fiction changed along with the growing capabilities of technology, this separation became narrower and narrower, until in some more recent science fiction stories it is hard to tell where human stops and machine begins. There are now stories where "a man-machine symbiosis in which the distinction between organic and inorganic is no longer possible" (Warrick, 1980, p. 206).

This essay will explore the progression, through science fiction, of the narrowing distinction between Self and Other. What is the difference between Self and Other? Is there a difference? Does there need to be a difference?

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The Self vs. The Other

Science fiction explores "the striking ways in which technology is transforming our perceptions of our relationship to time, memory, self-identity, and "reality" (McCaffery, 1991, p. 7). It often challenges the concepts of what is Self, what is Other and are they really that distinct and separate. Many science fiction stories ask the questions: "What happens to man’s image of himself when machines begin to acquire some … [human] characteristics? If machine intelligence can perform the functions of human intelligence, is man then nothing more than a machine?" (sic, Warrick, 1980, pp. 62-63).

Stableford (1987) discusses the common characteristics that readers of science fiction have. One of these characteristics is vulnerability. Vulnerability is often felt when one feels a lack of control in one’s life. Young people are most likely to experience a sense of vulnerability. They do not have control of their lives. They must follow what their parents say and what their teachers say. Stableford explains why science fiction appeals to young readers: "There is a certain satisfaction for the vulnerable and the insecure in being able to believe that vulnerability and insecurity are conditions of the universe, and that the world itself may be threatened as it threatens them [the readers]" (p. 75).

Stableford’s (1987) research of science fiction literature and the people who read it gave him "a very strong impression of the isolation and alienation of many recruits to habitual science fiction reading" (p. 91). He even went so far as to say that "the extreme science fiction enthusiast tends to obtain his sense of identity form his notion of how he relates to a concept of the universe at large … instead of from his notion of how he relates to other human beings" (sic, p. 94). In science fiction, the Other is no longer a person, but a universe, an alien or a machine.

Many, if not most, of the early science fiction stories ended positively. However, as society becomes more complex and technology invades our everyday lives, science fiction has become less optimistic. Many stories no longer have such rosy endings. Stories either end darkly or have a dark flavor. For example, Blade Runner, by Philip K. Dick, ends with a feeling of sadness or despair. Deckard can no longer perform his job, his goat — which hasn’t even been completely paid for — has been pushed off the side of his building, and he now has a pet ersatz frog to feed fake flies to — instead of the real one he thought he had caught.

Stableford (1987) claims that "science fiction works because it allows us to perceive and explore new possibilities … for human existence" (p. 91). Sometimes the possibilities are positive and appealing, sometimes they are negative and frightening.

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The Computer as Other

In the movie War Games, a computer with a mind of it own almost destroys the world. In the movie The Terminator, a computer created by Cyberdine Systems sends a robot back in time to kill the mother of its nemesis — John Conner. In the short story "The Evitable Conflict" by Isaac Asimov, computers run the world.

Computers are compelling machines. They are "stupid" in that they only do what you tell them to do. But they are "smart" because they are thinking machines. Turkle (1984), in her book The Second Self, explores the relationship people have with computers. She suggests that they are mirrors, that they reflect what is already inside the user. This has implications for the Self/Other dichotomy. In one respect, the computer is Other. It is separate, distinct. It is not connected, physically, to the user. But if it is a mirror, then it is at the same time an integral part of the user, psychologically.

"The simplest force that makes the computer seem more than a machine among other machines is its behavior…. It is hard to capture the computer by seeing it in terms of familiar objects or processes that existed before it was invented. The computer is not ‘like’ anything else in any simple sense" (Turkle, 1984, p. 272). Of all the machines we have created, the computer is the most like us. It has been used in analogy to describe how the human mind works. Computers are made of logic. "And thinking about the core of a machine as the exercise of logic leads people … to thinking of the computer as mind" (Turkle, 1984, p. 274).

This is a scary and yet compelling idea. In computers, we have a technological object that is both Self and Other at the same time. As a mirror, it can reflect things about ourselves that we may not be able to see. The cliche goes one’s favorite topic is usually oneself. With a computer one can learn a great deal about oneself. But at the same time it is terrifying. Can learning about oneself be addictive? The computer is just a machine. Are we just biological machines? or do we have free will? People tend to have strong opinions on these topics:

"The vehemence of response expresses our stake in maintaining the line between the natural and the artificial, between the human and the mechanical. Discussion about computers becomes charged with feelings about what is special about people: their creativity, their sensuality, their pain and pleasure. But paradoxically, when faced with a machine that shows any degree of ‘intelligence,’ many of these same people seem pulled toward treating the machine as though it were a person." (Turkle, 1984, p. 271)

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The Robot as Other

It is relatively easy to see the computer as Other. Computers don’t look like people, they don’t walk around and they don’t have faces. But what happens when a computer brain is placed in a humanoid shell? Are robots harder to see as the Other? Many authors have explored the Self/Other dichotomy with robots, both mechanical and humanoid in appearance.

In his robot stories and novels, Isaac Asimov explored the robot other. Because his robots were ruled by the three laws of robotics, they were benevolent. For example, in "Robbie," the robot is the perfect companion and nanny. Asimov’s robots free humankind from doing the drudgery work.

But not all tales of robots are so optimistic. There is the fear that robots will replace us, leaving us with no reason to exist. It is the fear, as Baudrillard (1991) suggested, of "the hegemony of the robot, of the machine, and the dead work over living labor" (p. 180). In movies like Westworld, Futureworld, The Day the Earth Stood Still, and The Terminator, robots are a menace to humankind. The robot is shown to be a relentless, virtually unstoppable foe bent on the hero or heroine’s destruction.

The terror becomes even stronger when the robot is humaniform — is indistinguishable from a person. How can you fight an enemy when you can’t recognize it? How can you recognize the Other when it looks just like the Self?

Asimov also explored this idea in both "Evidence" and "The Bicentennial Man." According to Warrick (1980), the implication of "The Bicentennial Man"

is that a line between the animate and the inanimate, the organic and the inorganic, cannot be drawn. If the fundamental materials of the universe are matter, energy, and information patterns (or intelligence), then man is not unique. He exists on a continuum with all intelligence; he is no more than the most highly evolved form on earth. (p. 73)

But what is so frightening about a robot in the form a human? For one, if a humanoid robot is physically superior to a human, will it try to eradicate humankind? "Can an intelligence without a living body, without sexuality, ever really understand human beings?" (Turkle, 1984, pp. 19-20). Will what makes humans special and unique as a life form be treasured or reviled by robots? The answers to these questions, when negative, can raise the hairs on the back of anyone’s neck.

McCaffery (1991) phrased this fear in this way:

our primal urge to replicate our consciousness and physical beings … is not leading us closer to the dream of immortality, but is creating merely a pathetic parody, a metaexistence or simulacra of our essences that is supplanting us, literally taking over our physical space and our roles with admirable proficiency and without the drawbacks of human error and waste, without the human emotions of love, anger, ambition, and jealousy that jeopardize the efficiency and predictability of the capitalistic exchange — without, in short, the messy, unruly passions which also make the brief movement from conception to death so exhilarating and so frightening. And so human." (p. 16)

Phillip K. Dick, in this novel Blade Runner or Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, made the question "When does a machine cease to be a machine and start to be alive?" all the more vexing to answer. His robots, or replicants, were so much like people that the only way to tell them physically apart was to have a bone marrow analysis done.

His answer was similar to that of Asimov’s, however a bit more pessimistic. The difference, as illustrated in the novel, is a moot point. As Warrick (1980) put it, "The activities of the hand transform the patterns of the intellect. Those who are obsessed with building sophisticated homeostatic machines become human machines" (p.218). Through their experiences as blade runners, both Deckard and Resch have become more machine like.

In Ridley Scott’s version of Blade Runner, Scott took Dick’s vision and made it more poignant. The replicants, with their implanted memories, were even more like humans. This is part of what makes them so frightening. "The replicants, created to satisfy man’s every desire — for entertainment, companionship, relief from labour, sexual outlet — threaten to render their creators superfluous and take their place" (sic, Telotte, 1990, pp. 154-155).

However, at the same time that the movie Blade Runner shows us our fears of the Other, it offers us a hope — in the form of Rachael. Rachael, although a replicant, "mirrors something significantly human… a loneliness and longing for others wherewith that loneliness might be overcome" (Telotte, 1990, pp. 156). Rachael "awakens Deckard’s slumbering desires and effectively serves as a mirror in which he might see his humanity." In other words, the Other, in becoming more like the Self, helps define the Self more sharply.

Even when robots look so much like humans as to make the distinction almost impossible, they can still be perceived as a distinct and separate Other. There is no physical connection between the Self and the Robot/Other. But what happens when physical distinction starts to dissolve?

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The TV as Other

Television has proved to be a very compelling piece of technology for science fiction writers. Many, if not most, homes have at least one television. Many children today are raised with the television as a babysitter. The television has been accused to brainwashing a nation, and has also been touted as a boon to society. With the widespread use of the television, Kroker & Cook (1991) said, "class society has now disappeared into mass society, and … mass society has dissolved into the TV blip" (p. 238).

Unlike most technological devices in our homes the television is both interactive and passive. One can just sit in front of the television like a "couch potato" and "veg out," watching TV show after TV show and never pay attention to what was being watched. Or, one can actively participate with the actions on the screen, be it answer the question on the game show before the answer is given, or learn about the natural history of sharks on a nature show. The TV, also, can put the audience in "the psychological position of the voyeur (a society of the disembodied eye)" (Kroker & Cook, 1991, p. 233).

Kroker & Cook (1991) argue that "the real product of television is the audience" (p. 238). The TV interacts directly wit the mind, bypassing the body. David Cronenberg, in his film Videodrome, gives this idea a terrifying twist. He poses the question, "What happens when machine and human become an integrated entity?" Wren, the main character in the movie, becomes "programmed" by a video signal. He becomes "the video word made flesh."

Bukatman (1990) said that in Videodrome, the TV becomes the carrier of a "virus" which infects the mind. "The injection of information leads to control, mutation, and passive replication: the host cell ‘believes’ that it is following its own biologically determined imperative; it mistakes the new genetic material for its own, the image/virus is posited as invasive and irresistible; a parasite with only self-replication as its function" (pp. 200-201). Through a process of hallucination, Wren becomes a pawn that the controllers of the videodrome signal can manipulate. Videodrome is the catalyst for "the transformation of the self into Other" (Bukatman, 1990, p. 201).

The horror of Videodrome is found in the realization that "body and image [can] become one: a dissolution of real and representation … but also of the boundaries between internal and external, as the interiorized hallucination becomes the public spectacle of the ‘Videodrome’ programme" (sic, Bukatman, 1990, pp. 207).

But somehow, there is a hope that videodrome is escapable. Just don’t watch it. It is physically separate from the Self, and therefore escapable. But what if the Other has been physically implanted into one’s own brain?

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The Other becomes a Part of the Self

As computers and medical technology advance, the idea of brain implants has come to the forefront. If we can replace the human heart with a plastic and metal pump, why can’t we insert high-tech computer chips into our brains? The movie Total Recall: showed what such technology could be capable of. People could go on vacations without ever leaving their homes — with the aid of false memory implants. But again, there is a fear mingled with the desire. What happens if "we all became mere software, easily deletable from the hard drives of multinationalism’s vast mainframe" (McCaffery, 1991, p. 12)?

In Tom Maddox’s short story, "Snake Eyes," a man, George, fitted with computer implants in his brain is confronted with the Other which is really just a suppressed part of the Self. George does not recognize — nor does he want to recognize — that what he calls "the snake" is actually a part of him. This part of his brain "compels" him to do strange, and often violent, things that he finds repugnant. However, he is confronted with the fact that these actions are a part of himself: "There is no snake. You want to believe in something reptilian that sits inside you, cold and distant, taking strange pleasures. However … the implant is an organic part of you. You can no longer evade the responsibility for these things. They are you" (p. 27).

Stories like "Snake Eyes" and Total Recall tell a tale of "that which was alien is now within" (Gergen, 1991, p. 255). But why the sudden rise in stories where the Other has been integrated with the Self? One answer to this question could be the influence of today’s society. As postmodernism becomes a way of life, it is becoming more difficult to tell the difference between what we have traditionally considered the Other. Kenneth Gergen (1991) put it this way:

"With the spread of postmodern consciousness, we see the demise of personal definition, reason, authority, commitment, trust, the sense of authenticity, security, belief in leadership, depth of feeling, and faith in progress. In their stead, an open slate emerges on which persons may inscribe, erase, and rewrite their identities as the ever-shifting, ever-expanding, and incoherent network of relationships invites or permits." (p. 228)

We live in a society where national boundaries are becoming less real and more just convention. The economy is less dependent on an individual government and becoming more world-wide. The world is becoming a smaller and smaller place. And, "as consciousness of interdependence expands, so withers the distinction between Self and other, mine and yours" (Gergen, 1991, p. 255). Literature tends to reflect what is going on society.

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Conclusion

Why the attraction of machines/computers/ robots? Why the fear? For one, people tend to "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" (Turkle, 1984, p. 12). Machines, computers and robots are the fruit of our labor. They are our surrogate children and they are mirrors of our souls, reflecting our desires, needs and quirks.

Also, "we are drawn to what frightens us, we play with what disturbs us, in part to try to reassert our control over it" (Turkle, 1984, p. 34). Asimov (1990), in his essay, "The Machine and the Robot," stated that "the great fear is not that machinery will harm us — but that it will supplant us. It is not that it will render us ineffective — but that it will make us obsolete" (p. 440).

Exploring scenarios which have not happened are an exercise in preparation. "Without knowledge gained in the past we could not interpret the experience of the moment. This applies to artifical experience as much as it does to experience of the real world" (sic, Stableford, 1987, p. 69). Stories about the possibilities of our expanding technological capabilities can serve both as a warning of what to watch out for and practice for what may just happen. "Images of an almost total physical and psychic dependence on technology not only express the interpenetration of ‘culture’ and daily life; they also serve to remind us that we ignore these new technologies at our peril" (Fitting, 1991, p. 309).

One of humankind’s strongest drives is to understand itself. Computers and robots are excellent tools to acquire this understanding. This is what makes them so appealing and potentially addictive. However:

People are afraid to think of themselves as machines, that they are controlled, predictable, determined, just as they are afraid to think of themselves as ‘driven’ by sexual or aggressive impulses…. Thinking about the self as a machine includes the feeling of being ‘run’ from the outside, out of control because in the control of something beyond the self. (Turkle, 1984, pg. 299)

It is this aspect that makes technology so frightening. It is the fear that the Other is not only something we don’t like, but it is also no different than the Self.

"Exploring the parts of ourselves that we do not feel in control of is a way to begin to own them, a way to feel more whole" (Turkle, 1984, pg. 299). This is what drives us to explore our desires and our fears in literature and film. This is why there are so many tales of computers and robots gone out of control. It is our way of facing our fears and expressing our hopes for the best. It is our way of embracing the Other in order to affirm the Self.

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References

Asimov, I. (1990). Robot visions. Byron Preiss Visual Publications, Inc.: New York, NY.

Baudrillard, J. (1991). "The Automation of the Robot" (from Simulations). In: McCaffery, L., Editor, Storming the reality studio: A casebook of cyberpunk and postmodern fiction, pp. 178-181. Duke University Press: Durham.

Bukatman, S. (1990). "Who programs you? The science fiction of the spectacle." In: Kuhn, A., Editor, Alien zone: Cultural theory and contemporary science fiction cinema, pp. 196- 213. Verso: London.

Dick, P. K. (1968). Blade runner (Do androids dream of electric sheep?) Ballantine Books: New York, NY.

Fitting, P. (1991). "The lessons of cyberpunk." In: Penley, C. & Ross, A., Editors, Technoculture, pp. 295-315. University of Minnesota Press: Minneapolis, Minn.

Gergen, K. (1991). The saturated self: Basic Books: USA.

Kroker, A. & Cook, D. (1991). "Television and the Triumph of Culture" (from The Postmodern Scene) In: McCaffery, L., Editor, Storming the reality studio: A casebook of cyberpunk and postmodern fiction, pp. 229-238. Duke University Press: Durham, NC.

Maddox, T. (1986). "Snake Eyes." In: Sterling, B., Editor, Mirrorshades: The cyberpunk anthology, pp. 12- 33. Ace Books: New York, NY.

McCaffery, L. (1991). "Introduction: The Desert of the Real." In: McCaffery, L., Editor, Storming the reality Studio: A casebook of cyberpunk and postmodern fiction, pp. 1-16. Duke University Press: Durham.

Stableford, B. (1987). The sociology of science fiction: Borgo Press: San Bernardino, CA.

Telotte, J.P. (1990). "The Doubles of Fantasy and the Space of Desire." In: Kuhn, A., Editor, Alien zone: Cultural theory and contemporary science fiction cinema, pp. 152- 159. Verso: London.

Turkle, S. (1984). The second self. Simon & Schuster, Inc.: New York, NY.

Warrick,P. (1980). The cybernetic imagination. The MIT Press: Cambridge, Mass.

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The following essay was a paper I wrote for a class I took called “Science Fiction and American Culture.” It compares Harry Bates’ short story “Farewell to the Master” to the movie based on it, The Day the Earth Stood Still.

“Farewell to the Master” first appeared in the October 1940 issue of Astounding Stories. You can find a copy of it online at The Nostalgia League’s website.

The Day the Earth Stood Still was directed by Robert Wise and released in 1951, starring Michael Rennie and Patricia Neal. You can find more information at IMDB. If you would like to purchase a copy of this movie on DVD, click here to go to Amazon.com.

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Translating the printed word into a visual medium is not always easy. Oftentimes, films based on short stories or novels turn out pretty bad, especially in comparison to the original work (Clan of the Cave Bear and Dune are two that come to mind.) Often what can be written down and be exciting to read becomes boring and dull when placed on the silver screen. Changes have to be made for the story to be entertaining visually. I think The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) was a succesful translation of Harry Bates short story, “Farewell to the Master.” What follows is my reasoning.For me the key points in both the movie and the film were: the robot, the spaceship, and Washington, DC.

The Robot

The robot played a much more important role in the short story than it did in the film. In both the short story and the film it was a symbol of raw, unadulterated, and incomprehensible power. In an effort to render Gnut harmless, the scientists in the short story “sent electrical currents of tremendous voltages and amperages through him. They applied terrific heat to all parts of his metal shell. They immersed him for days in gases and acids and strongly corroding solutions, and they … bombarded him with every known kind of ray.” In the movie this wasn’t done, but in both, the robot was encased in a clear block of solid plastic or glass-like material. And in both the short story and the film, the robot broke free of this prison.

The robot’s name changed from story to film, I think, was a good move. When I read the word “Gnut” I get a different image than if I just heard it. In the movie, “Gnut” would have sounded more like “newt,” which doesn’t imply the same sense of the unknown. “Gort” was appropriate because there is not a common word, “gort,” that means something in English. It sounds alien.

The Spaceship

The spaceship in the film was much how I imagined it when I read the story. It was smooth and sleek. It looked like flying saucers are purported to look. “No slightest break or crack marred the perfect smoothness of the ship’s curving ovoid surface,” wrote Bates. The spaceship in the movie was similar, as Sobchack (1987) describes, “treated as a thing of beauty, the … flying saucer … is so pure in line, so ascetically designed … that it concretizes the Platonic virtues of clarity, sanity, reason — virtues sadly lacking in the Washington, D.C., mise en scene in which the saucer comes to rest.” (p. 77.)

Washington, D.C.

The mise en scene, so to speak, for the short story was more the Smithsonian museum than Washington, D.C. However, in both versions, the importance of the place is not necessarily as important as what those places represent. Washington, D.C. is a place where the primary government of a major world power rests. It is a town that is relatively easy to get around in, it has a lair where the primary government of a major world power rests. It seems a logical place for an alien to land. It also has a large press population, and can be considered the seat of American patriotism.

In the story, these aspects of locale took more of a back seat than in the film. In the film, Arlington Cemetery was an important symbol of humankind’s petty wars. The “great words” of Lincoln served as a catalyst to spur Klaatu on to his next contact, Dr. Bernhardt. It would be difficult to find such commonly known symbols in any other town.

What the Printed Word Can Do that Film Can’t

“Bates’ story is a hoary piece of work when read today and Edmund H. North’s screenplay was a great improvement on it.” (Brosnan, 1978, p. 85.) I disagree with this statement. I found the story to be quite riveting and tense. I wanted to keep reading. I felt the fear that Cliff felt, as well as his curiosity. However, I also agree that the screenplay was an improvement for the screen. Bates’ story, as written, would have been a boring movie. The tension was more psychological than visual. It would have been very difficult to get the same emotional impact on screen as there was in the written story.

What Film Can Do that the Printed Word Can’t

I also disagree with Brosnan’s comment about the interior of the ship: “though its interior was a disappointment and showing it destroyed the essential mystery of the craft.” (p. 84.) I thought the use of lighting (compounded by the moody music by Bernard Herman) was quite effective. It adequately gave the impression of sterile science, of the frightening unknown, and of mysterious, alien origin.

Sound is an added effect available to film that the printed work cannot imitate. The music track for this movie was very effective — if not a bit too loud at times. It set the mood of the movie as a whole, as well as for each scene. It made benign images seem terrifying.

Conclusion

What impressed me the most about both the story and the movie was the concept of the robot. In the short story, Gnut was another race. He was another form of life incomprehensible to people with carbon-based biases. He was the “master” in the sense that he was more technologically, and maybe even emotionally, evolved than Klaatu. The story implied, for me, that Klaatu was like a beloved pet. Gnut’s efforts to bring Klaatu back were reminiscent of those many times when I rushed my pet rat to the veterinarian because she was ill. My pet was a life dependent on me and I felt responsible for her. I imagine that Gnut felt the same way about Klaatu, that Gnut felt guilty of putting Klaatu in a situation where he was unable to protect him.

I disagree that this story, and the film as well, was pessimistic; that it portrayed a “brave new world run by robots,” as Healy and McComas (1945) suggested. Brosnan (1978) said that “the idea of placing our basic human rights in the custody of a machine, or any ’superior force’, is not only an admission of defeat but also one which smacks of totalitarianism.” (p. 84.) I think they missed the point. In the story, Gnut was another form of life. Nowhere in the story does Klaatu say that Gnut was manufactured. However, in the movie, Klaatu does say that Gort was made — but to free them. To say that relegating police authority to robots is like acquiescing to totalitarianism is like saying the mechanization of production is also that. Humanity has always sought for easier and faster ways to do things, thus freeing up more time for leisure. Since crime threatens leisure time, as well as other things, it makes sense to mechanize a method for preventing it as well.

This essay was written for a class I took called “Science Fiction and American Culture.” It was in response to reading several stories in Mirrorshades, edited by Bruce Sterling, as well as assigned readings from Storming the Reality Studio, edited by Larry McCaffery.

If you would like to read Mirrorshades, still considered an excellent introduction to the cyberpunk sub-genre, or Storming the Reality Studio, you should be able to find it at your local library. If not, you can purchase both Mirrorshades and Storming the Reality Studio from Amazon.com.

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I drove all over Hollywood
looking at the stars
first I ate my Milky Way
and then I ate my Mars
but sucking on a Galaxy
I noticed something pretty bizarre
there’s not a lot of people there, just an awful lot of cars.

“Pulp Culture,” Thomas Dolby
from the album Aliens Ate My Buick
1988, Lost Toy People, Inc. (ASCAP)

I had no idea what “postmodernism” was when I came to this class — I’m still not sure that I do now. The readings for this week have given me an idea — if postmodernism and cyberpunk are similar.

Before this week, I thought cyberpunk was science fiction dealing with human-computer interface. But it seems to be more than that. It is a dissociation of reality, a shattering of what is often taken for granted and a confusion of boundaries between the self and the other. Reading cyberpunk feels like reading James Joyce on drugs (James Joyce being the one on drugs — not the reader).

The stream of consciousness is warped by an LSD mentality. Seemingly trivial details take on great import, if only for a moment. The vulgar, the horrific, the exotic and the intense are forced at the reader in bits and pieces like ice cream thrown in a blender with the lid open, spattering what was going to be a milkshake all over the ceiling.

I felt lost most of the time while reading the stories assigned from Mirrorshades. Of course, I felt the same way reading James Joyce — I never did finish A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. There was a difference, though. The referents in cyberpunk are at least remotely familiar — 1950’s futuristic visions (”The Gernsback Continuum”), rock clubs with the drug scene swelling around it (”Freezone”), Mozart and Marie Antoinette (”Mozart in Mirrorshades”).

I guess being a native Californian, I also understood the scattered, eclectic reality that makes up Californian life. Thomas Pynchon describes a “typical” Calfornia city: “Like many named places in California it was less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts — census tracts, special purpose bond-issue districts, shopping nuclei, all overlaid with access roads to its own freeway.” I grew up in a county that blended Yuppies, country hicks and hippies without blinking. One town is really nothing but a business park, while another is a county tourist stop.

This all leads me to my opening quote from Thomas Dolby. The readings this week kept reminding me of lyrics from the songs on Aliens Ate My Buick. The album is sort of a commentary on L.A. life. One song (”The Key To Her Ferrari”) tells the story of a man who only wants to date a woman so he can drive her car: “I don’t want your love / I don’t want your money/ I just want he key to your Ferrari.” The album is a postmodern — if I’m using the term correctly — mix of music from salsa, techno, new wave and swing.

Another thing I noticed about the cyberpunk we read was the raw language. Even the essays used profanity. The sexuality comes at you hard — “And when I get you alone I’m going to batter you cervix into jelly” (”Freezone”), “and Case’s psychological motives center on his desire to seek revenge against the forces who fucked him over” (”Introduction: The Desert of the Real,” Storming the Reality Studio) and the sadomasochism of Videodrome.^* Such raw language and imagery stop my reading. I’m not expecting it, so when it comes up, my mind jumps the track of my reading.

Cyberpunk seems to take reality and turn it upside-down and inside-out, using hallucination, drugs or direct link up to a computer as the tool to do so. The narrative is internal. The omniscient narrator does not exist in the cyberpunk world. Everything is subjective. Where reality ends and something else begins becomes a fuzzy line, and, in the course of the story, may never become clear.

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* Even Dolby’s song “The Key To Her Ferrari” assaults you with surprise, raw imagery: “And then I saw her … she was a bright red ‘64 GTO with fins and gills like some giant piranha fish, some obscene phallic symbol on wheels … little rivers of anticipation ran down my inseam as I kicked those five hundred Italian horses into life and left reality behind me: fifty, sixty, seventy miles and hour … my hand slipped inside the belt of my trousers as we passed eighty, ninety miles and hour … and as we hit the magic 100 my love exploded all over her bright pink leather interior…. And at that moment, I thought of my mother.” (sic.)

This essay was written for a class I took called “Science Fiction and American Culture.” It was in response to three short stories and one novel:

• “Thunder and Roses” by Theodore Sturgeon,
• “The Roads Must Roll” by Robert Heinlein,
• “Coming Attraction” by Fritz Leiber, and
• The Space Merchants, by Frederik Pohl and Cyril Kornbluth.

You should be able to find a copy of The Space Merchants in your local library. Or you can purchase one from Amazon.com.

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In the introductory essay (”The Social Side”) to the short story “Coming Attraction” by Fritz Leiber, James Gunn discusses the four stages of science fiction as mentioned by Isaac Asimov’s 1953 essay “Social Science Fiction.” Asimov said that science fiction written since around 1945 have had a more sociological bent. He defined social science fiction “as stories about ‘the impact of scientific advance upon human beings.” (Gunn, pg.166.) The three short stories and a novel that we read for this week were all published between 1945 and 1955 and had a more sociological, rather than technological, bend to them. This is most strikingly noticeable in the development of the central male figure in the stories.”Thunder and Roses” by Theodore Sturgeon was published in 1947. The central male figure, Pete Mawser, is still reminiscent of earlier, pre-1945, characters — for example, from Robert Heinlein’s “The Roads Must Roll.” Mr. Gaines is a cool, collected, man’s man. He doesn’t let his wife get in his way, and he gets his job done without letting emotions curve his path. Mawser, is also something of a man’s man. He is in the military. He gets things done (like when he helps Sonny get rid of the razor blade). However, in him you begin to see the social aspects of science fiction coming into form.”Thunder and Roses” has a social statement to make. It suggests that it is better to let your enemies live, even if they have attacked you first, if the price of retaliation is the obliteration of all life. It also says something about self-sacrifice, that it is sometimes better to be altruistic, in the long run, than selfish. Pete Mawser learns this lesson in the story. Through listening to Star Anthim’s song, and then being with her as she dies, he realizes that the sanctity of life is more important that revenge.

At the beginning of the story, Mawser is full of hate. The reader gets the impression that he’d retaliate if he had the means. “Hate was first. Hate was ubiquitous….” But, at the end of the story, he destroys the means of retaliation so that no one can retaliate.

“Coming Attraction” by Fritz Leiber was published in 1950. The central male figure, Wystern Turner, furthers this trend towards the socializing and warming of male characters. Turner, although a proper — and stereotypical — Englishman, has feelings. You can also say that he wears them on his shirtsleeve, for he cares about Theda before he knows anything about her. He’s willing to help her escape to England even before he knows her name. Turner is like a chimera. He is emotional and caring while being cool and aloof. It depends on his situation.

The Space Merchants, by Frederik Pohl and Cyril Kornbluth, was first published in 1952. Mitchell Courtenay, the central male figure of this tale, goes through an evolution of character while still remaining the same. He starts out as a firm believer of marketing. He changes through various life-threatening, as well as world-view threatening, situations into a person who may not always bow down to “the god of Sales,” but who will use marketing to further the aims of the “Consies” (the Conservationists) if they, in turn, further his own personal aims.

“The First Canticle” by Walter M. Miller, Jr. was first published in 1955. Brother Francis Gerard of Utah, the main character of this story, is the ultimate “human” man. He is humble, modest and honest. He is a “simpleton” who is a devout follower of his (soon-to-be) Saint Leibowitz. His dreams are simple, as well as his life. It is very hard to find the “man’s man” in Brother Francis.

The story is also the most sociological of the three short stories. The culture in which Brother Francis lives is richly described and alluded to. What probably makes this world so vivid is its familiarity. It is history repeating itself in a slightly different form. The Space Merchants also develops a complex social structure. But, because of its complexity and unfamiliarity, it takes longer to build.

The stories we read for this week exemplify the trend Asimov wrote about. They illustrate how characters, and the society they live in became more important than the society they live in, became more important that technological gadgets in science fiction stories after 1945.

The following essay was a paper I wrote for a class I took called “Science Fiction and American Culture.” It discusses issues brought up in Isaac Asimov’s novella Bicentennial Man, which can be found in Robot Visions. You should be able to find a copy of it at your local library, or you can purchase one from Amazon.com.

This essay was written several years before the movie version starring Robin Williams produced.

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sentience n.	1. The quality or condition of being sentient: CONSCIOUSNESS. 2. Emotion as opposed to perception or thought.
consciousness n.	1. The state of being conscious. 2. The totality of attitudes, opinions, and sensitivities held or thought to be held by an individual or group…. 4. a. A critical awareness of one’s own situation and identity. b. Awareness: concern.
Webster’s II New Riverside University Dictionary

Can humankind create life? Can we, through our technology, our intelligence, and the raw materials we have available create an artificial life that is capable of thinking, coping with its environment and feeling? This has been an underlying theme in many works of science fiction. It is the underlying question in most of Isaac Asimov’s robot stories and continues to be asked to today in stories and television.

“The Bicentennial Man” by Asimov reminded me quite a bit of several episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation ( STTNG). Data, the android, can be thought of as an extension of the ideas Asimov worked with in his stories and novels of robots. His uniqueness sets him apart, but at the same time he can be remarkably “human.”

The arguments that say a machine — a computer — no matter how complex can never be considered alive (that I’ve noticed) are:

1. A machine cannot think, it can only simulate thought.
2. Humans can experience emotions, machines cannot.
3. If the Three Laws of Robotics are taken into consideration, then a robot can never have free will. A human can.

Using examples from the readings for this week, from episodes of STTNG, and bits and pieces of an argument I have been developing for years, I plan to show that a robot can be capable of sentience — in all its meanings. Since there are no robots of this caliber in existence yet, I will not be able to prove my point, but I hope to at least cast doubt on the idea that it is an impossibility.

Argument 1. A machine cannot think, it can only simulate thought.

What is thought anyway? Is it a function of the brain or the mind? Is there a difference?

Some scientists believe that the sum of the brain cells in your head equals the sum of your mind, that the whole is not greater than the sum of the parts. To them, everything you feel, everything you think, everything you remember can be explained by the electrical impulses and chemical markers of your brain. They believe that, in theory, it is possible to extract everything that you experience as your mind from the gray matter in your head.

Other scientists do not believe this. They believe that when your brain cells work together they create something that is bigger than the sum each cell added together. They believe that it is impossible to extract from the physical stuff in your brain everything that you experience as your mind. If you separate the brain cells, you loose the ability to understand the mind.

Because these debates still goes on today, with evidence accumulating on both sides, how can we say what thought is? If we can’t understand our own thought, how can we say that a machine is not thinking? If the first group of scientists are correct, then we are nothing more than carbon based computers. The only difference between us and a thinking machine is the materials we use to create the thoughts. Both a computer brain and a human brain use electricity.

Until we fully understand the basis of human thought, argument one is moot. It raises a philosophical discussion that can only be backed by faith, belief and opinion. It cannot, at the present time be used as an argument against artificial intelligence.

Argument 2. Humans can experience emotions, machines cannot.

The key idea, which runs through most episodes of STTNG that concern Data, which is thought to set him apart from humanity is his lack of emotions. I disagree. I am absolutely convinced that he has emotions. They may not be passionate emotions that clog his thinking or cause him to behave irrationally, but they are there.

In “The Bicentennial Man,” Andrew describes how he experiences something akin to emotion. “Andrew was fond of them…. At least, the effect they had upon his actions were those which in a human being would have been called the result of fondness, for he did not any other word for it.”

A little later he goes on:

“I enjoy doing them, Sir.”

“Enjoy?”

“It makes the circuits of my brain somehow flow more easily. I have heard you use the word ‘enjoy’ and the way you use it fits the way I feel. I enjoy doing them, sir.”

Data says the same thing in the episode where the Enterprise visits Tasha Yar’s home planet and meets her sister Ishara. Data says that he has a memory loop, that he keeps thinking about Ishara and misses her.

What are these experiences if they are not emotions? When we are enjoying something, can we not say that what we are experiencing is an easier flow of our thoughts? When we miss someone, do we not experience a memory loop? Is there really that much difference between a “simulated thought” and a real one?

When an actor acts are they experiencing a “simulated emotion”? If so what makes it simulated? I would say it is simulated because the actor knows that it is not his emotion but that ofthe character he is portraying. So I ask this. If a robot experiences a “simulated emotion,” why is it simulated and not real? The emotion is its. It is not pretending to be someone else. Is it only simulated because someone programmed the possibility of its existence into the computer? Then I ask, how do we know that we are not “programmed” in some way — by our genetics, evolution or God?

Argument 3. If the Three Laws of Robotics are taken into consideration, then a robot can never have free will. A human can.

This argument, in effect says that because Asimov’s robots are programmed with the Three Laws of Robotics, they have no free will. This implies that humans do. But do they?

Psychology often uses the premise that adult behaviorcan be explained by — and is often dictated by — events that happen in childhood. In other words, if X happens when someone is 3 years old, then Y is mostly to be manifested in adulthood. The person in question does not even need to consciously remember X in order for Y to happen. And even when the person is aware of the root of their behavior, it does not mean that they are able to change it easily. Is this not like a program? Does this not limit a person’s free will?

Then there are rules imposed by society. Some are never even explicitly stated. People just “know” that Z is wrong — they don’t know why necessarily. Is this not like a robot “knowing” not to harm a human and to follow a human’s orders?

What is the difference? A human programs a robot and humans weren’t programmed? How do we know this? We have no proof that we are not programmed. For all we know, genetics and evolution have programmed each an every one of us quite precisely — just as precisely as the roboticists programmed Andrew.

George argues with his father “When you talk to him [Andrew] you’ll find he reacts to the various abstractions as you and I do, and what else counts? If someone else’s reactions are like your own, what more can you ask for?” What, indeed. Artificial Intelligence researchers ask this same question of their critics. I ask this same question. If a computer or a robot can show me that it is self aware, then I’m willing to accept it as “alive.”