How often do you find yourself talking
to your computer? Does it ever seem to be conspiring against you? As you
sit, facing the screen, day in, day out, do you imbue the stark grey boxes
(or glossy translucency, if you’re an Apple fan) with something approaching
Ray Kurzweil believes that one day,
in the not too distant future, computers will overtake human intelligence,
and technology will evolve to produce a form of consciousness that is inseparable
from our own. Kurzweil is a futurologist specialising in artificial intelligence.
Unlike his peers, whose senses, it seems, are often confused by the heady
scent of prediction, he practises what he preaches, overseeing a raft of
companies (including Kurzweil Applied Intelligence, Kurzweil Music Systems
and Kurzweil Educational Systems),(1)
all dedicated to emulating and enhancing human behaviour in a number of
fields. Futurologists generally work themselves into two camps - utopians
and dystopians. Kurzweil firmly places himself in the former camp, and
Age of Spiritual Machines, (2)
a follow-up to 1990’s The
Age of Intelligent Machines, is a eulogy to the forthcoming silicon
age, a glorious future with possibilities far beyond our current limited
compre-hension. With the fundamental premise that in the not too distant
future, machine and human will live side by side in cybernetic symbiosis,
is the Age of Spiritual Machines realism or virtual reality?
The Age of Spiritual Machines is
both chronicle and almanac, a combination of straightforward technological
history with a speculative – and ever-optimistic – look to the future.
The book is best read as a guidebook to the future, a highly educated snapshot
of the almost unimaginable. As the author himself states in his ‘note to
the reader’, we have ‘choices to make in our path through this book’, and
my copy certainly became dog-eared and broken-spined as I flipped backwards
and forwards between the copious appendices and footnotes. Such a laborious
structure lends itself best to electronic documents, which can be linked
by the click of a mouse. In print form, however, it swiftly grows tiresome.
Each chapter is terminated by the transcript of a ‘chat’ between us – his
readers – and Kurzweil. These conver-sations are an irritating literary
device whose main characteristics are a predilection for weak humour, Californian
surf-speak and an irritating propensity to state the obvious. Kurzweil
is no cyberpunk author or Generation X prophet, but although these intrusive
futuristic dialogues smack of a creative writing exercise, they also convey
the vast technological leaps that Kurzweil feels sure will transform our
Kurzweil stakes his predictions
on the total acceptance of Moore’s Law, the maxim that computer power roughly
doubles every 18 months, with a corresponding fall in price. This equation,
which – as Kurzweil demonstrates has held broadly constant since the pioneering
days of Charles Babbage in the last century but one – is a form of evolution,
a technological evolution that will ultimately result in desktop computers
with the same processing power as the human brain by around 2025. Moore’s
Law can be thwarted only by the so-called silicon limit, the physical barriers
on our ability to go on reducing processor size. Kurzweil deftly side-steps
these problems, arguing that by the time this limit is reached, we’ll have
long since mastered the delirious indecision promised by the quantum computer,
harnessing atoms themselves in a kind of mathematical stew, eschewing the
simple binary dualism of the bit for the qu-bit, which simultaneously tries
all possible solutions and yet instantaneously arrives at the right answer.
The quantum computer, he speculates, could be created at molecular level,
meaning that a cup of strong coffee, for example, could, theoretically
contain millions of quantum computers, if only we knew how to harness them.(3)
Until now, artificial intelligence
has been one of the great sleights of hand of the computing age. Granted,
any machine can be made to appear to be intelligent, but it takes more
than a pre-programmed set of responses - however dextrous and appropriate
– to imitate the human mind.(4)
Kurzweil confidently predicts that machine intelligence will far exceed
human intelligence by 2020.(5)
Other futurologists have not been so optimistic in their estimates. But
these scenarios, beloved of sci-fi writers from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
to Philip K.Dick’s
Runner, via the alarmist (and populist) visions of Michael Crichton
Park), James Cameron (The Terminator) and the Wachowski
Matrix) tell of a different future – dystopian societies of robotic
humanoids which (or who) yearn to throw off the yokes of their tyrannical
human masters, or where our alleged mastery of technology is revealed to
be a hollow sham, and the systems that humankind has tampered with rise
up to reveal their essential unmanageability.
If machines can be elevated to a
form of consciousness, Kurzweil confronts us with the possibility of a
roomful of computers, learning their ‘pasts’, and their knowledge of the
world, by rote. This brings to mind the psychotic HAL 9000 from Stanley
taught from ‘birth’ as if it were a child. As HAL becomes increasingly
demented, its education is spooled out, randomly:
Say, Dave... The quick brown
fox jumped over the fat lazy dog... The square root of pi is 1.7724538090...
log e to the base ten is 0.4342944 ... the square root of ten is 3.16227766...
I am HAL 9000 computer. I became operational at the HAL plant in Urbana,
Illinois, on January 12th, 1991. My first instructor was Mr. Arkany. He
taught me to sing a song... it goes like this... ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me
your answer do. I’m half; crazy all for the love of you...’
We’re drifting again, back and
forth, comparing fiction with fact and speculation with reality. Essentially,
however, that is how this book reads, dazzling you with clarity and logic
to underpin the fantastic, then plummeting back to reality.
Can computers be taught to comprehend
the nuances and dual meanings inherent in everyday speech? Kurzweil’s celebration
of the brain concludes with his opinion that one day, computers will be
configured in a similar, but vastly superior, manner to the human brain.(6)
They will therefore be able to learn. The now celebrated sentence, ‘Time
flies like an arrow’,(7)
used to highlight the complexity that context brings to simple language,
is cited here as an example of how the things we take for granted might
not be immediately apparent to a computer. Kurzweil quotes Marvin Minsky:
‘Birds can fly, unless they are penguins and ostriches, or if they happen
to be dead, or have broken wings, or are confined to cages, or have undergone
experiences so dreadful as to render them psychologically incapable of
flight.’ If our machines are to make the same intuitive leaps in their
comprehension of how the world works, our understanding of how we do it
– how our own brains function – must make similarly bold advances.
So where is all this leading? One
potential use for the imminent wholesale miniaturisation of our means of
communicating, creating and archiving is in the development of virtual
reality, that holy grail of computer technology. Ever since the author
Howard Rheingold described our tentative steps in this brave new imaginary
world,(8) virtual reality
has attained global recognition, if not usage. Will the ‘haptic’ tactile
interfaces of the future resemble the ‘utility fog’ described here? (9)
How will governments cope with freely available massive computing power?
And how will society respond to the wide availability of their snail-like
trace through their daily digital meanderings? Kurzweil touches on the
cryptographic con-undrums and the problems besetting the internet’s quest
for privacy (it’s illegal to export anything stronger than 40-bit cryptography
from the US), but seems content to meekly accept that in the future, ‘15
minutes of fame’ will be willingly traded for ‘15 minutes of privacy’.
For Kurzweil, the crux of his book
is that evolution, now represented by technological evolution, is continuing
at an exponential rate. Currently, we’re in the ‘knee’ of this development
curve, so while today’s programs and systems might appear to be smart,
they will be exponentially outpaced by their descendants in a few years
time. Our current ventures into the world of artificial intelligence include
Brutus.I, an electronic author that specialises in short, snappy and somewhat
open-ended tales of betrayal, as well as Kurzweil’s own Ray Kurzweil’s
Poet. All of these rely on existing knowledge, building up databases
through ‘reading’ other texts. But we’re a long way from seamless integration
– even Kurzweil admits that the dreaded grammatical pedantry of the widely
used word processor Word is not for him. Ray Kurzweil’s Electronic Poet’s
output might smack of the satisfactory composition that those of us with
neither rhyme nor inclination can snap together in five
minutes on the front of a fridge, but, nonetheless, the ‘language model’
used – whereby the program reads, learns and inwardly digests the author
it is to imitate – is a sign of things to come. For now, machines seek
us to flatter us through imitation. When will these roles be reversed?
In a section entitled ‘Predictions
of the present’, Kurzweil repeats the well-known blunders of scientists
and businessmen attempting to predict the future. It’s easy to laugh with
the benefit of hindsight, amazed that, from their position of knowledge,
these people didn’t ‘know better’. Alvin Toffler’s seminal Future
Shock (1970), subtitled ‘a study of mass bewilderment in the face
of accelerating change’, wildly under-estimated our potential for absorbing
and accommodating the then nascent technological revolution and bombarded
its readers with scenarios that challenged their existing systems, claiming,
for example, that ‘long before the year 2000, the entire antiquated system
of degrees, majors and credits will be a shambles. No two students will
move along the same educational track.’(10)
And that’s precisely the dilemma this book places the reader. To criticise
its claims would be to add to futurism’s ‘spotty reputation’, as Kurzweil
calls it. His argument that evolution occurs exponentially appears to be
borne out by the extensive appendix charting technological developments.
At first, inventions are sparse and few, but gradually they increase, coming
thick and fast – the Law of Accelerating Returns.
Kurzweil’s relentlessly utopian prognosis
contrasts strongly with a darker streak running through contemporary technological
writing, especially in America. Kurzweil himself presents us with a piece
of anonymous anti-technological writing. This is a game anyone can play:
‘You can’t get rid of the “bad” parts of technology and retain only the
“good” parts. Take modern medicine, for example. Progress in medical science
depends on progress in chemistry, physics, biology, computer science and
When taken out of context, sentences like these don’t sound so strange.
We are forced to admit, grudgingly perhaps, that, yes, they contain some
elements of truth. The author, Kurzweil reveals, is Theodore Kaczynski,
otherwise known as the Unabomber,
scientist who wreaked death and mutilation on America’s scientific
community via a series of elaborately hand-built letter bombs. In any case,
Kaczynski’s extremist reaction is redundant, Kurzweil notes – ‘we’ve passed
the point of no return’ and society is wholly dependant on computers.
That this salient fact underpins
both Kaczynski’s infamous manifesto as well as Kurzweil’s book is indication
of the variety of paths and interpretations open still open to us. The
traditional dystopian view, where machines enslave weak humans, is somehow
interchangeable by a technology-filled future, with benefits for all. At
this stage in the game, it’s hard to tell which way the road will fork.
As befits someone who has clearly
profited from his ability and prescience, Kurzweil’s faith in the free
market and the economy of boundless choice also guides his visions – ‘the
road we’re going down is a road paved with gold,’ he notes, injecting a
note of misplaced materialism into an ostensibly intellectual debate. At
times, his relentless optimism seems misplaced:
It may seem that will have too many
choices. Today, we only have to choose our clothes, makeup, and destination
when we go out. In the late twenty-first century, we will have to select
our body, our personality, our environment – so many different decisions
to make! But don’t worry – we’ll have intelligent swarms of machines to
There is no doubt that things are
going to go on getting smaller and smarter. There is probably little doubt
that as wireless data networks become ubiquitous, the need for information
to be associated with a physical object will rapidly decrease.(13)
‘The accelerating pace of change is inexorable,’ Kurzweil claims, and to
argue seems Luddite and ignorant. But the questions and themes raised in
this book, as well as the scenarios suggested, are, for the most part,
discomforting. If my Mac crashes three times in one day, am I likely to
want to trust my brain, or any other part of my body for that matter, to
a marauding swarm of self-replicating nanobots?
There are those of use for whom the
creativity involved in imbuing inanimate objects with feeling and personality
is a positive decision. The idea that our frequent cathartic rants at inanimate
objects, especially technology, might one day elicit a coherent, reasoned
and even emotional response is frightening. When do computers stop being
‘things’? We already anthropomorphise our computers to a shocking extent,
and that’s even before robotic pets have made a widespread impact on our
lives (the forerunners, such as Sony’s
levels of devotion amongst owners equivalent to their flesh and blood counterparts).
Heaven knows how we’d suffer if our ‘mine is bigger than yours’ mentality
had to be halted out of sensitivity to the machine.
If society today is totally dependent
on computers – for they hold our collective memories, records and files
– then in the future this dependency can only increase, as we hand over
more and more control to our silicon masters. Will we become a nation of
specialists, increasingly de-humanised by the vast knowledge needed to
understand and survive in a complex society? Kurzweil counters these fears
by pointing out that we’ll be able to artificially enhance our capacity
for learning, memory, vision, etc. At the same time, the chasm between
rich and poor will yawn ever wider, as the oft-cited ‘information underclass’
finally find themselves almost entirely cut-off from meaningful interaction
with society. Kurzweil touches on the problem of these information paupers,
as well as the increasing problem of large numbers of intelligent people
without anything to actually do. Regardless of the continuously falling
prices and rising power, will any computing device be created that has
a truly positive impact on all echelons of society? As Kurzweil’s fictional
‘reader’ says of her nephew, ‘It’s not just that he blocks out real reality,
it’s that he seems to avoid interacting with real people.’ When the definition
of a real person becomes blurred and confused, will we notice? In 1960,
there were 6,000 computers in America. In 2060, will there be only 6,000
A list of companies founded by Ray Kurzweil can be found at www.kurzweiltech.com/
The book has it’s own website at www.penguinputnam.com/kurzweil, including
selected chapters as well as the vast array of links cited in the appendixes.
Kurzweil himself can be contacted at email@example.com
The author Douglas Adams predicted similar in his science fiction satire
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The starship Heart of Gold’s Infinite
Improbability Drive required a strong Brownian motion generator in order
to function – in this case, a cup of revolting tea made by the useless
on-board vending machine.
Experiments in ‘evolving’ computer circuitry are already underway in halls
of academia (see this article in the New
Scientist for details). The New Scientist has a large archive on
Coincidentally around the same date that software programmer Bill Joy asserted,
in his lengthy essay ‘Why the future doesn’t need us’, that we will be
running scared from a new breed of ‘intelligent’ machines, scuttling along
imperviously, flocking, grouping and swarming and generally making our
lives a misery. Archived here.
The visible human project is located at here
There are generally agreed to be five definitions of this phrase:
1) Time passes
as quickly as an arrow passes.
2) One should time
flies in the same manner in which one would time an arrow.
3) One should time flies in the same manner in which an arrow would time flies.
4) One should only time flies that resemble an arrow, that is to say ‘time flies’.
5) The species of flies known as ‘time flies’ (see 4) like to have an arrow.
Virtual Reality, Howard Rheingold, Touchstone Press, 1992.
things 12, summer 2000
to top of page
Utility Fog is the name given to a highly advanced theoretical form of
VR, proposed by BC Crandall. A dense crowd of nanobots, able to form themselves
instantaneously into any shape or form, completely re-creating environments.
Future Shock, p241.
11). Excerpted from The Unabomber Manifesto, point 121. The full text is available on
The Age of Spiritual Machines, page 184.
However, as anyone who works with computers knows, paper consumption is
vastly increased. In 1959, the US consumed 7 million tons of paper. By
1986, this figure had risen to 22 million tons.
The second generation has his (?) very