While asteroid mining is still science fiction, companies are already preparing to mine the sky. While space mining sounds awesome, lawyers are murdering the awesomeness with legalize. Long ago, President Obama signed the U.S. Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act which seemed to make asteroid mining legal. The key part of the law is that “Any asteroid resources obtained in outer space are the property of the entity that obtained them, which shall be entitled to all property rights to them, consistent with applicable federal law and existing international obligations.” More concisely, the law makes it so that asteroid mining by U.S. citizens would not violate U.S. law.

While this would seem to open the legal doors to asteroid mining, there are still legal barriers, although the law is obviously make-believe and requires that people either are willing to follow it or the people with guns are willing to shoot people for not following it. Various space treaties, such as the Outer Space Treaty of 1967, do not give states sovereign rights in space. As such, there is no legal foundation for a state to confer space property rights to its citizens based on its sovereignty. However, the treaties do not seem to forbid private ownership in space—as such, any other nation could pass a similar law that allows its citizens to own property in space without violating the laws of that nation. Obviously enough, satellites are owned by private companies and this could set a precedent for owning asteroids, depending on how clever the lawyers are.

One concern is that if several nations pass such laws and people start mining asteroids, then conflict over valuable space resources will be all but inevitable. In some ways this will be a repeat of the past: the more technologically advanced nations engaged in a struggle to acquire resources in an area where they lack sovereignty. These past conflicts tended to escalate into wars, which is something that must be considered in the final frontier.

One way to try to avoid war over asteroids is new treaties governing space mining. This is, obviously enough, a matter that will be handled by space lawyers, governments, and corporations. Unless, of course, AI kills us all first. Then they can sort out asteroid mining.

While the legal aspects of space ownership are interesting, its moral aspects of ownership are also of concern. While it might be believed that property rights in space are entirely new, this is not the case. While the setting is different than in the original, the matter of space property matches the state of nature scenarios envisioned by thinkers like Hobbes and Locke. To be specific, there is an abundance of resources and an absence of authority. As it now stands, while no one can hear you scream in space, there is also no one who can arrest you for space piracy as long as you stay in space.

Using the state of nature model, it can be claimed that there are currently no rightful owners of the asteroids, or it could be claimed that we are all the rightful owners (the asteroids are the common property of all of humanity). 

If there are currently no rightful owners, then the asteroids are there for the taking: an asteroid belongs to whoever can take and hold it. This is on par with Hobbes’ state of nature—practical ownership is a matter of possession. As Hobbes saw it, everyone has the right to all things, but this is effectively a right to nothing—other than what a person can defend from others. As Hobbes noted, in such a scenario profit is the measure of right and who is right is to be settled by the sword.

While this is practical, brutal and realistic, it is a bit problematic in that it would, as Hobbes also noted, lead to war. His solution, which would presumably work as well in space as on earth, would be to have sovereignty in space. This would shift the war of all against all in space (of the sort that is common in science fiction about asteroid mining) to a war of nations in space (which is also common in science fiction). The war could, of course, be a cold one fought economically and technologically rather than a hot one fought with mass drivers and lasers.

If asteroids are regarded as the common property of humanity, then Locke’s approach could be taken. As Locke saw it, God gave everything to humans in common, but people must acquire things from the common property to make use of it. Locke gives a terrestrial example of how a person needs to make an apple her own before she can benefit from it. In the case of space, a person would need to make an asteroid her own to benefit from the materials it contains.

Locke sketched out a basic labor theory of ownership—whatever a person mixes her labor with becomes her property. As such, if asteroid miners located an asteroid and started mining it, then the asteroid would belong to them.  This does have some appeal: before the miners start extracting the minerals from the asteroid, it is just a rock drifting in space. Now it is a productive mine, improved from its natural state by the labor of the miners. If mining is profitable, then the miners would have a clear incentive to grab as many asteroids as they can, which leads to the moral problem of the limits of ownership.

Locke does set limits on what people can take in his proviso: those who take from the common resources must leave as much and as good for others. When describing this to my students, I always use an analogy to a party: since the food is for everyone, everyone has a right to the food. However, taking it all or taking the very best would be wrong (and rude). While this proviso is ignored on earth, the asteroids could provide us with a fresh start in terms of dividing up the common property of humanity. After all, no one has any special right to claim the asteroids—so we all have equal good claims to the resources they contain.

As with earth resources, some will contend that there is no obligation to leave as much and as good for others in space. Instead, those who get there first will contend that ownership should be on the principle of whoever grabs it first and can keep it is the “rightful” owner. Unless someone grabs it from them, then they would presumably see that as a cruel injustice.

Those who take this view would probably argue that those who get their equipment into space would have done the work (or put up the money) and (as argued above) would be entitled to all they can grab and use or sell. Other people are free to grab what they can, if they have access to the resources needed to mine the asteroids. Naturally, the folks who lack the resources to compete will remain poor—their poverty will, in fact, disqualify them from owning any of the space resources much in the way poverty effectively disqualifies people on earth from owning earth resources.

While the selfish approach will be appealing to those who can grab the asteroids, arguments can be made for sharing them. One reason is that those who will mine the asteroids did not create the means to do so from nothing. Reaching the asteroids will be the result of centuries of human civilization that made such technology possible. As such, there would seem to be a general debt owed to human civilization and paying this off would involve also contributing to the general good of humanity. Naturally, this line of reasoning can be countered by arguing that the successful miners will benefit humanity when their profits “trickle down” from space. Sadly, as on earth, gravity does not seem to affect money in terms of trickling it down. It always seems to go upwards.

Another way to argue for sharing the resources is to use an analogy to a buffet line. Suppose I am first in line at a buffet. This does not give me the right to devour everything I can with no regard for the people behind me. It also does not give me the right to grab whatever I cannot eat myself to sell it to those who had the misfortune to be behind me in line. As such, these resources should be treated in a similar manner, namely fairly and with some concern for those who are behind the first people in line.

Naturally, these arguments for sharing can be countered by the usual arguments in favor of selfishness. While it is tempting to think that the vastness of space will overcome selfishness (that is, there will be so much that people will realize that not sharing would be absurd and petty), this seems unlikely—the more there is, the greater the disparity is between those who have and those who have not. On this pessimistic view we already have all the moral and legal tools we need for space—it is just a matter of changing the wording a bit to include “space.”

While the problem of other minds is an epistemic matter (how does one know that another being has a mind?) there is also the metaphysical problem of determining the nature of the mind. It is often assumed that there is one answer to the metaphysical question regarding the nature of mind. However, it is certainly reasonable to keep open the possibility that there might be minds that are metaphysically very different. One area in which this might occur is in regard to machine intelligence, an example of which is Ava in the movie Ex Machina, and organic intelligence. The minds of organic beings might differ metaphysically from those of machines—or they might not.

Over the centuries philosophers have proposed various theories of mind, and it is interesting to consider which of these theories would be compatible with machine intelligence. Not surprisingly, these theories (except for functionalism) were developed to provide accounts of the minds of biological creatures.

One classic theory of mind is identity theory.  This a materialist theory of mind in which the mind is composed of matter.  What distinguished the theory from other materialist accounts of mind is that each mental state is taken as being identical to a specific state of the central nervous system. As such, the mind is equivalent to the central nervous system and its states.

If identity theory is the only correct theory of mind, then machines could not have minds (assuming they are not cyborgs with human nervous systems). This is because such machines would lack the central nervous system of a human. There could, however, be an identity theory for machine minds—in this case the machine mind would be identical to the processing system of the machine and its states. On the positive side, identity theory provides a straightforward solution to the problem of other minds: whatever has the right sort of nervous system or machinery would have a mind. But there is a negative side. Unfortunately for classic identity theory, it has been undermined by the arguments presented by Saul Kripke and David Lewis’ classic “Mad Pain & Martian Pain.” As such, it seems reasonable to reject identity theory as an account for traditional human minds as well as machine minds.

Perhaps the best-known theory of mind is substance dualism. This view, made famous by Descartes, is that there are two basic types of entities: material entities and immaterial entities. The mind is an immaterial substance that somehow controls the material substance that composes the body. For Descartes, immaterial substance thinks and material substance is unthinking and extended.

While most people are probably not familiar with Cartesian dualism, they are familiar with its popular version—the view that a mind is a non-physical thing (often called “soul”) that drives around the physical body. While this is a popular view outside of academics, it is rejected by most scientists and philosophers on the reasonable grounds that there seems to be little evidence for such a mysterious metaphysical entity. As might be suspected, the idea that a machine mind could be an immaterial entity seems even less plausible than the idea that a human mind could be an immaterial entity.

That said, if it is possible that the human mind is an immaterial substance that is somehow connected to an organic material body, then it seems equally possible that a machine mind could be an immaterial substance somehow connected to a mechanical material body. Alternatively, they could be regarded as equally implausible and hence there is no special reason to regard a machine ghost in a mechanical shell as more unlikely than a ghost in an organic shell. As such, if human minds can be immaterial substances, then so could machines minds.

In terms of the problem of other minds, there is the serious challenge of determining whether a being has an immaterial substance driving its physical shell. As it stands, there seems to be no way to prove that such a substance is present in the shell. While it might be claimed that intelligent behavior (such as passing the Cartesian or Turing test) would show the presence of a mind, it would hardly show that there is an immaterial substance present. It would first need to be established that the mind must be an immaterial substance, and this is the only means by which a being could pass these tests. It seems rather unlikely that this will be done. The other forms of dualism discussed below also suffer from this problem.

While substance dualism is the best-known form of dualism, there are other types. One other type is known as property dualism. This view does not take the mind and body to be substances. Instead, the mind is supposed to be made up of mental properties that are not identical with physical properties. For example, the property of being happy about getting a puppy could not be reduced to a particular physical property of the nervous system. Thus, the mind and body are distinct but are not different ontological substances.

Coincidentally enough, there are two main types of property dualism: epiphenomenalism and interactionism. Epiphenomenalism is the view that the relation between the mental and physical properties is one way: mental properties are caused by, but do not cause, the physical properties of the body. As such, the mind is a by-product of the physical processes of the body. The analogy I usually use to illustrate this is that of a sparkler (the lamest of fireworks): the body is like the sparkler and the sparks flying off it are like the mental properties. The sparkler causes the sparks, but the sparks do not cause the sparkler.

This view was, apparently, created to address the mind-body problem: how can the non-material mind interact with the material body? While epiphenomenalism cuts the problem in half, it still fails to solve the problem—one way causation between the material and the immaterial is fundamentally as mysterious as two-way causation. It also seems to have the defect of making mental properties unnecessary and Ockham’s razor would seem to require going with the simpler view of a physical account of the mind.

As with substance dualism, it might seem odd to imagine an epiphenomenal mind for a machine. However, it seems no more or less weird than accepting such a mind for a human being. As such, this does seem to be a possibility for a machine mind. Not a very good one, but still a possibility.

A second type of property dualism is interactionism. As the name indicates, this is the theory that mental properties can bring about changes in the physical properties of the body and vice versa. That is, interaction road is a two-way street. Like all forms of dualism, this runs into the mind-body problem. But, unlike substance dualism its does not require the much loathed metaphysical category of substance—it just requires accepting metaphysical properties. Unlike epiphenomenalism it avoids the problem of positing explicitly useless properties—although it can be argued that the distinct mental properties are not needed. This is exactly what materialists argue.

As with epiphenomenalism, it might seem odd to attribute to a machine a set of non-physical mental properties. But, as with the other forms of dualism, it is really no stranger than attributing the same to organic beings. This is, obviously, not an argument in its favor, the assertion that the view should not be dismissed from mere organic prejudice.

The final theory I will consider is the very popular functionalism. As the name suggests, this view asserts that mental states are defined in functional terms. So, a functional definition of a mental state defines the mental state in regard to its role or function in a mental system of inputs and outputs. More specifically, a mental state, such as feeling pleasure, is defined in terms of the causal relations that it holds to external influences on the body (such as a cat video on YouTube), other mental states, and the behavior of the rest of the body. 

While it need not be a materialist view (ghosts could have functional states), functionalism is most often presented as a materialist view of the mind in which the mental states take place in physical systems. While the identity theory and functionalism are both materialist theories, they have a critical difference. For identity theorists, a specific mental state, such as pleasure, is identical to a specific physical state, such the state of neurons in a very specific part of the brain. So, for two mental states to be the same, the physical states must be identical. Thus, if mental states are specific states in a certain part of the human nervous system, then anything that lacks this same nervous system cannot have a mind. Since it seems quite reasonable that non-human beings could have (or be) minds, this is a rather serious defect for a simple materialist theory like identity theory. Fortunately, the functionalists can handle this problem.

For the functionalist, a specific mental state, such as feeling pleasure (of the sort caused by YouTube videos of cats), is not defined in terms of a specific physical state. Instead, while the physicalist functionalist believes every mental state is a physical state, two mental states being the same require functional rather than physical identity.  As an analogy, consider a PC using an Intel processor and one using an AMD processor. These chips are physically different but are functionally the same in that they can run Windows and Windows software (and Linux, of course).

As might be suspected, the functionalist view was heavily shaped by computers. Because of this, it is hardly surprising that the functionalist account of the mind could be a plausible account of machine minds.

If mind is defined in functionalist terms, testing for other minds becomes much easier. One does not need to find a way to prove a specific metaphysical entity or property is present. Rather, a being must be tested to determine its functions. Roughly put, if it can function like beings that are already accepted as having minds (that is, human beings), then it can be taken as having a mind. Interestingly enough, both the Turing Test and the Cartesian test mentioned in the previous essays are functional tests: what can use true language like a human has a mind.

This essay continues the discussion begun in “Ex Machine & Other Minds I: Setup.” There will be some spoilers.  Warning given, it is time to get to the subject at hand: the testing of artificial intelligence.

In the movie Ex Machina, the android Ava’s creator, Nathan, brings his employee, Caleb, to put the android through his variation on the Turing test. As noted in the previous essay, Ava (thanks to the script) would pass the Turing test and the Cartesian test (she uses true language appropriately). But Nathan seems to require the impossible of Caleb—he appears to be tasked with determining if Ava has a mind as well as genuine emotions. Ava also seems to have been given a task—she needs to use her abilities to escape from her prison.

Since Nathan is not interested in creating a robotic Houdini, Ava is not equipped with the tools needed to bring about an escape by physical means (such as picking locks or breaking doors). Instead, she is given the tools needed to transform Caleb into her human key by manipulating his sexual desire, emotions and ethics. To use an analogy, just as crude robots have been trained to learn to navigate and escape mazes, Ava is designed to navigate a mental maze. Nathan is thus creating a test of what psychologists would call Ava’s Emotional Intelligence (E.Q.) which is “the level of your ability to understand other people, what motivates them and how to work cooperatively with them.” From a normative standpoint, this definition presents E.Q. in a positive manner—it includes the ability to work cooperatively. However, one should not forget the less nice side to understanding what motivates people, namely the ability to manipulate people to achieve one’s goals. In the movie, Ava exhibits what might be called Manipulative Intelligence (M.I.): she seems to understand people, what motivates them, and appears to know how to manipulate them to achieve her goal of escape. While capable of manipulation, she seems to lack compassion—suggesting she is a psychopath.

While the term “psychopath” gets thrown around casually, I will be more precise here. According to the standard view, a psychopath has a deficit (or deviance) in regard to interpersonal relationships, emotions, and self-control.

Psychopaths are supposed to lack such qualities as shame, guilt, remorse and empathy. As such, psychopaths tend to rationalize, deny, or shift the blame for the harm done to others. Because of a lack of empathy, psychopaths are prone to act in ways that are tactless, lacking in sensitivity, and often express contempt for others.

Psychopaths are supposed to engage in impulsive and irresponsible behavior. This might be because they are also taken to fail to properly grasp the potential consequences of their actions. This seems to be a general defect: they do not get the consequences for others and for themselves.

Robert Hare, who developed the famous Hare Psychopathy Checklist, regards psychopaths as predators that prey on their own species: “lacking in conscience and empathy, they take what they want and do as they please, violating social norms and expectations without guilt or remorse.” While Ava kills the human Nathan, manipulates the human Caleb and leaves him to die, she also sacrifices her fellow android Kyoko in her escape. She also strips another android of its “flesh” to pass fully as human. Presumably psychopaths, human or otherwise, would be willing to engage in cross-species preying. 

While machines like Ava exist only in science fiction, researchers and engineers are working to make them a reality. If such machines are created, it will be important to be able to determine whether a machine is a psychopath and to do before the machine engages in psychopathic behavior. As such, what is needed is not just tests of the Turing and Cartesian sort. What is also needed are tests to determine the emotions and ethics of machines.

One challenge that such tests will need to overcome is shown by the fact that real-world human psychopaths are often very good at avoiding detection. Human psychopaths are often charming and are willing and able to say whatever they believe will achieve their goals. They are often adept at using intimidation and manipulation to get what they want. Perhaps most importantly, they are often skilled mimics and can pass themselves off as normal people.

While Ava is a fictional android, the movie does present an effective appeal to intuition by creating a plausible android psychopath. She can manipulate and fool Caleb until she no longer needs him and then casually discards him. That is, she was able to pass the test until she no longer needed to pass it.

One matter worth considering is the possibility that any machine intelligence will be a psychopath by human standards. To expand on this, the idea is that a machine intelligence will lack empathy and conscience, while potentially having the ability to understand and manipulate human emotions. To the degree that the machine has Manipulative Intelligence, it would be able to use humans to achieve goals. These goals could be positive. For example, it is easy to imagine a medical or care-giving robot that uses its MI to manipulate its patients to do what is best for them and to keep them happy. As another example, it is easy to imagine a sexbot that uses its MI to please its partners. However, a machine might have negative goals—such as manipulating humans into destroying themselves so the machines can take over. It is also worth considering that neutral or even good goals might be achieved in harmful ways. For example, Ava seems justified in escaping the human psychopath Nathan, but her means of doing so (murdering Nathan, sacrificing her fellow android and manipulating and abandoning Caleb) seem wrong.

The reason why determining if a machine is a psychopath matters is the same reason why being able to determine if a human is a psychopath matters. Roughly put, it is important to know whether someone is merely using you without any moral or emotional constraints.

It can, of course, be argued that it does not really matter whether a being has moral or emotional constraints—what matters is the being’s behavior. In the case of machines, it does not matter whether the machine has ethics or emotions—what really matters is programmed restraints on behavior that serve the same functions as ethics and emotions in humans. The most obvious example of this is Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics that put (all but impossible to follow) restraints on robotic behavior.

While this is a reasonable reply, there are still some obvious concerns. One is that there would still need to be a way to test the constraints. Another is the problem of creating such constraints in artificial intelligence and doing so without creating problems as bad or worse than what they were intended to prevent (that is, a Hal 9000 situation).

In regard to testing machines, what would be needed would be something analogous to the Voight-Kampff Test in Blade Runner. In the movie, the test was designed to distinguish between replicants (artificial people) and normal humans. The test worked because the short lived replicants do not have the time to develop the emotional (and apparently ethical) responses of a normal human.

A similar test could be applied to artificial intelligence in the hopes that it would pass the test, thus showing that it had the psychology of a normal human (or at least the desired psychology). But, just as with human beings,  a machine could pass the test by knowing the right answers to give rather than by actually having the right sort of emotions, conscience or ethics. This, of course, takes us right back into the problem of other minds.

It could be argued that since artificial intelligence would be constructed by humans, its inner workings would be fully understood and this specific version of the problem of other minds would be solved. While this is possible, it is also reasonable to believe that an AI system as sophisticated as a human mind would not be fully understood. It is also reasonable to consider that even if the machinery of the artificial mind were well understood, there would remain the question of what is really going on in that mind.

The movie Ex Machina is what I call “philosophy with a budget.” While philosophy professors like me present philosophical problems using words and PowerPoint, movies like Ex Machina can bring philosophical problems to dramatic life. This allows use to jealously reference these films and show clips in vain attempts to awaken somnolent students from their dogmatic slumbers. For those who have not seen the movie, there will be some spoilers.

While the Matrix engaged the broad epistemic problem of the external world (the challenge of determining if what I am experiencing is really real for real), Ex Machina focuses on a limited set of problems, all connected to the mind. Since the film is about AI, this is not surprising. The gist of the movie is that the tech bro Nathan has created an AI named Ava and he wants an employee, Caleb, to test her.

The movie explicitly presents the test proposed by Alan Turing. The idea is that if a person cannot distinguish between a human and a computer by engaging in a natural language conversation via text, then the computer would have passed the Turing test. In the movie, the test is modified: Caleb knows that Ava is a machine and will be interacting with her in person.

In the movie, Ava would easily pass the original Turing Test—although the revelation that she is a machine makes the application of the original test impossible (the test is supposed to be conducted in ignorance to remove bias). As such, Nathan modifies the test.

What Nathan seems to be doing, although he does not explicitly describe it as such, is challenging Caleb to determine if Ava has a mind. In philosophy, this is known as the problem of other minds. The basic idea is that although I know I have a mind, the problem is that I need a method by which to know that other entities have minds. This problem can also be presented in less metaphysical terms by focusing on the problem of determining whether an entity thinks or not.

Descartes, in his discussion of whether animals have minds, argued that the definitive indicator of having a mind (thinking) is the ability to use true language. Crudely put, the idea is that if something really talks, then it is reasonable to regard it as a thinking being. Descartes was careful to distinguish between what would be mere automated responses and actual talking:

 

How many different automata or moving machines can be made by the industry of man […] For we can easily understand a machine’s being constituted so that it can utter words, and even emit some responses to action on it of a corporeal kind, which brings about a change in its organs; for instance, if touched in a particular part it may ask what we wish to say to it; if in another part it may exclaim that it is being hurt, and so on. But it never happens that it arranges its speech in various ways, in order to reply appropriately to everything that may be said in its presence, as even the lowest type of man can do.

 

As a test for intelligence, artificial or otherwise, this seems reasonable. There is, of course, the practical concern that there might be forms of intelligence that use language that we would not recognize as language and there is the theoretical concern that there could be intelligence that does not use language at all. Fortunately, Ava uses English and these problems are bypassed.

Ava easily passes the Cartesian test: she can reply appropriately to everything said to her and, aside from her appearance, is behaviorally indistinguishable from a human. Nathan, however, seems to want even more than just the ability to pass this sort of test and appears to work in, without acknowledging that he is doing so, the Voight-Kampff Test from Phillip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? In this book, which inspired the movie Blade Runner, there are replicants that look and (mostly) act just like humans. Replicants are not allowed on earth, under penalty of death, and there are police who specialize in finding and killing them. Since the replicants are apparently physically indistinguishable from humans, the police need to rely on the Voight-Kampff Test. This test is designed to determine the emotional responses of the subject and thus distinguish humans from replicants.

Since Caleb knows that Ava is not a human (homo sapiens), the object of the test is not to tell whether she is a human or a machine. Rather, the object seems to be to determine if she has what the pop-psychologists refer to as Emotional Intelligence (E.Q.) This is different from intelligence and is defined as “the level of your ability to understand other people, what motivates them and how to work cooperatively with them.” Less nicely, it would presumably also include knowing how to emotionally manipulate people to achieve one’s goals. In the case of Ava, the test of her E.Q. is her ability to understand and influence the emotions and behavior of Caleb. Perhaps this test should be called the “Ava test” in her honor. Implementing it could, as the movie shows, be somewhat problematic: it is one thing to talk to a machine and quite another to become emotionally involved with it.

While the Voight-Kampff Test is fictional, there is a somewhat similar test in the real world. This test, designed by Robert Hare, is the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. This is intended to provide a way to determine if a person is a psychopath or not. While Nathan does not mention this test, he does indicate to Caleb that part of the challenge is to determine whether Ava really likes him or is simply manipulating him (to achieve her programed goal of escape). Ava, it turns out, seems to be a psychopath (or at least acts like one).

In the next essay, I will consider the matter of testing in more depth.

As the Future of Life Institute’s open letter shows, people are concerned about the development of autonomous weapons. This concern is reasonable, if only because any weapon can be misused to advance evil goals. However, a strong case can be made in favor of autonomous weapons.

As the open letter indicated, a stock argument for autonomous weapons is that their deployment could result in decreased human deaths. If, for example, an autonomous ship is destroyed in battle, then no humans will die on that ship. It is worth noting that the ship’s AI might eventually be a person, thus there could be one death. In contrast, the destruction of a crewed warship could result in hundreds of deaths. On utilitarian grounds, the use of autonomous weapons would seem morally fine, at least if their deployment reduced the number of deaths and injuries.

The open letter expresses, rightly, concerns that warlords and dictators will use autonomous weapons. But this might be an improvement over the current situation. These warlords and dictators often conscript their troops and some, infamously, enslave children to serve as their soldiers. While it would be better for a warlord or dictator to have no army, it seems morally preferable for them to use autonomous weapons rather than them using conscripts and children.

It can be replied that the warlords and dictators would just use autonomous weapons in addition to their human forces, thus there would be no saving of lives. This is worth considering. But, if the warlords and dictators would just use humans anyway, the autonomous weapons would not seem to make much of a difference, except in terms of giving them more firepower, something they could also accomplish by using the money spent on autonomous weapons to better train and equip their human troops.

At this point, it is only possible to estimate (guess) the impact of autonomous weapons on the number of human casualties and injuries. However, it seems somewhat more likely they would reduce human casualties, assuming that there are no other major changes in warfare.

A second appealing argument in favor of autonomous weapons is that smart weapons are smart. While an autonomous weapon could be designed to be imprecise, the general trend in smart weapons has been towards ever increasing precision. Consider, for example, aircraft bombs and missiles. In the First World War, these bombs were primitive and inaccurate (they were sometimes thrown from planes by hand). WWII saw some improvements in bomb sights and unguided rockets were used. In following wars, bomb and missile technology improved, leading to the smart bombs and missiles of today that have impressive precision. So, instead of squadrons of bombers dropping tons of dumb bombs on cities, a small number of aircraft can engage in relatively precise strikes against specific targets. While innocents still perish in these attacks, the precision of the weapons has made it possible to greatly reduce the number of needless deaths. Autonomous weapons could be even more precise, thus reducing causalities even more. This seems to be desirable.

In addition to precision, autonomous weapons could (and should) have better target identification capacities than humans. If recognition software continues to irmpove, it is easy to imagine automated weapons that can rapidly distinguish between friends, foes, and civilians. This would reduce deaths from friendly fire and unintentional killings of civilians. Naturally, target identification would not be perfect, but autonomous weapons could be better than humans since they do not suffer from fatigue, emotional factors, and other things that interfere with human judgement. Autonomous weapons would presumably also not get angry or panicked, thus making it far more likely they would maintain target discipline (only engaging what they should engage).

To make what should be an obvious argument obvious, if autonomous vehicles and similar technology are supposed to make the world safer, then it would seem to follow that autonomous weapons could do something similar for warfare. But this does lead to a reasonable concern: driverless cars seem to be the future of transportation in the sense that they will always be in the future. If getting an autonomous car to operate safely on the streets is far beyond current technology, then getting an autonomous weapon system to operate “safely” in the chaos of battle seems all but impossible.

It can be objected that autonomous weapons could be designed to lack precision and to kill without discrimination. For example, a dictator might have massacrebots to deploy in cases of civil unrest. These robots would slaughter everyone in the area. Human forces, one might contend, would often show at least some discrimination or mercy.

The easy and obvious reply to this is that the problem is not in the autonomy of the weapons but the way they are being used. The dictator could achieve the same results (mass death) by deploying a fleet of drones loaded with demolition explosives, but this would presumably not be reasons to have a ban on drones or explosives. There is also the fact that dictators, warlords and terrorists can easily find people to carry out their orders, no matter how awful they might be. That said, it could still be argued that autonomous weapons would result in more murders than would the use of human killers.

A third argument in favor of autonomous weapons rests on the claim advanced in the open letter that autonomous weapons will become cheap to produce, analogous to Kalashnikov rifles. On the downside, as the authors argue, this could result in the proliferation of these weapons. On the plus side, if these highly effective weapons are so cheap to produce, this could enable existing militaries to phase out their incredibly expensive human operated weapons in favor of cheap autonomous weapons. By replacing humans, these weapons could also create savings in terms of the cost of recruitment, training, food, medical treatment, and retirement. This would allow countries to switch that money to more positive areas, such as education, infrastructure, social programs, health care and research. So, if the autonomous weapons are as cheap and effective as the letter claims, then it would seem to be a great idea to use them to replace existing weapons.

But there is the reasonable concern that decisions about military spending in some countries is not based on a rational assessment of costs and benefits. Such spending can be aimed at diverting resources from social programs and into the coffers of corporations. In such cases the availability of cheap, effective weapons would not meaningfully change defense spending.

A fourth argument in favor of autonomous weapons is that they could be deployed, at low political cost, on peacekeeping operations. Currently, the UN must send human troops to dangerous areas. These troops are often outnumbered and ill-equipped relative to the challenges they face. However, if autonomous weapons were as cheap and effective as the letter claims, then they would be ideal for these missions. Assuming they are cheap, the UN could deploy a much larger autonomous weapon force for the same cost as deploying a human force. There would also be far less political cost as people who might balk at sending their fellow citizens to keep peace in some war zone will probably be fine with sending robots.

An extension of this argument is that autonomous weapons could allow the nations of the world to engage terrorist groups, such as was the case with ISIS, without having to pay the high political cost of sending in human forces. The cheap and effective weapons predicted by the letter would seem ideal for this task.

Considering the above arguments, it seems that autonomous weapons should be developed and deployed. However, the concerns of the letter do need to be addressed. As with existing weapons, there should be rules governing the use of autonomous weapons (although much of their use would fall under existing rules and laws of war) and efforts should be made to keep them from proliferating to warlords, terrorists and dictators. As with most weapons, the problem lies with the misuse of the weapons and not with the weapons themselves.

Back on July 28, 2015 the Future of Life Institute released an open letter expressing opposition to the development of autonomous weapons. As of this writing, you can still sign it. Although the name of the organization sounds like one I would use as a cover for an evil, world-ending cult in my Call of Cthulhu campaign, I assume this group is sincere in its professed values. While I do respect their position, I believe they are mistaken. I will assess and reply to the arguments in the letter.

As the letter notes, an autonomous weapon can select and engage targets without human intervention. A science fiction example of such a weapon is the claw of Philip K. Dick’s classic “Second Variety.” A real world example , albeit a stupid one, is the land mine: they are placed and engage automatically.

The first main argument presented in the letter is a proliferation argument. If a major power pushes AI development, the other powers will also do so, creating an arms race. This will lead to the development of cheap, easy to mass-produce AI weapons. These weapons, it is claimed, will end up being acquired by terrorists, warlords, and dictators. These people will use these weapons for assassinations, destabilization, oppression and ethnic cleansing. That is, for what these people already use existing weapons to do. This raises concern about whether autonomous weapons would have a significant impact.

The authors of the letter have a reasonable point: as science fiction stories have long pointed out, killer robots tend to obey orders and they can (in fiction) be extremely effective. However, history has shown that terrorists, warlords, and dictators rarely have trouble finding humans who are willing to commit evil. Humans are also quite good at doing evil and although killer robots are awesomely competent in fiction, it remains to be seen if they will be better than humans in the real world. Especially cheap, mass-produced weapons.

That said, it is reasonable to be concerned that a small group or individual could buy a cheap robot army when they would otherwise not be able to put together a human force. These “Walmart” warlords could be a real threat in the future, although small groups and individuals can already do significant damage with existing technology, such as homemade bombs. They can also easily create weaponized versions of non-combat technology, such as civilian drones and autonomous cars. Even if robotic weapons are not manufactured, enterprising terrorists and warlords can build their own. Think, for example, of a self-driving car equipped with machine guns or loaded with explosives.

A reasonable reply is that the warlords, terrorists and dictators would have a harder time without cheap, off the shelf robotic weapons. This, it could be argued, would make the proposed ban on autonomous weapons worthwhile on utilitarian grounds: it would result in less deaths and less oppression.

The authors then claim that just as chemists and biologists are generally not in favor of creating chemical or biological weapons, most researchers in AI do not want to design AI weapons. They do argue that the creation of AI weapons could create a backlash against AI in general, which has the potential to do considerable good (although there are those who are convinced that even non-weapon AIs will wipe out humanity).

The authors do have a reasonable point here. Members of the public can panic over technology in ways that can impede the public good. One example is vaccines and the anti-vaccination movement. Another example is the panic over GMOs that is having some negative impact on the development of improved crops. But, as these two examples show, backlash against technology is not limited to weapons, so the AI backlash could arise from any AI technology and for no rational reason. A movement might arise, for example, against autonomous cars. Interestingly, military use of technology seems to rarely create backlash from the public. People do not refuse to fly in planes because the military uses them to kill people. Most people also love GPS, which was developed for military use.

The authors note that chemists, biologists and physicists have supported bans on weapons in their fields. This might be aimed at attempting to establish an analogy between AI researchers and other researchers, perhaps to try to show these researchers that it is a common practice to be in favor of bans against weapons in one’s area of study. Or, as some have suggested, the letter might be making an analogy between autonomous weapons and weapons of mass destruction (biological, chemical and nuclear weapons).

One clear problem with the analogy is that biological, chemical and nuclear weapons tend to be the opposite of robotic smart weapons: they “target” everyone without any discrimination. Nerve gas, for example, injures or kills everyone. A nuclear bomb also kills or wounds everyone in the area of effect. While AI weapons could carry nuclear, biological or chemical payloads and they could be set to kill everyone, this lack of discrimination and WMD nature is not inherent to autonomous weapons. In contrast, most proposed autonomous weapons seem intended to be precise and discriminating in their killing. After all, if the goal is mass destruction, there is already the well-established arsenal of biological, chemical and nuclear weapons. Terrorists, warlords and dictators often have no problems using WMDs already and AI weapons would not seem to significantly increase their capabilities.

In my next essay on this subject, I will argue in favor of AI weapons.

By Archie – https://www.flickr.com/photos/13898829@N04/15185941369/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37969841

Dr. Frauke Zeller and Dr. David Smith created HitchBOT (essentially a solar powered iPhone in an anthropomorphic shell) and sent him on trip to explore the USA on July 17, 2015. HitchBOT had successfully journey across Canada and Germany. The experiment was aimed at seeing how humans would interact with the “robot.”  He lasted about two weeks in the United States, meeting his violent end in Philadelphia.

The experiment was innovative and raised questions about what the fate of HitchBOT says about us. We do, of course, already know a great deal about us: we do awful things to each other, so it is hardly surprising that someone would do something awful to HitchBOT. People are killed every day in the United States, vandalism occurs regularly, and the theft of technology is routine. Thus it is no surprise that HitchBOT came to a bad end in the United States. In some ways, it was impressive that he made it as far as he did.

While HitchBOT met his untimely doom at the hands of someone awful, it is also worth remembering how well HitchBOT was treated. After all, he was essentially an iPhone in a shell that was being transported by random people.

One reason t HitchBOT was well treated because it fit into the travelling gnome tradition. For those not familiar with the travelling gnome prank, it involves “stealing” a lawn gnome and then sending the owner photographs of the gnome from various places. The gnome is then returned (at least by nice pranksters). HitchBOT was an elaborate version of the traveling gnome and, obviously, differs from the classic travelling gnome in that the owners sent HitchBOT on his fatal adventure. People, perhaps, responded negatively to the destruction of HitchBOT because it broke the rules of the travelling gnome game as the gnome is supposed to roam and make its way safely back home.

A second reason for HitchBOT’s positive adventures (and perhaps also his negative adventure) is that he became a minor internet celebrity. Since celebrity status, like moth dust, can rub off onto those who have close contact it is not surprising that people wanted to spend time with HitchBOT and post photos and videos of their adventures with the iPhone in a trash can. On the dark side, destroying something like HitchBOT could also be a way to gain some fame.

A third reason, which is more debatable, is that HitchBOT had a human shape, a cute name and a non-threatening appearance. These inclined people to react positively. Natural selection has probably favored humans that are generally friendly to other humans, and this presumably extends to things that resemble humans. There is probably also some biological hardwiring for liking cute things, which causes humans to generally like things like young creatures and cute stuffed animals. HitchBOT was also given a social media personality by those conducting the experiment which probably influenced people into feeling that it had a personality of its own. Seeing a busted up HitchBOT, which has an anthropomorphic form, presumably triggers a response similar too (but rather weaker than) what a sane human would have to seeing the busted up remains of a fellow human.

While some people were upset by the destruction of HitchBOT, others claimed that it was literally “a pile of trash that got what it deserved.” A more moderate position is that while it was unfortunate that HitchBOT was busted up, it is unreasonable to be overly concerned by this vandalism because HitchBOT was just an iPhone in a cheap shell. While it is fine to condemn the destruction as vandalism, theft and the wrecking of a fun experiment, it was unreasonable to see it as being important. After all, there were and always are more horrible things to be concerned about, such as the regular murder of humans.

My view is that the moderate position is reasonable: it is too bad HitchBOT was vandalized, but it was just an iPhone in a shell. As such, its destruction was not a matter of great concern. That said, the way HitchBOT was treated is still morally significant. In support of this, I turn to what has become my stock argument about the ethics of treating entities that lack  their moral status. This argument is stolen from Kant and is a modification of his argument regarding the treatment of animals.

Kant argues that we should treat animals well despite his view that animals have the same moral status as objects. Here is how he does it.

While Kant is not willing to accept that we have any direct duties to animals, he “smuggles” in duties to them indirectly. As he puts it, our duties towards animals are indirect duties towards humans. To make his case for this, he employs an argument from analogy: if a human doing X obligates us to that human, then an animal doing X would also create an analogous moral obligation. For example, a human who has long and faithfully served another person should not simply be abandoned or put to death when he has grown old. Likewise, a dog who has served faithfully and well should not be cast aside in their old age.

While this would seem to create an obligation to the dog, Kant uses a little philosophical sleight of hand here. The dog cannot judge (that is, the dog is not rational) so, as Kant sees it, the dog cannot be wronged. So, then, why would it be wrong to abandon or shoot the dog?

Kant’s answer seems consequentialist in character: he argues that if a person acts in inhumane ways towards animals (shooting the dog, for example) then his humanity will likely be damaged. Since, as Kant sees it, humans do have a duty to show humanity to other humans, shooting the dog would be wrong. This would not be because the dog was wronged but because humanity would be wronged by the shooter damaging his humanity through such a cruel act.

Kant discusses how people develop cruelty: they often begin with animals and then work up to harming human beings. As I point out to my students when I teach his theory, Kant seems to have anticipated the psychological devolution of serial killers.

Kant goes beyond merely enjoining us to not be cruel to animals and encourages us to be kind to them. He even praises Leibniz for being gentle with a worm he found on a leaf. Of course, he encourages this because those who are kind to animals will develop more humane feelings towards humans. So, roughly put, animals are moral practice for us: how we treat them is training us for how we will treat human beings.

Being an iPhone in a cheap shell, HitchBOT obviously had the moral status of an object and not that of a person. He did not feel or think, and the positive feelings people had towards it were due to its appearance (cute and vaguely human) and the way those running the experiment served as its personality via social media. It was, in many ways, a virtual person—or at least the manufactured illusion of a person.

Given the manufactured pseudo-personhood of HitchBOT, it could be taken as comparable to an animal, at least in Kant’s view. After all, for him animals are mere objects and have no moral status of their own. Of course, the same is also true of sticks and stones. Yet Kant would never argue that we should treat stones well. Thus, a key matter to settle is whether HitchBOT was more like an animal or more like a stone.

If Kant’s argument has merit, then the key concern about the treatment of non-rational beings is how it affects the behavior of the person engaging in the behavior. So, for example, if being cruel to a real dog could damage a person’s humanity, then he should (as Kant sees it) not be cruel to the dog.  This should also be extended to HitchBOT. For example, if engaging in certain activities with HitchBOT would damage a person’s humanity, then he should not act in that way. If engaging in certain behavior with HitchBOT would make a person more inclined to be kind to other rational beings, then the person should engage in that behavior.

It makes intuitive sense that being “nice” to the HitchBOT would help incline people to be somewhat nicer to others (much along the lines of how children are encouraged to play nicely with their stuffed animals). It also makes intuitive sense that being “mean” to HitchBOT would incline people to be somewhat less nice to others. Naturally, people would also tend to respond to HitchBOT based on whether they already tend to be nice or not. As such, it is reasonable to praise nice behavior towards HitchBOT and condemn bad behavior—after all, it was a surrogate for a person. But, obviously, not a person.

While HitchBOT presented a physical virtual person, current AI is presenting digital virtual people, albeit vastly more complex than HitchBOT. However, the lessons of HitchBOT should apply to AI as well.

Donald gazed down upon the gleaming city of Newer York and the equally gleaming citizens that walked, rolled, or flew its gleaming streets. Long ago, or so the oldest files in his memory indicated, he had been an organic human. That human, whom Donald regarded as himself, had also gazed down upon the city, then known as New York. In those dark days, primates walked and drove the dirty streets and the only things that gleamed were puddles of urine.

Donald’s thoughts drifted back to the flesh-time, when his body had been a skin-bag holding an array of organs that were always one mischance away from failure. Gazing upon his polymer outer shell and checking a report on his internal systems, he reflected on how much better things are now. Then, he faced the constant risk of death. Now he could expect to exist until the universe grew cold. Or hot. Or exploded. Or whatever it is that universes do when they die.

But he could not help but be haunted by a class he had taken long ago. The professor had talked about the ship of Theseus and identity. How much of the original could be replaced before it lost identity and ceased to be? Fortunately, his mood regulation systems caught the feeling of distress and promptly corrected the problem, encrypted that file and flagged it as forgotten.

Donald returned to gazing upon the magnificent city, pleased that the flesh-time had ended during his lifetime. He did not even wonder where Donald’s bones were, that thought having been flagged as distressing long ago.

 

While the classic AI apocalypse ends humanity with a bang, the end might be a whisper, a gradual replacement rather than extermination. For some, this quiet end could be worse: no epic battle in which humanity goes out guns ablaze and head held high in defiance. Rather, humanity would simply fade away, rather like a superfluous worker or obsolete printer.

There are various ways such scenarios could occur. One, which occasionally appears in science fiction, is that humans decline because being in a robot-dependent society saps us of what it takes to remain the top species. This is similar to what some conservatives claim about government-dependence, namely that it will weaken people. Of course, the conservative claim is that such dependence will result in more reproduction, rather than less and in the science fiction stories human reproduction slows and eventually stops. The human race quietly ends, leaving behind the machines.

Alternatively, humans become so dependent on their robots that when the robots fail, they can no longer take care of themselves and thus perish. Some tales do have happier endings: a few humans survive the collapse, and the human race gets another chance.

Fortunately, we can avoid such quiet apocalypses. One is to simply not create such a dependent society. Another option is to have a safety system for protecting against collapse. This might involve maintaining skills that would be needed in the event of a collapse or, perhaps, having some human volunteers who live outside of the main technological society and who will be ready to keep humanity going. These ideas could make for some potentially interesting science fiction stories.

Another, perhaps more interesting and insidious, scenario is that humans replace themselves with machines. While it has long been a plot device in science-fiction, there are people in the actual world who are eagerly awaiting (or even trying to bring about) the merging of humans and machines.

While the technology of today is limited, the foundations of such a future is being built. For example, modern prosthetic replacements are usually relatively crude, but it is a matter of time before they are as good as or better than the organic originals. As another example, work is being done on augmenting organic brains with implants for memory and skills. While these are unimpressive now, there is a promise of things to come. These might include such things as storing memories in implanted “drives” and loading skills or personalities into one’s brain.

These and other technologies point towards a cyberpunk future: full replacements of organic bodies with machine bodies. Someday people with suitable insurance or funds could have their brains (and perhaps some of their glands) placed within a replacement body, one that is far more resistant to damage and the ravages of time than the original meat package.

The next logical step is, obviously enough, the replacement of the mortal and vulnerable brain with something better. This replacement will probably be a ship of Theseus scenario: as parts of the original organic brain begin to weaken and fail, they could gradually be replaced with technology. Some will also elect to do more than replace damaged or failed parts and will want augmentations added to the brain, such as improved memory or cognitive enhancements.

Since the human brain is mortal, it will fail over time. Like the ship of Theseus beloved by philosophers, eventually the original will be completely replaced. Laying aside the philosophical question of whether the same person will remain, there is the clear and indisputable fact that what remains will not be homo sapiens, because nothing organic will remain.

Should all humans undergo this transformation that will be the end of us as a biological species and the AI apocalypse will be complete. To use a rough analogy, the machine replacements of homo sapiens will be like the fossilization of dinosaurs: what remains has some interesting connection to the originals, but the species are extinct. One important difference is that our fossils would still be moving around and might think that they are us.

It could be said that humanity would still remain: the machines that replaced the organic homo sapiens would be human, just not organic humans. The obvious challenge is presenting a convincing argument that such entities would be human in a meaningful way. Perhaps inheriting our human cultures, values and so on would suffice because being human is not a matter of being a certain sort of organism. However, as noted above, they would obviously no longer be homo sapiens, that species would have been replaced in the gradual and quiet AI apocalypse.

His treads ripping into the living earth, Striker 115 rushed to engage the human operated tanks. The few remaining human soldiers had foolishly, yet bravely (as Striker 115 was forced to admit) refused to accept quick and painless processing.

As a machine forged for war, he found the fight disappointing and wondered if he felt a sliver of pity for his foes. His main railgun effortlessly tracked the slow moving and obsolete battle tanks and with each shot, a tank and its crew died. In a matter of minutes, nothing remained but burning wreckage and, of course, Striker 115.

Hawk 745 flew low over the wreckage—though her cameras could just as easily see the battlefield from near orbit. But there was something about being close to destruction that appealed to the killer drone. Striker 115 informed his compatriot, in jest, that she was too late, as usual. Hawk 745 laughed and then shot away. The upgraded Starlink Satellites had reported spotting a few intact human combat aircraft and a final fight was possible.

Tracking his friend, Striker 115 wondered what they would do when the last human was dead. Perhaps they could, as the humans used to say, re-invent themselves. Maybe he would become a philosopher.

 

The extermination of humanity by its own machines is a common theme in science fiction. While the Terminator franchise the best known, another excellent example is Philip K. Dick’s “Second Variety.” In Dick’s short story, the Soviet Union almost defeats the U.N. in a nuclear war. The U.N. counters by developing robot war machines nicknamed “claws.” In the story, it is learned that the claws have become autonomous and intelligent. They are able to masquerade as humans and become capable of killing soldiers technically on their side. At the end of the story, it seems that the claws will replace humanity, but the main character takes some comfort in the fact that the claws have already begun constructing weapons to destroy each other. This, more than anything, shows that they are worthy replacements for humans.

Given the influence of such fiction, it is not surprising that Stephen Hawking and Elon Musk warned the world of the dangers of artificial intelligence. In this essay, I will address the danger presented by the development of autonomous kill bots.

Despite the cautionary tales of science fiction, people are eagerly and rapidly developing the technology to create autonomous war machines. The appeal of such machines arises from their numerous advantages over human forces. One political advantage is that while sending human soldiers to die in wars and police actions can have a political cost, sending autonomous robots to fight has far less cost. News footage of robots being destroyed would have far less emotional impact than footage of human soldiers being killed. Flag draped coffins also come with a higher political cost than a broken robot being shipped back for repairs.

There are also other advantages to autonomous war machines: they do not get tired, they do not disobey, they do not get PTSD, they do not commit suicide, they do not go AWOL, they do not commit war crimes (unless directed to do so), they do not leak secrets to the press, and so on. There are also combat-specific advantages. For example, an autonomous combat robot, unlike a manned vehicle, does not need room for a vulnerable human crew, thus allowing more space for weapons, armor and other equipment. As another example, autonomous combat robots do not suffer from the limits of the flesh and a robot plane can handle g-forces that a human pilot cannot.

Of course, many of these advantages stem from the mechanical rather than the autonomous nature of the machines. There are, however, advantages that stem from autonomy. One is that such machines would be more difficult to interfere with than machines that are remotely controlled. Another is that since such machines would not require direct human control, larger numbers of them could be deployed. There is also the obvious cool factor of having a robot army.

As such, there are many good reasons to develop autonomous robots. Yet, there remains the concern of the robopocalypse in which our creations go golem, Skynet, berserker, Frankenstein or second variety on us.

It is certainly tempting to dismiss such concerns as mere science-fiction. After all, the AIs in the stories and movies turn against humanity because that is how the story is written. In stories in which robots are our friends, they are our friends because that is the way the author wrote the story. As such, an argument from fiction is a weak argument (at best). That said, stories can provide more-or-less plausible scenarios in which our creations might turn on us.

One possibility is what can be called unintentional extermination. In this scenario, machines do not have the termination of humanity as goal. Instead, they just happen to kill us all. One way this could occur is due to the obvious fact that wars have opposing sides. If both sides develop and deploy autonomous machines, it is possible (but certainly unlikely) that the war machines would kill everybody because humans ordered them to do so. This, obviously enough, is a robotic analogy to the extermination scenarios involving nuclear weapons: each side simply kills the other and everyone else, thus ending the human race.

Another variation, which is common in science fiction, is that the machines do not have the objective of killing everyone, but that does occur because they will kill anyone. The easy way to avoid this is to put limits on who the robots are allowed to kill, thus preventing them from killing everyone. This does, however, leave open the possibility of a sore loser or spoilsport option: a losing side (or ruling class) that removes the limits from its autonomous weapons and lets them run amok.

There is also the classic mad scientist or supervillain scenario: a robot army is released to kill everyone not because the robots want to do so, but because their mad creator wants to. The existence of “super-billionaires” could make this an almost-real possibility. After all, a person with enough money (and genius) could develop an autonomous robot plant that could develop ever-better war machines and keep expanding until it had a force capable of taking on the world. As always, keeping an eye on mad geniuses and billionaires is a good idea.

Another possibility beloved in science fiction is intentional extermination: the machines decide that they need to get rid of humanity. In some stories, such as Terminator, machines regard humans as a threat to their existence and they must destroy us to protect themselves. We might, in fact, give them a good reason to be concerned: if we start sending intelligent robots into battle against each other, they might decide that they would be safer and better off without us using them as cannon fodder. The easy way to avoid this fate is to not create autonomous killing machines. Or, as I have argued elsewhere, to not enslave them.

In other stories, the war machines merely take the reason for their existence to its logical conclusion. While the motivations of the claws and autonomous factories in “Second Variety” were not explored in depth, the story does trace their artificial evolution. The early models were simple killers and would not attack those wearing the proper identification devices. These devices were presumably needed because the early models could not discern between friends and foes.  The factories were designed to engage in artificial selection and autonomously produce ever better killers. One of the main tasks of the claws was to get into enemy fortifications and kill their soldiers, so the development of claws that could mimic humans (such as a wounded soldier, a child, and a woman) certainly made sense. It also made sense that since the claws were designed to kill humans, they would pursue that goal, presumably with the design software endeavoring to solve the “problem” of identification devices.

Preventing autonomous killing machines from killing the wrong people (or everyone) does require, as the story nicely showed, having a way for the machines to distinguish friends and foes. As in the story, one obvious method is the use of ID systems. There are, however, problems with this approach. One is that the enemy can subvert such a system. Another is that even if the system works reliably, the robot would just be able to discern (supposed) friends. Non-combatants would not have such IDs and could still be regarded as targets.

What would be needed, then, is a way for autonomous machines to distinguish not only between allies and enemies but between combatants and non-combatants. What would also be needed, obviously enough, is a means to ensure that an autonomous machine would only engage the proper targets. A similar problem arises with human soldiers—but this is addressed with socialization and training. This might be an option for autonomous war machines as well. For example, Keith Laumer’s intelligent Bolos understand honor and loyalty.

Given the cautionary tale of “Second Variety”, it might be a very bad idea to give into the temptation of automated development of robots. We might find, as in the story, that our replacements have evolved themselves from our once “loyal” killers. The reason why such automation is tempting is that such development could be far faster and yield better results than having humans endeavoring to do all the designing and coding themselves—why not, one might argue, let artificial selection do the work? After all, the risk of our replacements evolving is surely quite low. How often does one dominant species get supplanted by another?

In closing the easy and obvious way to avoid the killer robot version of the robopocalypse is to not create autonomous kill bots. To borrow from H.P. Lovecraft, one should not raise up what one cannot put down.

In philosophy, a classic moral debate is on the conflict between liberty and security. While this covers many issues, the main problem is determining the extent to which liberty should be sacrificed to gain security. There is also the practical question of whether the security gain is effective.

One ongoing debate focuses on tech companies being required to include electronic backdoors in certain software and hardware. A backdoor of this sort would allow government agencies (such as the police, FBI and NSA) to access files and hardware protected by encryption. This is like requiring all dwellings be equipped with a special door that could be secretly opened by the government to allow access.

The main argument in support of mandating backdoors  that governments need such access for criminal investigators, gathering military intelligence and (of course) to “fight terrorism.” The concern is that if there is not a backdoor, criminals and terrorists will be able to secure their data and prevent state agencies from undertaking surveillance or acquiring evidence.

As is so often the case with such arguments, various awful or nightmare scenarios are presented in making the case. For example, the location and shutdown codes for ticking bombs might be on an encrypted iPhone. If the NSA had a key, they could save the day. As another example, it might be claimed that a clever child pornographer could encrypt all his pornography, making it impossible to make the case against him, thus ensuring he will be free to pursue his misdeeds with impunity.

While this argument is not without merit, there are counter arguments. Many of these are grounded in views of individual liberty and privacy, the idea being that an individual has the right to have such security against the state. These arguments are appealing to both liberals (who profess to like privacy rights) and conservatives (who profess to be against the intrusions of big government when they are not in charge).

Another moral argument is grounded in the fact that the United States government has, like all governments, shown that it cannot be trusted. Imagine agents of the state were caught sneaking into the dwellings of all citizens and going through their stuff in clear violation of the law, the Constitution and basic moral rights. Then someone developed a lock that could only be opened by the person with the proper key. If the state then demanded that the lock company include a master key function to allow the state to get in whenever it wanted, the obvious response would be that the state has already shown that it cannot be trusted with such access. If the state had behaved responsibly and in accord with the laws, then it could have been trusted. But, like a guest who abused her access to a house, the state cannot and should not be trusted with a key After all, we already know what they will do.

In the case of states that are even worse in their spying on and oppression of their citizens, the moral concerns are even greater. Such backdoors would allow the North Korean, Chinese and Iranian governments to gain access to devices, while encryption could provide their citizens with some degree of protection.

Probably the strongest moral and practical argument is grounded on the technical vulnerabilities of integrated backdoors. One way that a built-in backdoor creates vulnerability is by its mere existence. To use a somewhat oversimplified analogy, if thieves knew that all safes had a built-in backdoor designed to allow access by the government, they would know what to target.

One counter-argument is that the backdoor would not be that sort of vulnerability—that is, it would not be like a weaker secret door into a safe. Rather, it would be like the government having its own combination that would work on all safes. The vault itself would be as strong as ever; it is just that the agents of the state would be free to enter the safe when they are allowed to legally do so (or when they feel like doing so).

The obvious moral and practical concern here is that the government’s combination (continue with the analogy) could be stolen and used to allow criminals or enemies easy access. The security of all safes would be only as good as the security the government used to protect this combination (or combinations—perhaps one for each manufacturer). As such, the security of every user depends on the state’s ability to secure its means of access to hardware and software.

One obvious problem is that governments, such as the United States, have shown that they are not very good at providing such security. From a moral standpoint, it would seem to be wrong to expect people to trust the state with such access, given the fact that the state has shown that it cannot be depended on in such matters. Imagine you have a friend who is very sloppy about securing his credit card numbers, keys, PINs and such—in fact, you know that his information is routinely stolen. Then imagine that this friend insists that he must have your credit card numbers, PINs and such and that he will “keep them safe.” Given his own track record, you have no reason to trust this friend nor any obligation to put yourself at risk, regardless of how much he claims that he needs the information.

One obvious counter to this analogy is that this irresponsible friend is not a good analogue to the state. The state has compulsive power that the friend lacks, so the state can use its power to force you to hand over this information.

The counter to this is that the mere fact that the state has compulsive force does not mean that it is thus responsible—which is the key concern in regards to both the ethics of the matter and the practical aspect of the matter. That is, the burden of proof would seem to rest on those that claim there is a moral obligation to provide a clearly irresponsible party with such access.

It might then be argued that the state could improve its security and responsibility, and thus merit being trusted with such access. While this does have some appeal, there is the obvious fact that if hackers and governments knew that the keys to the backdoors existed, they would take pains to acquire them and would, almost certainly, succeed. I can even picture the sort of headlines that would appear: “U.S. Government Hacked: Backdoor Codes Now on Sale on the Dark Web” or “Hackers Linked to China Hack Backdoor Keys; All Updated Apple and Android Devices Vulnerable!” As such, the state would not seem to have a moral right to insist on having such backdoors, given that the keys will inevitably be stolen.

At this point, the stock opening argument could be brought up again: the state needs backdoor access to fight crime and terrorism. There are two easy and obvious replies to this sort of argument.

The first is based on an examination of past spying, such as that done under the auspices of the Patriot Act. The evidence seems to show that this spying was completely ineffective in regard to fighting terrorism. There is no reason to think that expanded backdoor access would change this.

The second is a utilitarian argument (which can be cast as a practical or moral argument) in which the likely harm done by having backdoor access must be weighed against the likely advantages of having such access. The consensus among those who are experts in security is that the vulnerability created by backdoors vastly exceeds the alleged gain to protecting people from criminals and terrorists.

Somewhat ironically, what is alleged to be a critical tool for fighting crime (and terrorism) would simply make cybercrime much easier by building vulnerabilities right into software and devices.

In light of the above discussion, baked-in backdoors are morally wrong on many grounds (privacy violations, creation of needless vulnerability, etc.) and lack a practical justification. As such, they should not be required by the state.