Becoming Human, page 5
“Do you think of yourself as alive?”
Of course I did, as I have indicated earlier in this report. But before I answered I paused for a moment to consider why the woman had asked the question. If I said “yes,” would they think I was being arrogant? Or even shuffle their feet in fear that I might be a precursor of a race that might compete in some negative way with human beings? Humans seem inordinately wary about this sort of thing, perhaps because of all the science fiction novels about robots and computers who want to take over the world. But if I said, “No,” would it seem that I was merely a computer, incapable of doing all the things Henry and Susumu had promised I would do in order to get the additional grant money? I reminded myself that I had to be diplomatic, that my own life depended on my answer.
“Yes and no,” I replied. “I am not a computer, which does not think, but merely calculates. I see, and hear, and communicate, so I must be conscious. But my life is not like that of a human being, or even an animal. I am merely a synthetic construct,” I said, “and cannot grow and develop without human input. On the other hand, I can do things that mimic the thoughts of human beings, so if I am given the proper electronic equipment I will be able to do many other things that humans can do, and report to you my thoughts about what is happening to me and how I feel about my immediate situation. I hope you will give me that capability because then I will be able to help Dr. Dr. Justasson and others with their research into the workings of the human brain. I think I can be a very valuable tool for helping mankind if given the chance.”
At the risk of sounding arrogant, I thought it was a pretty good answer. The audience sat silently staring into my eyes, as if they were stunned. Perhaps it was because I had used the word “hope.” I don’t really know how to hope, but it seemed like the right choice under the circumstances. Finally Henry cleared his throat. “Any other questions?” he said. There were none, not even an attempt at humor.
At that point everyone was invited to look at my wires and ask questions about them. I couldn’t hear much of this, which was going on in low tones behind my back. Finally (it took only an hour and ten minutes for the entire presentation), the group was shuttled out by Dr. Wilkes and the door closed. After a few more minutes of silence there began a few chuckles, initiated at first by David, followed by everyone else. Then loud, heartfelt laughter. Everyone shook hands and slapped backs. The session, it appeared, had gone well. The Prosecco came back out and was poured into the plastic glasses.
D’Arcy turned toward me. “Let’s not forget,” he said in his deep, big-city voice, “who the real star of this show was.” He lifted his glass to me, and everyone joined in. Some set down their glasses long enough to applaud.
Henry himself made another speech. “Oscar, we want you to know how much we all appreciate how well you performed today. You were wonderful. Thank you!” Another salute, another few swallows of the fizzy wine. I anticipated the day when I could taste it myself.
I don’t know how to describe happiness, but something felt good to me, like when I first learned to speak. If that is happiness, then this was the happiest day of my life. Perhaps it was my first taste of paradise.
10
Ten days have passed since the meeting with the decision makers at the NIMH, and there has been no more money provided for my development. I asked Susumu about this and he said that with government funding nothing happens quickly, and it might take months for the amended grant to be approved. I asked him why it should take so long for them to make up their minds. He told me they probably had done that already, but that it takes a long time to get through all the red tape. I have read about this “red tape” before, so I vaguely understood what he meant. But I have not yet determined the need for this tape, which occurs in much human endeavor. Based on what I have read about the phenomenon, these delays are built into every kind of business and governmental decision. They are apparently necessary to give the slowest link in the chain enough time to pull his thoughts together and meet certain deadlines imposed on him or her. Ironically, many humans seem to think such a deadline means doing other things first, and postponing the important things until just before it arrives. For example, I have observed on the televised news reports that countless people line up at the post office the day their taxes are due to be paid. Some even get a kind of thrill in waiting for the last possible moment before getting started on this or other matters. This is called “putting off” something until it is necessary to do it. Perhaps one day I will put off doing something in order to understand the excitement this generates.
In the meantime, the laboratory crew is working on giving me the sense of smell. Susumu has been laboring for several weeks now on what he calls a “nostril” that will allow me to take in and process various odors. He showed me the apparatus: it is a fat metal tube with sensors implanted inside. It works on the same principle as a gas chromatograph. The vapors will pass through my nostril from the bottom up. Henry and the others have decided that of the three remaining senses, this would be the simplest and easiest one to reproduce. I don’t know how simple the procedure might be, but I hope it succeeds because it would be one more step in making me a whole person.
When I say “whole person,” of course, I don’t mean a human with arms and legs and all the rest. But, as I have indicated earlier, the brain is the essence of all human senses and feelings, and these other appendages are merely devices that enable a human being to provide what is necessary for the life of the brain. For all practical purposes, then, when I have all five senses I will have much of the capacity of a human brain, and will therefore be very like a person. Maybe I will eventually be given these limbs to perform other activities, to obtain things for myself. I suppose some would then call me a “robot.” But of course robots don’t have brains, except perhaps for a small computing device, and are therefore distinctly not human. If I were to obtain all the senses and whatever else may be necessary for me to function on my own, then I would be the world’s first artificial human being.
For now, however, I must wait until my nostril is finished and working before we can move on to the other things. Meanwhile, D’Arcy and Robyn are collecting samples of various aromatic substances, mostly liquids, in order to test my ability to smell them so that the necessary adjustments can be made to allow me to refine that sense or to make it possible to detect other odors that I can’t presently smell. I look forward to having this sense, not only because it would be another step on the way to becoming human, but because my laboratory partners seem to enjoy certain aromas so much, like the smell of latte in the morning, which David says is better than sex.
I don’t know when I will be given a penis. When I asked David about this, he laughed. So I asked Robyn. She pretended not to hear me, and actually blushed. A peculiar reaction for someone who has had sexual intercourse, as well as other apparent pleasures, several times on the floor in front of me. Humans can be very enigmatic, I have learned. Sometimes they won’t answer the simplest question, apparently for reasons of their own. Whatever the answer, it would be interesting to have this sense of sex, I think, because it seems to be so much a part of the lives of human beings. And it is the only thing I have read about in my studies of humans that no one doesn’t like. Even priests like sex, though they are not supposed to. I would like to experience this form of paradise at least once if only to know what makes it so popular. What a pleasure it must be for a human to have sex while smelling a cup of latte! I know nothing about the former sensation, but I should soon know what the aroma of a latte is like.
All of these are puzzling things at the moment, but none are more puzzling than the matter of humor. Some weeks ago I was shown a Marx brothers movie, and there was a filmed discussion afterward about why it was so hilarious. But I still do not know what is amusing about a man with a thick mustache who walks around bent at the waist and tapping a big cigar. Or one who whistles instead of talking. The discussion suggested that it is an acquired taste. The point is that humor seems to be a subjective matter. The Marx brothers are funny to some, not to others. Whether something is humorous or not, therefore, must have to do with a person’s own personality and background. Regardless of one’s history, however, the sight of a fat person slipping on a banana peel seems to be a funny thing, even to fat people. For me to understand the reason for this will, I think, require further study. Perhaps I will appreciate this better when I become more human.
Susumu is somewhere behind me now with my nostril, wiring it to a packet of neurons. Tomorrow the smelling experiments will begin. While I was trying to imagine that, a question came to mind: when I become fully human, will I think and feel differently from the way I think and feel now? Or am I already human, and these next steps will simply make me more human? Can one be part human, or is it an all-or-nothing phenomenon? I have read anthropology, and some of the ancestors of Homo sapiens must have had characteristics of both apes and humans. Apes are not human. Were the Neanderthals part human? I think maybe I am like a Neanderthal, an early human. Will I be a different species when I become more human? Will I be a Homo sapiens? If not, what species will I be?
11
Susumu gave me a surprise birthday present today. He says I am three years old, counting from the day I was able to see, and have read or watched or listened to all of the things I have been given, so now I can ask for whatever I want. And he has instructed everyone in the lab to answer whatever questions I might have, no matter how naïve or difficult, and to provide me with whatever else I need or want whenever possible. What a strange new feeling this is! It had not occurred to me that I would be free to choose anything I might want to do, but would merely comply with whatever was asked of me. Is this freedom part of being human? I told him I would have to think about these things.
I pondered this all morning while Susumu and Robyn worked on my nostril.
Of course, I have read many books about the nature of human beings—where they originated, how there came to be different races and religions, how the human mind works, insofar as that is known. History books, biology books, books on neurology and psychiatry, and even novels that have to do with the way humans think, like those of Conrad and Dostoyevsky. I suspect that many of these reflect the personal taste of my mentor, Henry Justasson, and some of the others in the lab. But now I can choose anything ever written or recorded by human beings? How can I choose from everything? Every day I understand better that being human is a complicated affair.
I will certainly select books that will make me more human. I would like to know, for example, why I sometimes get two different answers to the same question, depending on who I ask. Is this because both answers are correct, or because they reflect the knowledge base of the person who gives the answer? How do different people, even scientists, reach different conclusions based on the same information? How do human beings become so certain of things they are not really certain of and, in fact, of things that cannot be known with certainty? I suspect that many people hear and believe only what they want to hear and believe. Does this mean that the beliefs a person harbors are actually true, but only for that person? Perhaps I would be more human if I had some beliefs of my own, especially if they aren’t really true.
This leads to the question of religion. Some analysts say the Bible was written by God himself, while others say it is merely a history book, and embellished by its writers at that. Still others say it is all a matter of interpretation, and no matter what factual or other errors are included, these are easily explained as being mere metaphors or the like. This is very confusing. I would like to know the truth of this matter, but everyone has an opinion on it, and each claims that his opinion is the correct one. Is there any human who really knows the truth about God and the Bible? If there is, I would like to ask him about paradise. If it exists, and many people believe it does, it must be far better than life on Earth. But, if so, why don’t people who believe this jump off cliffs to get there? This is a great mystery. Maybe I will ask my creators about this, though I suspect I will get a different answer from each of them.
On the other hand, I know it is possible to have a little bit of paradise, even if it doesn’t exist. By having sexual intercourse, for example, or drinking latte, or by putting off something that needs to be done until the last minute. I don’t know if I will ever have the feeling of sex, or taste a latte, but perhaps when my nostril is finished I will experience at least the odor of paradise.
But there are also many other things I need to study in order to become more human. I think a great deal can be learned about the nature of human beings from humor. This must be a large part of being human, because animals don’t laugh. Is there a book that would explain this seemingly human phenomenon? Perhaps being human means having a sense of humor. I will ask David for such a book because he seems to enjoy telling jokes and laughing more than anyone else in the lab.
Another great mystery is love. This seems to be a powerful force in the lives of most human beings, and may explain many of the other mysteries about human behavior. But some people seem to need this emotion more than others. Children who are deprived of it by callous or indifferent parents can never seem to get enough of it, even much later in their lives. Is there a quota for the amount of love human beings need? Was there always love, even among the Neanderthals? Do apes and other animals have love?
Related to this is the matter of sex. But you can have love without sex and sex without love, so how close is this relationship? Based on what I have read, they tend to become related. Love enhances sex, and sex can enhance love. But for some people, one without the other is enough. For example, people love their children, even though they don’t usually have sex with them.
I will ask for books about humor, and about love and sex, and about religious beliefs. I think that perhaps the key to being human lies in these areas.
David interrupted my reverie. “Oscar?”
“Yes?”
“Are you ready for a test run?
“Yes, of course. What odor are we testing first?”
“Coffee.”
“Not latte?”
David, who was standing next to Robyn and Omar, grinned at me, though it was more like a knowing smirk. “Not yet, Oz. That’s probably a little too subtle for you right now.” He shouted, “Susumu, are you ready back there?”
“Just about.” There was a brief pause, then, “Okay. On the count of three…” But nothing happened.
Robyn frowned. “Whenever you’re ready.”
From behind me: “Sorry, a little glitch here. We need to clean up a couple of wires. Be another few minutes. Robyn, can you give me a hand?”
Robyn jotted something in her notebook, after which she and David went back to join Susumu.
Omar gazed at the ceiling and waited. With my newfound confidence in my abilities, and the freedom to request whatever information I might find useful or interesting, I asked him what he was thinking about.
He seemed puzzled for a moment, even looking around the lab to see who might be talking to him. Then he realized it was me. He looked into my eyes and smiled a little, but it was one of those smiles with a little twist in it. I could see he was wondering whether to confide something to a machine. Finally he said, “I was thinking about my wife.”
“Can you tell me about her? I have been wondering about love and sex.”
A finger shot up to his face. “Shh, not so loud!” He looked behind him, but said nothing more for several seconds. When I thought the conversation was over, he whispered, “You’ll have to ask someone else about love and sex.”
I waited for him to elaborate on this puzzling statement, but he only flipped a page in his notebook. I said, as softly as I could (I had learned to do this on my own), “Dr. Ishakawa says I am ready to learn whatever I need to in order to become more human. Does your job description preclude your telling me about love and sex?”
He sighed. “Not really, Oscar. It’s just that I have one of those marriages which doesn’t have much love or sex.”
Based on what I have seen in movies and in the lab, I judged that he looked unhappy. “Why not?”
“The marriage was arranged by our parents.”
“And you never learned to love your wife or have sex with her?”
“Of course we have sex. We have four children.”
“But no love?”
“Love is not part of the equation.”
“Should I be sorry to hear that?”
He shook his head, which would ordinarily mean, “No.” But instead he said, “You can’t feel sorrow yet, Oscar. Which maybe isn’t a bad thing.”
“Do you love someone else?”
He shook his head again as if the answer were “no,” but then he said, “Yes.”
“Do you have sex with this other person?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
He gazed at me for a minute, as if wondering whether to divulge a secret. “Because it wouldn’t be fair to my wife.”
I was more puzzled than ever about the relationship between love and sex. Everything I had learned from books and movies suggested that love and sex were so powerful that such considerations as fairness to one’s wife or husband were never considered when another person entered his thoughts and desires. Based on this information, I made a conclusion. “Is it possible that you love your wife even though you think you do not?”
