Drone Strikes in the Uncanny Valley – Part 2

In Part 1,  I wrote:

The visceral revulsion of many seems to indicate a sense that these drones have, or will assume a life of their own, that despite their clearly mechanical appearance, they inhabit the uncanny valley.

But how can this be?  A robot’s too/not enough human likeness is the core of the effect.  There are in fact quite a number of drones, with various appearances.  But  I can’t recall one with any visual appreciable human likeness at all.

Mori’s graph show the industrial robot as the least uncanny.  But the industrial robot’s environment is highly constrained and controlled.  Even the huge mining or tunneling machines exist in specific environments when doing their work.

The drone roams the greater world, our world, seemingly unconstrained or controlled.  Imagine  observing from the ground a drone hovering for days.  Then suddenly it launches a missile that strikes close by.  Even if one is uninjured it must be a breathtakingly frightening experience.

From that vantage point, the drone appears to have intelligence, agency and to be capable of highly consequential action.  I think,, for many of us, this empathetic understanding is at least as strong as a more rational and factual one.

Combined with drones not looking human, this leads us to metaphorically regard them as a different species.

Eliezer Yudkowsky of the Machine Intelligence Research Institute says one of the “families of unreliable metaphors for imagining the capability of smarter-than-human Artificial Intelligence” is

 Species metaphors: Inspired by differences of brain architecture between species. AIs  have magic.

Drones then become a magic species, capable of rainng death down on us.

Their  different brain architectures leave them though emotionless.  Human Rights Watch released its report Losing Humanity a few months ago arguing against the development of “fully autonomous weapons”.

Even if the development of fully autonomous weapons with human-like cognition became feasible, they would lack certain human qualities, such as emotion, compassion, and the ability to understand humans. As a result, the widespread adoption of such weapons would still raise troubling legal concerns and pose other threats to civilians. (p. 6)

The report received limited coverage.  Among the most substantive was the Spencer Ackerman’s article Pentagon: A Human Will Always Decide When a Robot Kills You The wry, ironic tone of the title was typical of the few articles that did appear.

The Pentagon wants to make perfectly clear that every time one of its flying robots releases its lethal payload, it’s the result of a decision made by an accountable human being in a lawful chain of command. Human rights groups and nervous citizens fear that technological advances in autonomy will slowly lead to the day when robots make that critical decision for themselves. But according to a new policy directive issued by a top Pentagon official, there shall be no SkyNet, thank you very much.

.Looking up from the forest floor of the Uncanny Valley, through the canopy, I’m not so sure.

About Mushrooms

In a previous post,  I described the events leading up to my grandfather telling me, “You have to understand about mushrooms.”  Learning recently about Charles McIlvaine, I recognized something of my grandfather in him.  Both, I think, trusted his own experience to a degree that would ordinarily seem to result in an early death, only to have it validated.

He served in the Union Army for two years, rising to become a Captain. (Here is a point of difference between the two.  My grandfather came to America in part to avoid service in the Polish army.)

I found no account of his next 17 years.  Another similarity to my grandfather perhaps – a certain mystery about where he was and what he was doing.  At that point McIlvaine moved to West Virginia.  This is his account of what happened.

A score of years ago (1880-1885) I was living in the mountains of West Virginia. While riding on horseback through the dense forests of that great unfenced state, I saw on every side luxuriant growths of fungi, so inviting in color, cleanliness and flesh that it occurred to me they ought to be eaten. I remembered having read a short time before this inspiration seized me, a very interesting article in the Popular Science Monthly for May, 1877, written by Mr. Julius A. Palmer, Jr., entitled “ Toadstool eating.” Hunting it up I studied it carefully, and soon found myself interested in a delightful study, which was not without immediate reward. Up to this time I had been living, literally, on the fat of the land – bacon; but my studies enabled me to supplement this, the staple dish of the state, with a vegetable luxury that centuries ago graced the dinners of the Caesars. So absorbing did the study become from gastronomic, culinary, and scientific points of view, that I have continued it ever since, with thorough intellectual enjoyment and much gratification of appetite as my reward. I hope to interest students in the study as I am myself interested.

For twenty years my little friends – the toadstools – have been my constant companions. They have interested me, delighted me, feed me, and I have found much pleasure in making the public acquainted with their habits, structure, lusciousness and food value.

Charles McIlvaine “ OneThousand American Fungi”

McIlvaine’s method for leaning about mushrooms included eating hundreds of species of them.  The ediblity and poisoness of many of these were not known at the time.  His nickname came to be “Ole Ironguts”.

My grandfather came to America when he was 16.  I don’t know what education he had there.  His family was well off, so I’m sure whe went to school.  But from the rough jobs he had in this country, I’m fairly sure his formal education stopped in Poland.  Maybe he began to learn the ways of the forest there.  Because of the way he talked about “the woods” I’m sure though, that his knowledge came from extensive personal obsevation and experimentaton.

If you ever drank his coffee you would know he deserved the name “Ole Ironguts” as well.

From One to Another

As the forest canopy approaches completion, Jack in the Pulpits erupt to full size.  A few are just ripe, but most are a visibly transducent green that the canopy itself manages to copy only for a few days.

Embedded on the spadix (the Jack), thousands of tiny flowers begin to bloom as the spathe (the Pulpit) develops its purple and white striping.   Slightly foetid, the plant attracts mosquitos and gnats. As they crawl down the inside of the tube, they brush against the flowers, pollinating them.  Continuing down past them, looking for animal flesh, the darkness and shape of the spathe disorient them.  Most of the insects eventually find their way out, perhaps in a slight insect daze, but some never do, and die inside.

What could be more Cyborg like?

Plant and insect united briefly in function operating independently of any intention, one part incapable of intention, the other full of an intention that is irrelevant to the result except for the force of its delusion.

What could be less Cyborg like?

This is the ground the Cyborg contests, the idea of Nature, apart from Humanity, the idea of intention and agency being the same, that the unintentional is the same as that without agency.