🚀 go-pugleaf

Here we go.

Recently, several posters have debated the concept of thinking
machines without explicitly discussing thought.  We all know that we
think but I doubt that many individuals can articulate what it means
to think.  Does, for example, thinking imply conciousness?  In other
words, do things think without being aware that they are thinking?

If thought is merely the process of solving problems, then answers
become obvious.  Solving problems does not imply conciousness.  My Mac
solves all sorts of problems for me, but it certainly does not spend
its off hours contemplating the Eternal Void.  (At least, I don't
think that it does.)

However, I believe that when individuals talk about thought they imply
some sort of conciousness, or awareness.  When we say a machine that
thinks, we mean a machine that understands, reasons, draws
conclusions, learns, and is somehow aware.

Thus when Searle talks of the Chinese room, he is questioning the
awareness of the machine rather than its imitation of reasoning
processes.  (At least, as far as I can tell.)

I believe that the problem of conciousness comes from a choice of
metaphysics.  Most of us in the Western world are disciples of the
ancient Greek metaphysician, Democritus.  Democritus, you'll recall,
was the philosopher who theorized that all of reality was made of
atoms.  Understand the atoms and you'll understand reality.
Mathematics, physics, logic all went a long way towards cementing this
mind set.  The whole is equal to the sum of its parts.  Understand the
parts, and you'll understand the whole.

When this viewpoint is applied to a theory of mind, you get a lot of
folks saying, "All that's in there is a bunch of neurons firing in
certain patterns.  All that's happening is the exchange of
neurochemicals.  Understand those, and you'll understand the mind."

Well, perhaps not.  Somehow, intuitively speaking, I think that the
mind is more than the firing of neurons, though it does seem to
encompass the firing of neurons.  There's more there, I say, than the
exchange of certain neurochemicals.  Plato knew more about the human
mind than me and he knew much less about the construction of the
brain.  Perhaps this intuition explains the vigorous defense of Cartesian
dualism since Descartes without very much empirical evidence.  

Lately, however, one of the newer sciences has been breaking away from
Democritus.  Biology discusses and understands more and more about the
individual cell, yet they find it harder and harder to explain the
relationship between cells within the pretext of the individual cell.
Etymologysts understand a lot about termites but they cannot explain
why five termites together will build arches the Romans  would be
proud of.  The whole is more than the sum of its parts.

Perhaps the mind is much the same way.  Understanding the switches and
chemicals inside of the brain may in some way add to the knowledge of
our selves, but I don't think that it can ever fully explain our
selves and our consciousness.  

So the question arises, How can we understand ourselves or our
consciousness? How can we tell whether a machine thinks?  To these
questions I profess my ignorance, but I do not think that any method
which only looks at the parts of the brain will accomplish that lofty
goal.

						Dav Amann
						dove@portia.stanford.edu