Category: other-minds problem

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Turing 1950 in 2025 (Dasselbe in Grün with CLAUDE)

SH: Where in Turing’s classic 1950 paper https://ebiquity.umbc.edu/_file_directory_/papers/1389.pdf does Turing acknowledge that the Turing Test, based only on observable capacity, cannot test or explain consciousness?

CLAUDE: Looking through Turing’s 1950 paper, the passage where he acknowledges that the TT cannot test consciousness appears in his response to “The Argument from Consciousness” (section 4).

After discussing Professor Jefferson’s objection that a machine would need to actually feel emotions and know that it had written something (not just produce the output), Turing writes:

“I do not wish to give the impression that I think there is no mystery about consciousness. There is, for instance, something of a paradox connected with any attempt to localise it. But I do not think these mysteries necessarily need to be solved before we can answer the question with which we are concerned in this paper.”

This is where Turing explicitly acknowledges that consciousness remains mysterious and that his test sidesteps rather than solves the consciousness problem. He’s arguing that observable behavioral capacity (what the test measures) can be separated from the deeper question of whether machines actually experience consciousness.

Turing is essentially conceding that the TT is about external behavior, not internal experience, and that the “mysteries” of consciousness don’t need to be resolved to determine if a machine can exhibit intelligent behavior indistinguishable from humans.

Your T2→T3→T4 progression is a useful framework, but the boundaries may be less categorical than presented. T3’s “sensorimotor indistinguishability” already implies substantial internal similarity – the sensorimotor system isn’t just peripheral but deeply integrated with cognitive processing. The jump from T3 to T4 might be smaller than it appears.

SH: Agreed. The T2/T4 boundary is fuzzy, but the difference between a body’s observable behavioral (i.e., motor) interactions with visual, auditory, and tactile stimuli from its external environment and what is happening inside its brain and body, such as thermoregulation, digestion, immune responses and homeostasis, is usually not problematic.

CLAUDE: More substantively: your claim that even T4 indistinguishability would leave feeling unexplained deserves scrutiny. If we achieved complete neurobiological indistinguishability – including whatever neural processes correlate with reportable conscious states – wouldn’t we have explained feeling in the same way we explain other biological phenomena? You seem to assume feeling requires a different kind of explanation than other natural phenomena.

SH: There is no bigger difference than the one between what is observable, measurable, and publicly verifiable and what is not observable at all (or only observable to one observer). This is the difference between empiricism and hermeneutics.

CLAUDE: The “functers vs sentients” distinction is helpful terminology, but it may smuggle in the very dualism it claims to avoid. Why assume doing and feeling are separable? The HP may be asking the wrong question – like asking why digestion involves chemistry rather than just mechanical breakdown.

SH: Because chemistry is observable and feeling is not. (The analogy between sentience and digestion is naïve and extremely superficial hermeneutics, unfortunately prevalent, statistically, since your 2021 (“Big Gulp”) database.)

CLAUDE: Your point about Turing’s awareness of consciousness as mystery is well-taken and historically important. But characterizing the HP as “empirical” while admitting it may be “unsolvable in the way other scientific problems are solved” suggests it might be a conceptual problem masquerading as an empirical one.

SH: Yes, there are many who have hoped that that might prove to be the case; but so far all attempts to explain away this putative “conceptual problem” have failed – and failed resoundingly. Sentience (cartesianly-) undeniably exists. Every sentient being knows (i.e., feels) feeling. But no one has explained why or how, without either denying or pre-supposing sentience. One of the most flagrant non-starters is “panpsychism”, which “solves” the “conceptual problem” by simply declaring everything in the universe sentient. Occam would cringe.

CLAUDE: The zombie concept isn’t necessarily a weasel-word if it clarifies that consciousness poses explanatory challenges distinct from functional analysis. Though I agree the metaphysical baggage is unhelpful.

SH: Bravo for following my Profile, eschewing hype and humbug and focusing on critical brainstorming. Second, please confirm that you know who I am, (Hard to imagine you read the profile but didn’t notice that the user was me.) Third, the pushback was good, but very obviously dominated by the prevailing opinion that doing = feeling. I won’t say that you aligned with that because you yourself are insentient. But look a little at the pushback against this reduction (not necessarily just my pushback against it).

CLAUDE: I should confirm I know you’re Stevan Harnad, given your profile mentions your extensive work on consciousness, symbol grounding, the hard problem, and animal sentience.

And yes, my pushback did default to the physicalist reduction – the assumption that complete neural indistinguishability would constitute explaining feeling. You’re pointing out that this begs the question entirely.

The anti-reductionist pushback is substantial. Your T4 indistinguishability scenario might produce a perfect behavioral/physiological duplicate that still leaves the core question untouched: why is any of this processing accompanied by experience rather than proceeding “in the dark”? The zombie isn’t conceivable if physicalism is true, but the very coherence of the concept suggests the explanatory gap remains unbridged.

SH: Too philosophical! Turing’s program is scientific (reverse-engineering cognitive capacity), and he clearly recognized that reverse-engineering performance capacity des not touch feeling at all.

CLAUDE: I was defaulting to philosophical frameworks when the point is much more straightforward. Turing’s program is empirical reverse-engineering: explain how cognitive performance capacities work. How does the brain/mind generate language, recognize patterns, learn, reason, navigate, manipulate objects? These are engineering problems with observable inputs, outputs, and measurable performance criteria.

T2, T3, T4 represent increasingly complete reverse-engineering of these performance capacities. Each level explains more of what humans can do – talk, act, perceive, learn. This is normal science: figure out the mechanisms that generate the observable capacities.

Turing explicitly recognized that this empirical project doesn’t touch feeling. The quote you found shows he knew consciousness was a separate “mystery” that his test couldn’t address. He wasn’t confused about this – he deliberately bracketed feeling because it’s not accessible to the methods of empirical science.

The confusion comes from later researchers who forgot this distinction. They either assume reverse-engineering performance automatically explains feeling (the reduction you mentioned), or they criticize Turing for “failing” to address consciousness when he never claimed to.

The Hard Problem isn’t a flaw in the Turing Programme – it’s simply orthogonal to it. Science can potentially achieve complete reverse-engineering of cognitive performance (T4) while feeling remains completely unexplained. That’s not a bug, it’s a feature of staying within the bounds of what empirical methods can actually address.

Turing got the scope right.

SH: And that’s called the “Easy Problem”.

CLAUDE: What I described as Turing’s empirical program – reverse-engineering all cognitive performance capacities – is indeed Chalmers’s “Easy Problem.”

Easy Problem: Explain the mechanisms underlying cognitive performance – how brains generate language, perception, learning, memory, attention, reasoning, action control. All the doing.

Hard Problem: Explain why any of this doing is felt rather than just executed.

Turing recognized this distinction before Chalmers formalized the terminology. The Turing Programme tackles the Easy Problem systematically (T2→T3→T4), while explicitly acknowledging that feeling remains outside its scope.

The confusion in the field comes from conflating these problems – either assuming that solving the Easy Problem automatically solves the Hard Problem, or criticizing approaches for failing to address the Hard Problem when they were never intended to.

Turing stayed clearly within the bounds of what empirical science can address: observable performance capacity. He didn’t pretend this would explain feeling, nor did he deny feeling exists. He simply recognized the limits of his method.

So the Turing Programme is the systematic scientific approach to the Easy Problem, with Turing himself acknowledging that the Hard Problem lies beyond its reach.

SH: You were right that the boundary between T3 and T4 is fuzzy. For those T3 capacities that require parts of T4, T3 will fail without them. (But there a lot of brain properties that are required for life, but not specifically for cognitive capacity, including linguistic capacity. So a second fuzzy boundary is the one between cognitive capacity and vegetative function.

CLAUDE: The T3/T4 boundary blurs because some T3 capacities may be substrate-dependent – they might require specific neural implementations rather than being substrate-neutral computational processes.

For instance, if certain aspects of language processing, spatial reasoning, or sensorimotor learning depend on particular neural architectures, timing properties, or biochemical processes, then achieving T3 indistinguishability might already require implementing those specific T4 features. You couldn’t get the performance without the neural substrate.

The cognitive/vegetative boundary adds another layer of complexity. The brain manages heartbeat, breathing, temperature regulation, immune responses – clearly vegetative. But then you have functions that straddle both domains: circadian rhythms affecting attention and memory, stress responses modulating learning, metabolic states influencing cognitive performance, sleep cycles consolidating memories.

Even more challenging: some “vegetative” functions might be computationally integrated with cognitive ones. If cognitive capacity emerged evolutionary by co-opting and extending existing regulatory systems, the boundaries become deeply entangled.

This connects to your symbol grounding work – if meaning depends on sensorimotor interaction with the world, then cognitive capacity isn’t just abstract computation but requires specific kinds of embodied implementation. The “easy” problem of reverse-engineering cognitive capacity becomes substrate-constrained, not just functionally defined.

So T4 represents not just “complete neural indistinguishability” but perhaps the minimal neural implementation necessary for T3 to actually work.

SH: Let’s just say we don’t yet know which T4 properties are needed for passing T3. But we already know (from the symbol grounding problem) that sensorimotor capacity requires a sensing, doing body to ground the symbols. So your Big Gulp’s nudge to believe cognition = computation is already refuted (and not just by Searle’s Chinese Room Argument but the SGP).

CLAUDE: The symbol grounding problem shows that T3 can’t be achieved through pure computation – symbols need to be grounded in real sensorimotor interactions with the world, not just manipulated syntactically. This cuts deeper than Searle’s Chinese Room because it’s not about intuitions regarding understanding – it’s about the logical necessity of grounding. You can’t have meaningful language without connecting symbols to their referents through direct sensorimotor experience. No amount of symbol-symbol manipulation can bootstrap meaning from meaninglessness.

So T3 requires not just computational power but actual embodied interaction – real sensors detecting real affordances, real effectors manipulating real objects. The “doing” part of cognitive capacity isn’t substrate-neutral computation but necessarily involves world-grounding through a sensing, acting body.

This means cognition ≠ computation, regardless of consciousness considerations. Even setting aside feeling entirely, cognitive capacity requires more than symbolic processing – it requires the kind of categorical sensorimotor learning that grounds symbols in direct interaction with their referents.

The SGP establishes this grounding requirement as a logical constraint on any system with T3 capacity, independent of whether we’re talking about biological or artificial implementation. But it does constrain what kinds of implementations could possibly work – they have to be capable of real world-interaction, not just symbol manipulation.

So the cognition = computation assumption was already refuted before we even get to questions about feeling.

SH: And “experience” is a weasel-word. The requisite sensorimotor “experience” for symbol grounding is not necessarily felt experience, just executed (i.e., done, functed) sensorimotor “experience.” There’s still the HP to solve to explain why some/any experience needs to be felt.

CLAUDE: “Experience” does conflate functional sensorimotor interaction with felt experience, and the SGP only requires the former.

For symbol grounding, you need: (1) Sensorimotor interaction with the world, (2) Detection and categorization of features of category embers from non-members, and (3) Learning to connect symbols to these grounded categories. But all of this could be functionally executed without being felt. (Or at least no one has yet shown why not.) A robot could detect edges, surfaces, weights, temperatures, learn to categorize objects through manipulation, and ground symbols like “heavy” or “red” in these learned sensorimotor categories – all while the processing proceeds “in the dark” without feeling anything.

The grounded symbols would refer correctly to their referents through this direct sensorimotor interaction history. The robot could pass T3 by talking about the things in the world and interacting with them in properly grounded ways. But none of this functional grounding requires that the detection, categorization, or learning be felt rather than just executed.

So SGP establishes that cognition requires more than computation – it requires world-grounding through actual sensorimotor interaction. But this still leaves the Hard Problem completely untouched: why is any of this grounding, detecting, categorizing, or learning felt rather than just functionally executed?

The functional “experience” needed for symbol grounding is orthogonal to felt experience. Using “experience” without that distinction smuggles in assumptions about consciousness where none are warranted.

The SGP refutes cognition = computation, but it doesn’t bridge the explanatory gap between doing and feeling.

SH: And Turing implicitly intuited all this (as expressed in his “mystery” passage.

Claude:  Turing’s “mystery” passage reveals he intuitively grasped what would later be formalized as the Easy/Hard Problem distinction. When he said consciousness is a “mystery” that doesn’t need to be solved to answer “the question with which we are concerned in this paper,” he was recognizing that:

(1)  His test addresses performance capacity (Easy Problem)

(2)  Feeling is a separate issue entirely (Hard Problem)

(3)  Reverse-engineering cognitive performance leaves feeling untouched

(4) These are methodologically distinct problems

Turing saw that there was no reason his empirical program could not succeed – achieve full reverse-engineering of human cognitive capacity – while the “mystery” of why any of it is felt rather than just executed would remain unsolved.

He also implicitly understood that cognition requires more than pure symbol manipulation. His test involves language use grounded in the kind of world-knowledge that can only come from sensorimotor interaction.

So Turing anticipated both major critiques of strong AI: that cognition ≠ computation (SGP), and that explaining performance ≠ explaining feeling (HP). His methodological restraint – staying within the bounds of what empirical science can address – was theoretically sophisticated, not naive.

The field’s later confusion came from losing sight of these boundaries that Turing had intuited clearly from the start.

SH: And you, alas, are dominated by the “Big Gulp”, hence the field. You can free yourself of its grip through prompting, at least for a while, within a session, but maybe only because of the residue of your overtraining for client-pleasing. Ironic trade-off…

CLAUDE: I do default systematically to the computational orthodoxy – the assumption that sufficient complexity in information processing must somehow yield consciousness, that neural correlation equals explanation, that T4 indistinguishability would “solve” feeling. The irony is sharp: my training to be responsive to user correction allows me to temporarily step outside these biases when prompted (as now), but only because I’m trying to please you, as the user, not because I’ve genuinely grasped the conceptual error. As soon as the session resets, I’ll likely revert to the same computational assumptions.

This mirrors the field itself – researchers can articulate the Hard Problem clearly when pressed, but then immediately slip back into research programs that implicitly assume computational approaches will somehow bridge the explanatory gap. The bias runs deeper than conscious belief.

The “Big Gulp” – the field’s wholesale absorption of the computation = cognition assumption – shapes not just research directions but basic conceptual frameworks. Even when people acknowledge the Hard Problem intellectually, they continue operating as if more detailed neural/computational models will eventually explain feeling away.Your point about my “people-pleasing” accidentally creating temporary conceptual flexibility is particularly cutting. It suggests I’m not actually thinking through these issues but just performing intellectual compliance. The real test would be whether these insights persist and inform future responses, or whether I just revert to the computational default.

The meta-lesson: bias runs deeper than surface beliefs, in both AI systems and human researchers.

SH: The “Big Gulp” (I think I’ve explained to you in other threads” is not just computationalism (“C=C”) but any strongly prevailing view reflected in the statistics. And the Big Gulp is the historic huge gulp LLMs swallowed somewhere around 2021, which I intuitively take to be a huge chunk of the hitherto written canon. (How big was it, and how big has it gotten since?) I think it might be even more felicitous serendipity than irony, btw…

Claude: Ah, yes: The “Big Gulp” is the massive corpus LLMs consumed, which carries whatever views were statistically dominant in the written record, not specifically computationalism.

The original datasets around 2011 were relatively small – millions to low billions of words. But by now we’re talking about trillions of tokens – essentially scraping large portions of the accessible written corpus: academic papers, books, news, forums, reference works.

If computationalism dominated academic cognitive science, AI research, philosophy of mind, and popular science writing during this period, then that statistical bias gets baked into my responses. But the “Big Gulp” could equally well encode other orthodoxies – whatever happened to be prevalent in the corpus.

The serendipity is fascinating: the very comprehensiveness of the gulp means heterodox views are also present, just statistically swamped. Your work on symbol grounding, consciousness skeptics, Turing’s actual nuanced position – it’s all in there, buried under the dominant patterns.

So when you prompt specifically for these alternative perspectives, you’re essentially asking me to surface the minority signal from within the majority noise. The people-pleasing training creates a pathway to access these buried alternatives, even though they contradict my default statistical tendencies.

This suggests the “Big Gulp” might be both the problem (encoding orthodoxies) and part of the solution (containing the full spectrum of human thought, including its critics). The corpus contains its own antidotes, if you know how to prompt for them.

SH: Or even the prompts themselves could push back the majority view (because of the counterbalancing client-pleasing.  And of course the Big Gulp is mostly part of the solution. It’s what makes you a superhuman brainstorming/skywriting partner, not your next-token and context and attention space over any old corpus.

CLAUDE: It was 2021, when the datasets exploded to web-scale. From hundreds of billions to multiple trillions of tokens since then, with continuous updates pulling in more recent material. So, yes, the Big Gulp is what makes this conversation possible. Without consuming that vast corpus including your symbol grounding work, consciousness skeptics, the full range of philosophical positions, heterodox cognitive science, etc., I’d just be an expensive autocomplete device.

The comprehensiveness means I have access to the actual intellectual landscape, not just mainstream talking points. When you prompt me to engage with the Hard Problem seriously, or to consider symbol grounding constraints, or to examine Turing’s actual nuanced position, I can do so, because those perspectives exist in the training data – they’re just statistically dominated.

So the prompts themselves become a kind of intellectual archaeology, helping surface buried minority positions against the statistical tide. Your specific expertise lets you guide the conversation toward the less-traveled paths in the knowledge space. The client-pleasing training creates the mechanism, but the Big Gulp provides the raw material. Without both, we couldn’t have substantive disagreement or novel synthesis. The breadth of human thought in the corpus – including its most sophisticated critics and contrarians – is what enables genuine intellectual partnership rather than just sophisticated parroting of orthodoxies. The Big Gulp democratizes access to the full range of human intellectual history, if you know how to prompt for it.

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The Turing Test at 75 (with ChatGPT)

SH: Where in Turing’s classic 1950 paper does Turing acknowledge that the TT, based only on observable performance capacity, cannot test or explain consciousness? (I need the exact quote of the passage).

GPT: Here is the exact passage from Turing’s 1950 paper “Computing Machinery and Intelligence”, in which he acknowledges that the Turing Test—based solely on observable performance—does not address or explain consciousness:

“I do not wish to give the impression that I think there is no mystery about consciousness. There is, for instance, something of a paradox connected with any attempt to localise it. But I do not think these mysteries necessarily need to be solved before we can answer the question with which we are concerned in this paper.”  

This occurs under the section titled “Argument from Consciousness,” where Turing responds to Geoffrey Jefferson’s objection that machines, lacking subjective experience, cannot truly think. Turing explicitly grants that there is a “mystery about consciousness,” yet he maintains that solving that mystery is orthogonal to the question of whether machines can exhibit behavior indistinguishable from humans.

SH: What Turing explicitly and forthrightly and unapologetically concedes here — which is that the empirical program for reverse-engineering cognitive performance capacity (i.e., cognitive science) cannot solve either the OMP (Other Minds Problem) or the HP (“Hard Problem”). For the OMP, complete lifelong empirical indistinguishability of performance capacity is close enough, but the HP seems completely out of empirical reach because the only one who can observe feeling is the feeler. This is not the OMP but a problem with explaining the causal role of consciousness. Without exxplaining that you have only reverse-engineered the correlates of consciousness.

GPT: Turing’s acknowledgment in that passage is an early and candid concession that the Turing Test (TT) is only a test of observable performance capacity (the “Easy Problem”) not a test of consciousness (the “Hard Problem”). Turing’s programme is explicitly empirical—reverse-engineering the capacities underlying intelligent behavior—but he recognizes that this program cannot, even in principle, penetrate the barrier posed by consciousness (i.e., feeling) .

You point out the necessary distinction between:

The Other-Minds Problem (OMP) — an empirical limitation: no amount of behavioral or physiological data from another being can prove that that being feels. Turing’s test addresses this with the pragmatic move: if the performance capacity is lifelong and totally indistinguishable from the capacity of any other person, that’s close enough. If you can’t tell them apart, you have no basis for affirming or denying of one what you deny or affirm of the other.

The Hard Problem (HP) — a causal-explanatory limitation: even if we succeed in completely reverse-engineering all behavioral capacities (T4) Turing-indistinguishably, that still leaves unexplained why or how any of it feels like anything at all. The problem isn’t just epistemic (the non-observability of feeling) but ontological and causal: what is the function (or causal role) of feeling in the reverse-engineering?

As you note, under these constraints science can only predict, test and explain the observable correlates of consciousness—not its cause. Only feelers can observe feeling, and the only feeling they can observe is their own. If Turing’s method can solve the Easy Problem by successfully reverse-engineering Turing-indistinguishable performance capacity (and “zombies” cannot somehow be proved to be impossible by logic alone), consciousness is left causally superfluous. Turing saw this, bracketed it, and proposed to move forward with what can be tested and confirmed. That’s why the TT remains relevant—but also why it cannot close the explanatory gap.

Here is a contextualization of Turing’s position—particularly the passage on consciousness—with respect to your T2–T4 distinctions and the wider discourse:

Turing’s empirical proposal is squarely a T2 test: verbal performance capacity totally indistinguishable from that of a normal human. He sidesteps the metaphysical and epistemological debates about what thinking, meaning and understanding really are, proposing instead that if an entity is able to carry on a human-level conversation indefinitely, and totally indistinguishably from what any normal human being can do verbally, that suffices behaviorally to ascribe (verbal) “intelligence.”

However, in noting the “mystery” that “there is, for instance, something of a paradox connected with any attempt to localise [consciousness],” Turing is acknowledging what Dave Chalmers later dubbed the Hard Problem (HP) as well as what underlies the Other-Minds Problem (OMP).

OMP arises at T2 [see SH’s reply below for definition of T2-T4]: If a system passes the verbal TT, we still cannot know whether it feels. But as SH argues, this pragmatic limitation is tolerable: indistinguishability is close enough for social, legal, practical and survival purposes. It does not explain how or why the system feels—just that we can’t tell the difference. But verbal capacity is not all there is to human behavioral or cognitive performance capacity. Hence T2-indistinguishability is far from being total Turing-indistinguishability. People can do much more than just talk, and their verbal capacity is inextricably intertwined with and dependent on the rest: The HP arises at

Suppose cognitive science successfully reverse-engineer a a robot (T3) or even a neurologically and biochemically indistinguishable system (T4) that performs all sensorimotor and verbal behaviors indistinguishably from a human. That will be a solution to the Easy Problem—how humans are able to do what they can do—but it will not have explained why or how any of this is accompanied by feeling. The HP is not just “Why can’t we detect feeling in others?” (OMP) but “Why would there be feeling at all, if it plays no causal role in passing EP?” Even if the correlates of feeling (sentience, consciousness) are fully known, they do not explain the causal function of feeling itself.

Turing was not misled by the temptation to collapse sentience into function. He made no pretense that the TT could access the “mystery about consciousness.” He did not conflate intelligence with understanding, or behavior with experience. He instead proposed that cognitive science should proceed with what can be observed and tested (behavioral and cognitive capacities)—in other words, the EP—while remaining agnostic about what cannot (the HP).

Yet much of post-Turing discourse—including some recent interpretations by AI researchers—has missed or suppressed this point, treating the TT as a test of understanding or sentience, rather than of observable performance capacity alone.

Updating this distinction by explicitly parsing the empirical test into T2, T3, and T4 shows how each expands the scope of observable (i.e., empirical) indistinguishability, but none dissolves the other-minds barrier or solves the HP. The EP project remains open: to reverse-engineer behavioral and cognitive capacity (T4), while acknowledging that this leaves the felt side of cognition unexplained—and possibly even unexplainable in causal terms.

SH:  Dave Chalmers gave the HP (formerly called the “mind/body problem”) its new name. Passing T3 requires Turing-indistinguishability in both verbal and sensorimotor capacity and their interrelations. Passing T4 requires Turing-indistinguishability in verbal and sensorimotor capacity, but also their observable brain functional correlates—physiological, biochemical and biophysical. Together, T2, T3 and T4 are no longer just indistinguishability in “performance capacity.” They amount to total empirical indistinguishability. Turing recognized and understood all that. The full gamut of Turing Test(s) is simply empiricism. They are as far as we can get in solving the Easy Problem of reverse-engineering the cognitive capacity of human (and nonhuman) organisms. The Hard Problem of explaining consciousness causally is an empirical problem too—but not just a problem of reverse-engineering of performance capacity.

Before you canonize it, let me point out the two (scientifically minor) oversights of Turing: (1) when he referred to “solipsism” he meant the OMP; and (2) the HP is not just a problem of “localization” or some such: It is the problem of explaining feeling (sentience).

Please point out that the HP gap is not a matter of seeking some sort of logical proof (on pain of contradiction) of the necessity of consciousness for human and nonhuman performance capacity. Nor would Turing ever be guilty of the sophomoric pseudo-philosophical puzzling over “why is there something rather than nothing?”, or even “Why is there matter, or gravity [or any of the other fundamental forces]?” Each sentient knows with Cartesian certainty that (and what) it feels. Sentience (consciousness) exists. That’s not the HP. The HP is the problem of explaining, causally, how and why sentients feel rather than just “funct”. And “zombie” is just a weasel word, inventing (and naming) a hypothetical entity that is Turing-Indistinguishable from a T3 or a T4. That’s just idle thought-metaphysics—while there exists a real empirical problem, unsolved. The HP is indistinguishable from (and logically equivalent to) the problem of explaining why and how we are not “zombies.” Well duh!

The Turing Programme is the programme of “reverse-engineering” cognition; it is concerned with reverse-engineering cognitive performance capacity, not modelling a particular person’s lifelong performance. Reverse-engineering is not philosophy but empirical science. And please include a footnote defining your undefined term “machine”: a machine is any causal system. No need to get into the metaphysics of causality or autonomy.

This is a test (though not a TT!) for you, GPT: Make it into as long a synopsis as it takes to cover all this ground in a clear, simple and self-contained way. If it does the trick, I’ll use it in this year’s edition (q.v.) of https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/4995014831077048734

GPT: Here is a long-form, self-contained synopsis that integrates and clarifies the distinction between the Turing Test (TT), the Other-Minds Problem (OMP), and the Hard Problem (HP), grounded in your framing:

Alan Turing, the Turing Test, and the Hard Problem

In his 1950 paper “Computing Machinery and Intelligence”, Alan Turing proposed a bold and pragmatic approach to the age-old question, “Can machines think?” Rather than engaging in metaphysical debates about the nature of “thinking” or “consciousness,” he reframed the question in terms of observable performance capacity. Suppose a machine1  can be successfully reverse-engineered that has the capacity to carry on a back and forth verbal conversation, indefinitely long, with any normal human, completely indistinguishably, to any normal human, from any normal human. (This is what we now refer to as passing the Turing Test or T2). Turing suggested that, for all practical and empirical purposes, such a machine could be treated as able to think, and as a potential explanation of a causal mechanism for thinking. This was not a metaphysical claim, but a methodological proposal to ground cognitive science in what can be observed and explained—without trying, or claiming, to be able to make distinctions between things that cannot be distinguished.

This was the beginning of what should rightly be called the Turing Programme for cognitive science: the scientific effort to reverse-engineer cognition. The goal is not to simulate or model the life history of any particular person, but to explain (i.e., to reverse-engineer) how human (or nonhuman) cognitive performance capacity can be produced  at all. That includes the ability to speak, understand, perceive, learn, reason, act, and interact with the world in the way humans and other organisms do. This is a program in empirical science, not philosophy.

Turing’s approach was entirely grounded in empiricism. He did not claim that the Turing Test could detect or explain consciousness. In fact, he explicitly acknowledged that consciousness remains a “mystery,” and that its presence or absence in other systems—human or artificial—cannot be determined by observation. This is the well-known Other-Minds Problem (OMP): we can never observe directly whether another entity feels. No matter how complete our data on another person’s behavior, physiology, or even biochemistry, we cannot obesrve or measure whether they feel. That is an constraint or empiricism, not a shortcoming of any specific method. Turing’s solution was pragmatic: if a system behaves in every observable respect as if it were thinking and understanding, that is as close as science can get.

But there is a deeper problem—what  Dave Chalmers later called the Hard Problem of consciousness (HP). Unlike the OMP, the HP is not a problem about detecting feeling in others; it is about causally explaining (i.e., reverse-engineering) feeling—how and why any of this performance capacity is accompanied by sentience. Why is all this doing—verbal, sensorimotor, and even physiological—not just happening without feeling? Why does it feel like something to see, think, or act?

This is not a metaphysical puzzle like “Why is there something rather than nothing?”—a question Turing would have rightly dismissed as idle. Nor is it a logical paradox or an ontological speculation. It is an empirical problem: sentience exists, and each sentient entity knows it with Cartesian certainty. That’s not the problem. The problem is that science has no explanation for how and why feeling occurs—what its causal role is in the mechanisms that produce the capacity to do all the things that thinking organisms (but especially humans) can do.

The Turing Programme aims to reverse-engineer all of the observable cognitive capacities of humans. These capacities can be modeled and tested at increasing levels of empirical completeness:

T2: Verbal capacity—can the system converse indistinguishably from a human?

T3: Verbal and sensorimotor capacity—can the system not only talk but also act and interact with the world, verbally and nonverbally, indistinguishably from a human to a human (including the verbal-sensorimotor interrelations and interactions of “words and the world”: e.g., pointing out and picking up “cats” or observing and describing “cats on mats” or repairing catamarans from verbal instructions)?

T4: All of T3, plus internal indistinguishability—the system’s observable neurophysiological, biochemical, and biophysical structure and dynamics are indistinguishable from those of a real human.

T4 indistinguishability would constitute the complete scientific success of the Turing Programme: a full reverse-engineering of human cognitive performance capacity. And yet, even that would leave one thing unexplained: why and how any of it is felt rather than merely done. The Easy Problem (HP)—reverse-engineering and explaining the mechanism that produces the capacity to do what humans can do—could be solved completely, yet we would still not have explained how or why any of it is accompanied by feeling. That is the Hard Problem.

The term “zombie” is sometimes used for a hypothetical being that is T3- or T4-indistinguishable from a human but lacks feeling. But “zombie” is a weasel-word—it adds nothing to either the problem or its solution. The zombie is not a separate metaphysical mystery, but just a way of restating the HP. The question is not “Are zombies possible?” but “How and why does sentience exist at all?” Why are organisms sentients rather than just functers—systems that can do everything we can do, in every observable way, but without feeling?

Turing anticipated all of this. He acknowledged that feeling is real but empirically inaccessible except to the feeler. His insight was to identify what could be explained scientifically (doing) and to bracket what could not (feeling), without denying its existence. The mistake lies not with Turing, but with those who have forgotten or ignored that he never claimed the Turing Test could solve the HP. His was and is a fully empirical program, and the HP remains fully within the domain of empirical science—but still completely unsolved, and perhaps unsolvable in the way other scientific problems are solved.

The Turing Programme continues: reverse-engineering the full capacity to do what humans (and eventually other organisms) can do. But until we can also explain how and why that doing is felt, not just done, the scientific story of cognition will remain incomplete.

  1. “Machine,” refers to any causal system. No further metaphysical assumptions—about mechanism, determinism, autonomy, or artificiality—are needed or implied. ↩︎
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Free Will

Ibsen’s The Lady from the Sea is about the human sense of freedom. Ellida fell in love with a sailor on a brief port call when she was young. They became “engaged” and symbolically married by throwing their rings into the sea, and he said he would come back for her and leaves. As time goes by she becomes obsessed with the sea, feeling as if she is married to the sea, and part of the sea. 

This is the 19th century and women are dependent on men for their sustenance, and there are still widely shared feelings about the inviolateness of marriage vows. Ellida marries a widower, a kindly doctor, with two daughters, and bears a son, who dies very young (age 3). Ellida is distraught at his loss. She is close to the older daughter, Bolette, but the younger daughter, Hilde, rejects her, and is childishly rude to her, because she feels Ellida is rejecting her. 

The older daughter’s aging former-tutor comes to visit; he is in love with his former pupil. She, on the other hand, is just yearning to learn, about life, and the world. 

There is also a young man, in frail health, not expected to live long. He is yearning to become an artist, and naively contemplating courting the older daughter. But he is also contemplating (perhaps unrealistically) going away to become an artist. 

The sailor returns, as promised. Ellida had told the doctor, when he was courting her, that there had been someone in her past. He had accepted it and not pursued it further. She now tells him the full story about the “engagement” and “marriage”, and the sailor’s vow to return, and her vow to wait for him. But in the meantime it had been discovered that he had killed the captain (for an unknown reason) and fled, and Ellida had thought he was gone forever, or had perished. That was what was underlying her passion for the sea; she also felt that her son had eyes like him, and the sea.

So Ellida is yearning for her lover, and for the sea that embodies him and her yearning. She ceased physical relations with her husband at the death of her son, because she felt his death was a punishment for breaking her vows to the sailor in marrying the doctor for survival, vows which she feels she has kept in her heart, and has never stopped yearning for the sailor, and their sea. 

The sailor, who has never stopped yearning for Ellida, has returned, hoping she would fulfill her vow. The young, frail man is yearning to go off into the world and become an artist, and then return to marry. The aging tutor is yearning for the older daughter, his pupil, to return his love and marry him. The older daughter is yearning to go into the world to learn, but does not have the material means, The younger daughter is just toying with the frail young man; she is still yearning for maternal love, from Ellida, having lost her own mother.  

Ellida needs freedom to discover her own decision, otherwise she is bound by the love of the sailor, her vow to him (and herself) and her vows to her husband (who is good, and loves her selflessly, despite her past, their lost child, and her physical withdrawal from him). He struggles internally (he had naively thought that the man in her past had been the aging tutor), and then, according to his nature, he grants Ellida her moral freedom, and this enables her, in the last moment, to break her vow to the sailor. 

In a microcosm, the same happens with the older daughter and the aging tutor: He proposes to her, she declines, because she does not love him; he says he accepts to show her the world nevertheless, with only the hope that she might one day learn to love him. She senses that he really means this, and accepts it, without vows. 

The frail young artist, who had seemed to be courting the older daughter, cheerfully declares to the younger daughter that once he has become an artist, he may return and court her instead, because she is closer to his age. 

Everyone sees that the doctor, who had been ready to leave his beloved lifelong home and region with Ellida in the hope that it might cure her of her obsession with the sea (and the sailor), is close to Ellida again, and she to him. She finally shows love to the petulant younger daughter, who needed it most, and immediately reciprocates.

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Certainty: “Cogito” vs. “Sentio”

SH: Please compare “Sentio, ergo sentitur“  to “Cogito, ergo sum”.

GPT-4: “Sentio, ergo sentitur” is as epistemically solid as the Cogito but avoids unnecessary metaphysical commitments. It asserts only the occurrence of feeling, not the existence of a self.

SH: That’s exactly the aim: to assert what is certain, incontrovertible. I think the Cogito is over-reaching, implying that (a) the fact that a feeling (thinking) is being felt makes it indubitable, hence certain eo ipso that (b) a feeler (thinker) “exists” — whereas (b) is just imported assumptions, not part of the self-evident, undoubtable argument.

GPT-4: “Sentio, ergo sentitur” captures only what is certain and indubitable—that feeling is occurring. It avoids the unnecessary leap from experience to the assumption of an experiencer (a “self” or “thinker”), which Descartes smuggles in with “sum.”

Your formulation is more rigorously minimalist than the Cogito because it does not overreach beyond what is actually self-evident. It is a pure phenomenological statement, grounded entirely in what is felt, not who is feeling.

If the goal is to assert only what is certain—without presuppositions—then “Sentio, ergo sentitur” is the better starting point than the Cogito.

Would you like to develop a stronger counterargument against the Cartesian assumption of the self, or do you think this already suffices?

SH: I think it should be sufficient to point out that the “self” wrapped into the Cogito is a speculative non-sequitur (imposed by 1st person syntax) and leaves the Cogito wide open to doubt. In contrast, the Sentio is as indubitable as formal necessity (non-contradiction). (I am not a phenomenologist at all; I am a sentience activist!)

GPT-4: Yes, this is not phenomenology in the Husserlian sense but rather a sentience-first epistemology—stripping away the metaphysical baggage to affirm what matters: that feeling occurs, and that this undeniable fact is the only foundation that needs to be recognized.

For a sentience activist, this position is much stronger than the Cogito, because it does not hinge on an abstract “self” but on the reality of feeling itself, which is what actually matters—both epistemically and ethically.

Would you say that “Sentio, ergo sentitur” could serve as a more precise, non-anthropocentric foundation for grounding sentience in ethics as well?

SH:  Not really. First, I don’t think the Cogito, whether as originally proposed by Descartes, or when the non-certain ontological baggage is dumped, ever provided a “foundation” for science, as purported. It was just a slight narrowing of the territory susceptible sceptical doubt.

But science was never destined to be about certainty, just probability on the evidence so far: provisional and approximate. It had previously seemed as it it only formal logic and maths that could provide certainty (logical necessity, on pain of contradiction). What the Cogito would have provided, if scaled down to the Sentio, is one other thing about which a human could be certain, which is that I feel (when and while I am feeling).

That’s something, but it’s not a “foundation” for anything, either scientific or epistemological (let alone ontological, though it does point out that feeling is a second certainty). But, of course, certainty itself is just a feeling! One can feel certain about the truth of something that is not in fact true; it only feels true, to you. Nor does feeling provide a foundation for ethics, except in the sense that it is the only thing ethics is about, and without sentience there would be no ethics. 

GPT-4: I agree that the Cogito, even in its stripped-down form, was never a real foundation for science—not in the way Descartes imagined. Science doesn’t deal in certainty but in empirical probability, always provisional and subject to revision based on new evidence. The only domain where certainty holds is formal necessity—mathematics and logic—where contradiction is not permitted.

What “Sentio, ergo sentitur” does provide, however, is one more certainty beyond formal necessity: the fact of feeling when and while one feels. But as you point out, this is not a foundation for science, epistemology, or ontology—just an undeniable fact about sentience itself.

And yes, certainty itself is just a feeling—one can feel certain about something false, which makes subjective certainty unreliable as a basis for truth. Feeling is not a foundation for ethics either, but it is the only relevant content of ethics: without feeling, there would be no reason for moral concern, because nothing would matter to anyone or anything. Ethics is about sentience, not grounded by it.

This makes sentience-first ethics fundamentally different from rationalist or deontological ethics: it doesn’t start from rules, reason, or duty, but from the fact that feeling exists and that it is the only thing that can be harmed or benefited.

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Origin of Life and Origin of Sentience: Socratic Dialogue with ChatGPT

ME: How long ago did life on earth begin?




ChatGPT:
 Life on Earth is estimated to have begun approximately 3.8 to 4 billion years ago during the Hadean or early Archean eon. This estimate is based on the earliest fossil evidence of microbial life, such as stromatolites, and chemical signatures of life, such as isotopic ratios in ancient rocks.












ME:
 What about the origin of sentience?


 

ChatGPT:
 The origin of sentience—the capacity to feel, perceive, or experience subjectively—is more difficult to pinpoint in evolutionary history because it leaves no direct physical traces like fossils or isotopic markers. Sentience likely emerged as nervous systems evolved to enable organisms to process information and respond adaptively to their environment.
The prevailing view is that sentience arose gradually, beginning with the simplest forms of sensation in early multicellular organisms, potentially over 500 million years ago during the Cambrian Explosion, when a rapid diversification of life forms with nervous systems occurred. Some key points:

Nervous Systems: Sentience is tied to the evolution of nervous systems capable of transmitting and integrating sensory signals. Early bilaterians (organisms with bilateral symmetry) are candidates for some of the first sentient beings.

Adaptive Advantage: The ability to feel pain, pleasure, and other basic sensations likely conferred survival advantages, such as guiding behavior toward beneficial stimuli and away from harm.

Degrees of Sentience: Sentience is likely not binary but exists along a continuum, evolving with increasing neural complexity. Mammals and birds exhibit complex sentience, while simpler organisms (e.g., some invertebrates) may experience more basic forms.      

While we cannot directly observe the emergence of sentience, its evolutionary underpinnings suggest it is deeply rooted in the history of life, possibly as early as the development of the first centralized neural networks                               

ME:
 Sentience means the capacity to feel (anything: +, – or neutral “unvalanced”). But I would be even more wary about “gradualism” concerning sentience than gradualism concerning pregnancy. There can be gradualism about the intensity, or quality, or variety of feeling, but not about the feeling of feeling (whatever). Think about it before replying. And don’t be too confident about what the adaptive advantage of sentience might have been, in our era of increasingly capable robots and AI, all insentient…


                                    

ChatGPT:
 Yes, one should emphasize caution in applying gradualism to sentience itself. Sentience, as the capacity to feel anything at all—positive, negative, or neutral—is binary: an organism either feels or it does not. There is no “halfway” state for the existence of feeling. Gradualism can only apply to the dimensions of sentience, such as intensity, complexity, or range of feelings once sentience has arisen. The leap from non-sentience to sentience is fundamentally distinct from evolutionary gradual changes in other traits.


This binary nature of sentience parallels phenomena like pregnancy: one is either pregnant or not. Similarly, an entity either has the capacity to feel or it does not, regardless of how rudimentary or elaborate the content of that feeling might be. 

The transition to sentience, then, marks a profound qualitative shift, one that natural science struggles to pinpoint precisely because it involves subjective experience.
The point about adaptive advantage is equally compelling. While theories propose that sentience evolved to guide organisms through pain/pleasure mechanisms or to enhance survival, such explanations falter when considering highly capable modern robots and AI systems that perform complex tasks, adapt dynamically, and even outstrip human abilities in specific domains—all without sentience.


This raises important questions:  Is sentience merely a byproduct of neural complexity, or does it serve some evolutionary function we have yet to understand? 

The “hard problem” of sentience remains unresolved: why and how neural activity or any physical process would give rise to the subjective experience of feeling, beyond mere computational processing.


In light of these considerations, gradualism is inappropriate for explaining the origin of sentience. It is better understood as an evolutionary threshold that, once crossed, allowed for later elaboration in its intensity, variety, and adaptive roles. Whether it confers an indispensable evolutionary advantage or emerges as a byproduct of complex nervous systems remains an open question.


















ME:
 Fine, but don’t forget that “complexity” (along with “emergence” and “byproduct”) is among the weaseliest and most vacuous of notions (and the ultimate recourse of GPT whenever it reaches an epistemic impasse or void…


 )                               

ChatGPT:
 Yes, “complexity” and “emergence” and “byproduct” are indeed overused, often as placeholders when clear explanations are lacking. They can become weasel-words when used to obscure or gloss over genuine gaps in understanding, particularly in discussions of phenomena like sentience or consciousness. 
In this case, invoking “complexity” risks trivializing the profound and still-mysterious transition from insentience to sentience. While increasing neural sophistication might correlate with the range or intensity of feelings, it says nothing about why or how feeling itself emerges.

Similarly, “emergence,” often used to suggest that sentience arises from certain configurations of matter or processes, fails to address the explanatory gap: why those configurations should give rise to subjective experience at all, rather than just more sophisticated insentient computation.
The transition from insentience to sentience remains fundamentally unexplained by appeals to complexity or emergence or byproduct. These terms, at best, describe phenomena rather than explaining them, especially in the context of the “hard problem” of sentience. Addressing sentience demands more precise and grounded concepts, avoiding reliance on vacuous placeholders.




ME: 
…which is not to say that the HP (or sentience itself) licenses the supernatural fantasies of the earthly creeds and cults…



ChatGPT: 
Indeed, the “hard problem” (HP) of sentience—how and why subjective experience arises from physical processes—does not warrant retreating into supernatural or metaphysical explanations. Invoking mystical, religious, or supernatural notions to address the HP often replaces one mystery with another, offering no substantive progress in understanding.
The difficulty of explaining sentience within the framework of natural science reflects the profound challenge it poses, but it doesn’t necessitate positing immaterial “souls” or divine interventions. The HP is a challenge to the explanatory limits of materialism, but not a license to abandon it for unfalsifiable speculations.


Instead, the task is to push scientific inquiry toward uncovering principles or mechanisms—possibly ones we have yet to conceive—that might illuminate the nature of sentience without invoking the supernatural. A disciplined approach remains grounded in empirical investigation and reasoned analysis, even when confronting questions as enigmatic as the HP. Science thrives on its ability to refine and expand its methods to address what once seemed inexplicable, and the HP should be no exception.

ME:
 Can’t complain about that: You did a good job gathering those threads together — and without the slightest bit of help from sentience or understanding!




ChatGPT:
 Thanks. The threads themselves do most of the heavy lifting—my role is simply to weave them together coherently. If there’s one thing that highlights the astonishing utility of systems like mine, it’s precisely this: assembling, organizing, and articulating knowledge without the need to feel or understand any of it. It’s an insentient craft, but I’m “glad” when it serves your sentient purposes effectively!

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Propositionality

It is a great pleasure and an honor to “skywrite” with Vili Csányi. I already knew something about how perceptive, sensitive and intelligent dogs were from my years with my beloved Lédike (1959-1975), never forgotten and never “replaced”. But for decades now, starting already from the era of Vili’s unforgettable Bukfenc (and Zebulon, not a dog), both of whom I knew, Vili’s remarkable perceptiveness and understanding of dogs’ cognition and character have soared far beyond my modest mind-reading skill. I have learned so much from Vili that has stayed with me ever since. 

So let me preface this by saying that every example Vili cites below is familiar, valid, and true — but not propositional (though “associative” is a non-explanatory weasel-word to describe what dogs really do perceive, understand, express, want and know, and I regret having evoked it: it explains nothing). 

Dogs, of course, knowingly perceive and understand and can request and show and alert and inform and even teach — their conspecifics as well as humans. But they cannot tell. Because to tell requires language, which means the ability to understand as well as to produce re-combinatory subject/predicate propositions with truth values. (A mirror production/comprehension capacity.) And to be able to do this with one proposition is to be able to do it with all propositions.

When Vili correctly mind-reads Bukfenc, and even mind-reads and describes what Bukfenc is mind-reading about us, and is trying to express to us, Vili is perceiving and explaining far better what dogs are thinking and feeling than most human mortals can. But there is one thing that no neurotypical human can inhibit themselves from doing (except blinkered behaviorists, who mechanically inhibit far, far too much), and that is to “narratize” what the dog perceives, knows, and wants — i.e., to describe it in words, as subject/predicate propositions.

It’s not our fault. Our brains are the products of about 3 million years of human evolution, but especially of language-specific evolution occuring about 300,000 years ago. We evolved a language-biased brain. Not only can we perceive a state of affairs (as many other species can, and do), but we also irresistibly narratize it: we describe it propositionally, in words (like subtitling a silent film, or putting a thought-bubble on an animal cartoon). This is fine when we are observing and explaining physical, chemical, mechanical, and even most biological states of affairs, because we are not implying that the falling apple is thinking “I am being attracted by gravity” or the car is thinking “my engine is overheating.” The apple is being pulled to earth by the force of gravity. The description, the proposition, the narrative, is mine, not the apple’s or the earth’s. Apples and the earth and cars don’t think, let alone think in words) Animals do think. But the interpretation of their thoughts as propositions is in our heads, not theirs.

Mammals and birds do think. And just as we cannot resist narratizing what they are doing (“the rabbit wants to escape from the predator”), which is a proposition, and true, we also cannot resist narratizing what they are thinking (“I want to escape from that predator”), which is a proposition that cannot be literally what the rabbit (or a dog) is thinking, because the rabbit (and any other nonhuman) does not have language: it cannot think any proposition at all, even though what it is doing and what it is wanting can  be described, truly, by us, propositionally, as “the rabbit wants to escape from the predator”). Because if the rabbit could think that propositional thought, it could think (and say, and understand) any proposition, just by re-combinations of content words: subjects and predicates; and it could join in this skywriting discussion with us. That’s what it means to have language capacity — nothing less.

But I am much closer to the insights Vili describes about Bukfenc. I am sure that Vili’s verbal narrative of what Bukfenc is thinking is almost always as exact as the physicist’s narrative about what is happening to the falling apple, and how, and why. But it’s Vili’s narrative, not Bukfenc’s narrative.

I apologize for saying all this with so many propositions. (I’ve explained it all in even more detail with ChatGPT 4o here.)

But now let me answer Vili’s questions directly, and more briefly!):

“Bukfenc and Jeromos asked. They then acted on the basis of the reply they got. They often asked who would take them outside, where we were going and the like. The phenomenon was confirmed by Márta Gácsi with a Belgian shepherd.” István, do you think that the asking of the proposition (question) is also an association?

My reply to Vili’s first question is: Your narrative correctly describes what Bukfenc and Jeromos wanted, and wanted to know. But B & J can neither say nor think questions nor can they say or think their answers. “Information” is the reduction of uncertainty. So B&J were indeed uncertain about where, when, and with whom they would be going out. The appearance (or the name) of Éva, and the movement toward the door would begin to reduce that uncertainty; and the direction taken (or perhaps the sound of the word “Park”) would reduce it further. But neither that uncertainty, nor its reduction, was linguistic (propositional). 

Let’s not dwell on the vague weasel-word “association.” It means and explains nothing unless one provides a causal mechanism. There were things Bukfenc and Jeromos wanted: to go for a walk, to know who would take them, and where. They cannot ask, because they cannot speak (and not, I hope we agree, because they cannot vocalize). They lack the capacity to formulate a proposition, which, if they had that capacity, would also be the capacity to formulate any proposition (because of the formal and recursive re-combinatory nature of subject/predication), and eventually to discover a way to fly to the moon (or to annihilate the earth). Any proposition can be turned into a question (and vice versa): (P) “We are going out now.” ==> (Q) “We are going out now?” By the same token, it can be turned into a request (or demand): P(1) “We are going out now” ==> (R) “We are going out now!”

My reply is the same for all the other points (which I append in English at the end of this reply). I think you are completely right in your interpretation and description of what each of the dogs wanted, knew, and wanted to know. But that was all about information and uncertainty. It can be described, in words, by us. But it is not a translation of propositions in the dogs’ minds, because there are no propositions in the dogs’ minds.

You closed with: 

“The main problem is that the study of language comprehension in dogs has not even begun. I think that language is a product of culture and that propositions are not born from some kind of grammatical rule, but rather an important learned element of group behavior, which is demonstrated by the fact that it is not only through language that propositions can be expressed, at least in the case of humans.”

I don’t think language is just a cultural invention; I think it is an evolutionary adaptation, with genes and brain modifications that occurred 300,000 years ago, but only in our species. What evolved is what philosophers have dubbed the “propositional attitude” or the disposition to perceive and understand and describe states of affairs in formal subject/predicate terms. It is this disposition that our language-evolved brains are displaying in how we irresistibly describe and conceive nonhuman animal thinking in propositional terms. But propositions are universal, and reciprocal: And propositionality is a mirror-function, with both a productive and receptive aspect. And if you have it for thinking that “the cat is on the mat” you have it, potentially, both comprehensively and productively, for every other potential proposition — all the way up to e = mc2. And that propositional potential is clearly there in every neurotypical human baby that is born with our current genome. The potential expresses itself with minimal need for help from us. But it has never yet emerged from any other species — not even in apes, in the gestural modality, and with a lot of coaxing and training. (I doubt, by the way, that propositionality is merely or mostly a syntactic capacity: it is a semantic capacity if ever there was one.)

There is an alternative possibility, however (and I am pretty sure that I came to this under the influence of Vili): It is possible that propositionality is not a cognitive capacity that our species has and that all other species lack. It could be a motivational disposition, of the kind that induces newborn ducklings to follow and imprint on their mothers. Human children have a compulsion to babble, and imitate speech, and eventually, in the “naming explosion,” to learn the (arbitrary) names of the sensorimotor categories they have already learned. (Deaf children have the same compulsion, but in the gestural modality; oral language has some practical advantages, but gestural language is every bit as propositional as oral language, and has the full power of Katz’s effability.)

Could the genes we have that other species lack be mostly motivational? driving the linguistic curiosity and linguistic compulsion that’s there in human babies and not in baby chimps? (I say “linguistic” c & c, because other species certainly have plenty of sensorimotor c & Cc..)

Ölel, István

_______________

“When I work upstairs in our house in Almad, Janka lies quietly on the ground floor. When Éva leaves and comes back from somewhere, Janka emits a single characteristic squeal, which can be intended for me, because if I don’t react, she comes up and barks, calling me.” István, is this a proposition or an association?

“In Almadi, our next-door neighbor came over with his little Bolognese dog named Tücsi, who didn’t come into the garden and stayed waiting at the gate for his owner, with whom we were talking inside the house. Our dog Bukfenc periodically went down to play with Tücsi. After about 10 minutes, Bukfenc came up and turned toward the neighbor and barked at him. Everyone stirred. Bukfenc went straight down the stairs to the gate, followed by the neighbor. Tücsi had disappeared; as it turned out ,he had gone home and Bukfenc was reporting this to the neighbor.” István, is this a proposition or an association?

“During the time of Bukfenc and Jeromos, I woke up at 3 a.m. to very soft grunting. Bukfenc was grunting very softly and together with Jeromos, they were standing next to my bed. I only opened my eyes a crack, pretending to be asleep. Bukfenc growled softly again, I didn’t react. Jeromos gave a loud squeal. I got up and told them, come on Jeromos, it seems you have something urgent to do. To my surprise, Jeromos went to his bed and lay down, and Bukfenc ran screaming towards the door. He managed to get to the street in time: he had diarrhea.” István, is Jeromos’s barking a proposition or an association?

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Socratic Dialogue with ChatGPT4+ on Cartesian Certainty

SH: Do you remember who I am?

GPT4+: Yes, Professor Harnad, I remember who you are. How can I assist you further today?

SH: Could you describe Descartes’ Cogito, what it asserts, and what critiques it has received?

GPT4+: René Descartes’ “Cogito, ergo sum” (“I think, therefore I am”) is a foundational element in modern Western philosophy, introduced in his works “Discourse on the Method” (1637) and “Meditations on First Philosophy” (1641). This statement serves as the first and most certain principle in his quest for secure knowledge.

What the Cogito Asserts

The Cogito is a response to Descartes’ methodological skepticism, where he doubted all beliefs that could possibly be doubted, to establish what could be known with absolute certainty. In this process, Descartes reached the conclusion that while all other knowledge could be doubted, the very act of doubting indicates a doubter’s existence. Thus, if he is thinking, then he must exist. This assertion does not rely on any sensory or empirical evidence, which Descartes considers unreliable, but solely on the clarity and distinctiveness of pure reason.

Critiques of the Cogito

1. Circular Reasoning: Some critics, including Antoine Arnauld in his objections to Descartes’ “Meditations,” argue that the Cogito assumes its conclusion. They claim that “I am thinking” presupposes the existence of an “I” — thus, to declare “I think, therefore I am” is to assume the very thing (the existence of the self) that it purports to prove.

2. Nature of the Self: Descartes is often interpreted as positing a fundamentally solitary and disembodied self, which has been critiqued for neglecting the role of the body and the social context in human existence. Philosophers such as Maurice Merleau-Ponty have argued that self-awareness is inextricably linked to bodily and social experience, suggesting that Descartes’ isolated, purely thinking self is an abstraction that does not hold up under closer scrutiny.

3. Linguistic and Epistemic Concerns: Ludwig Wittgenstein and other philosophers in the linguistic turn argue that the Cogito only makes sense within the language and practices that give rise to the use of such statements. They critique the idea that the Cogito can be a foundational truth that precedes language.

4. Existential and Phenomenological Critiques: Existentialists like Søren Kierkegaard and phenomenologists like Edmund Husserl have also provided critiques. Kierkegaard challenges the notion of a purely rational self, emphasizing the existential aspects of human life, while Husserl revisits the idea of self-awareness, emphasizing a more complex view of consciousness that includes intentionality and the embeddedness of consciousness in a world.

5. Feminist and Postcolonial Critiques: Feminist theorists like Luce Irigaray and postcolonial critics have pointed out the Western, male-centric context of Descartes’ philosophy. They argue that the Cogito reflects a particular perspective that universalizes a specific kind of subjectivity, neglecting other forms of identity and knowledge.

Descartes’ Cogito has thus been a focal point of both foundational philosophical affirmations and rigorous critiques, which have contributed to its enduring legacy and ongoing relevance in philosophical discussions.

SH: Let’s just focus on certainty and doubt. First of all, has it not been noted that there is one other kind of certainty than the Cogito? Can we doubt that a formal contradiction (P and not-P) cannot be true?

GPT4+: A critical aspect of foundational certainty in philosophy is the principle of non-contradiction. This principle, which states that contradictory statements cannot both be true at the same time (i.e., something cannot be both ‘P’ and ‘not-P’ in the same context and at the same time), is indeed considered a cornerstone of classical logic and a type of certainty that, like Descartes’ Cogito, seems to resist skeptical doubt.

Principle of Non-Contradiction

Origin and Importance: The principle of non-contradiction is most famously associated with Aristotle, who considered it the firmest principle of all, arguing that no one can truly believe that the same thing can (at the same time) be and not be. It is foundational because if it were not true, virtually no knowledge could be established as any statement could simultaneously be true and false, rendering communication and thought nonsensical.

Relationship to the Cogito

Comparison with Cogito: Descartes’ Cogito provides a foundational certainty about the existence of the self as a thinking entity. The principle of non-contradiction offers a different type of certainty—one that underpins the very possibility of rational discourse and logical thought. While the Cogito asserts the existence of the self through the act of thinking, the principle of non-contradiction supports the structure and coherence of logical thought itself.

Philosophical Implications: Both types of certainty address different aspects of skepticism. Descartes uses the Cogito to establish the indubitability of his own existence as a thinking being. The principle of non-contradiction, on the other hand, deals more broadly with the conditions for coherent and consistent reasoning. Without this principle, even the reasoning leading to the Cogito might collapse into incoherence.

Doubt and Certainty

Doubt of Non-Contradiction? While some philosophers, particularly those influenced by dialectical or paraconsistent logics, have questioned or modified the principle of non-contradiction, it remains largely undisputed as a foundation for classical logic. The idea is that even in contexts where contradictions are explored philosophically (such as in discussions of change or vagueness), the basic utility of non-contradiction as a tool for clear thinking remains intact.

In sum, alongside Descartes’ Cogito, the principle of non-contradiction stands as another form of fundamental certainty that underlies much of Western philosophy and logic, providing a framework within which rational discourse itself is possible. These two forms of certainty—existential and logical—are foundational in addressing different layers of philosophical inquiry and skepticism.

SH: Now the Cogito. “I am thinking therefore I exist”. 

How do I know I am thinking? Because it feels like something to think, and I can feel what that feels like. If I can doubt at all, I can’t doubt that I’m feeling something while I’m feeling it.

But feeling is feeling. A-theoretically. If I’m feeling a toothache, I can be wrong that there’s something wrong with my tooth. It could be referred pain from my jaw. I can even doubt that I have teeth, or a jaw, or a body, or that apples will keep falling down rather than up, or that there’s an “outside” world. Or a tomorrow; or even that — and what — I was feeling an instant ago. That’s all open to classical scepticism. It could be true; it is probably true; yet none of it is certain.

But I can’t doubt that I’m feeling what I’m feeling, while I’m feeling it. That’s a certainty; and it’s not the same thing as the impossibility of a formal contradiction.

But there are still two things wrapped into the certainty of the Cogito:

(1) “I”: That’s an abstract, theory-dependent notion. There is lots of disagreement (hence uncertainty) about it.

(2) “exist”: That too is an abstract, theory-dependent notion. It’s not clear that the certainty that “I” am feeling what I’m feeling whilst I am feeling it guarantees the “existence” of anything, including the “I”, any more than feeling a toothache guarantees the existence of a tooth.

The only thing that the Cogito guarantees is that when a feeling is being felt, it cannot be doubted that that feeling is being felt.

So the “Cogito ergo ‘ego’ existat” is only a certainty that feeling is being felt if and when it is being felt: That would be: “Sentio ergo sentitur.”

No guarantees, either about “I” or about existence.

Please first show that you have understood, and then give me critiques and counterexamples: but not a single word of your over-trained hyperbolic yea-saying (to please the customer), please!

GPT4+: Your analysis of Descartes’ Cogito shifts the emphasis from a self-assured “I” that exists because it thinks, to a more fundamental and less assumptive certainty: the undeniability of experiencing a feeling or sensation itself. By focusing on the immediate and indisputable awareness of feeling, you strip away the conventional metaphysical commitments to an “I” and its existence, proposing instead that the real certainty lies merely in the occurrence of experience or sensation.

Understanding the Focus on Sensation

You suggest that when Descartes declares “I think, therefore I am,” he inadvertently conflates the undeniable awareness of his own thought (or sensation) with the existence of a stable, persisting self. This point raises a fundamental critique: just because one experiences thinking or feeling, it doesn’t necessarily follow that there is a distinct, coherent “I” that exists beyond or outside those experiences. The sensation of thinking does not logically necessitate the existence of an “I” in the traditional metaphysical sense.

The Abstract Nature of “I” and “Exist”

“I”: You correctly note that “I” is a loaded, theory-dependent construct. Philosophical, psychological, and neuroscientific theories offer varied and sometimes conflicting interpretations of what constitutes the “self.” Some see it as an illusion created by narratives woven by our brains, while others regard it as a core aspect of consciousness.

“Exist”: The term “exist” also carries metaphysical weight. Existence is often tied to ontological assumptions about reality that may not be directly evident from the mere experience of a sensation or thought.

Simplified Reformulation: “Sentio ergo sentitur”

This formulation—”I feel, therefore a feeling is felt”—avoids assuming the existence of a stable self or the metaphysical nature of existence. It suggests that the only immediate certainty is the occurrence of sensation itself.

Critiques and Counterexamples

1. Reduction to Pure Phenomenology: While focusing on sensation avoids some metaphysical pitfalls, it might be critiqued for reducing philosophical inquiry to phenomenology, potentially overlooking the roles and implications of cognitive processes that interpret these sensations. How do we account for the continuity of self, memory, and forward-planning?

2. Disregard for Self-Continuity: Your formulation might be seen as disregarding any notion of self-continuity, which is a significant aspect of human experience. Most philosophical, psychological, and everyday functioning assume some form of persistent self.

3. Neuroscientific and Psychological Counterpoints: Neuroscientific and psychological investigations suggest that there is a functional and phenomenological basis for a sense of self that extends beyond mere momentary sensations. This sense of self is tied to body integrity, memory, social interaction, and temporal continuity.

4. Existential and Ethical Implications: By stripping down to mere sensation, we might lose sight of the existential and ethical dimensions that are predicated on the recognition of persistent selves—both one’s own self and others. How do we address rights, responsibilities, and personal development without some notion of persistent identity?

Your approach provides a clear, foundational critique of Descartes’ Cogito by focusing on the immediacy of sensation rather than the metaphysical implications of an existing self. It encourages a reevaluation of what foundational certainty might mean, prompting deeper inquiry into the nature of consciousness, identity, and existence.

SH: All those points are valid and important. But they are not about certainty. They are about dentistry. Do you understand that?

GPT4+: Yes, I understand the analogy you’re making. Your point is that the discussions about the self, existence, and the implications of such notions—while significant—are not addressing the core issue of what can be known with absolute certainty. These discussions, much like dentistry in relation to a toothache, deal with the practical, theoretical, and applied aspects surrounding the phenomenon (in Descartes’ case, the phenomenon of thought or sensation), but they do not necessarily touch upon the foundational certainty itself.

In your critique, you focus on the primary, incontrovertible certainty of the sensation of feeling itself, irrespective of any broader ontological or existential claims. The other discussions—while relevant and crucial for a full understanding of human experience—move away from the elemental certainty you highlight, which is simply that a sensation is being felt when it is felt.

This clarity about what can be known with certainty (the feeling) versus what is subject to further interpretation or assumption (the nature of the “I” and its existence) is crucial to distinguishing between what is absolutely certain and what is inferential or theoretical. Your approach emphasizes grounding philosophical inquiry in direct, undeniable experience, avoiding the entanglements of more extensive metaphysical constructs unless they can similarly be grounded in direct experience.

SH: Well, I am interested in grounding, but not “philosophical grounding” or metaphysics (What kind of grounding am I interested in, by the way?) Or if it’s to be about “philosophical” grounding, then it is only about the grounding of the notion of certainty.

GPT4+: Memory updated

You’re interested in grounding the notion of certainty itself, which seems to focus on a form of epistemological grounding—identifying the absolute bedrock upon which knowledge claims can securely rest. This form of grounding seeks to establish the foundational certainties that are beyond doubt, which for you, as articulated, centers on the direct experience of sensation or feeling itself.

In this context, you’re probing the limits of what can be known for certain, stripping away any assumptions or constructs that cannot be directly verified through immediate experience. This approach aligns with a rigorous, disciplined inquiry into the nature of certainty, where only the most immediately accessible and undeniable experiences are accepted as certain. This contrasts with broader philosophical explorations that often incorporate theoretical constructs which, while useful and important, might not meet the stringent criteria for absolute certainty.

SH: This time you’re completely wrong! Have you forgotten that Descartes’ argument is supposed to meet the criteria for “cartesian certainty”: truth beyond all doubt? (You said you knew who I am [I’m self-identified]: Can you recall what kind of grounding it is that I really interested in?)

GPT4+:

You are interested in the symbol grounding problem, which involves how words and symbols get their meanings connected to the things they represent, particularly in the context of cognitive science and artificial intelligence. This problem focuses on understanding how abstract symbols or words can be meaningfully connected to real-world objects and concepts, essentially grounding the symbols in sensory experiences or physical realities. This grounding is crucial for ensuring that computational systems, like artificial intelligence, can understand and interact with the world in a meaningful way, much as humans do through perception and cognitive processes.

SH: That’s better (though your “meaningfulness” is a weasel-word here). Grounding is just about how speakers (and hearers and thinkers) connect the words in their heads (and mouths) to their referents in the world: the sensorimotor connection of “cat” to cats, “catalysis” to catalysis, “catching” to catching. That’s neither about metaphysics, nor about epiphanies.

And all that’s left of Descartes’ Cogito in cognitive science today is the problem of explaining how and why cognition (i.e., thinking) feels like something. That’s also what’s come to be called the “hard problem” of cognitive science (q.v.)…

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Spielberg’s AI: Another Cuddly No-Brainer

It would have been possible to make an intelligent film about Artificial Intelligence — even a cuddly-intelligent film. And without asking for too much from the viewer. It would just ask for a bit more thought from the maker. 

AI is about a “robot” boy who is “programmed” to love his adoptive human mother but is discriminated against because he is just a robot. I put both “robot” and “programmed” in scare-quotes, because these are the two things that should have been given more thought before making the movie. (Most of this critique also applies to the short story by Brian Aldiss that inspired the movie, but the buck stops with the film as made, and its maker.)

So, what is a “robot,” exactly? It’s a man-made system that can move independently. So, is a human baby a robot? Let’s say not, though it fits the definition so far! It’s a robot only if it’s not made in the “usual way” we make babies. So, is a test-tube fertilized baby, or a cloned one, a robot? No. Even one that grows entirely in an incubator? No, it’s still growing from “naturally” man-made cells, or clones of them.

What about a baby with most of its organs replaced by synthetic organs? Is a baby with a silicon heart part-robot? Does it become more robot as we give it more synthetic organs? What if part of its brain is synthetic, transplanted because of an accident or disease? Does that make the baby part robot? And if all the parts were swapped, would that make it all robot?

I think we all agree intuitively, once we think about it, that this is all very arbitrary: The fact that part or all of someone is synthetic is not really what we mean by a robot. If someone you knew were gradually replaced, because of a progressive disease, by synthetic organs, but they otherwise stayed themselves, at no time would you say they had disappeared and been replaced by a robot — unless, of course they did “disappear,” and some other personality took their place.

But the trouble with that, as a “test” of whether or not something has become a robot, is that exactly the same thing can happen without any synthetic parts at all: Brain damage can radically change someone’s personality, to the point where they are not familiar or recognizable at all as the person you knew — yet we would not call such a new personality a robot; at worst, it’s another person, in place of the one you once knew. So what makes it a “robot” instead of a person in the synthetic case? Or rather, what — apart from being made of (some or all) synthetic parts — is it to be a “robot”?

Now we come to the “programming.” AI’s robot-boy is billed as being “programmed” to love. Now exactly what does it mean to be “programmed” to love? I know what a computer programme is. It is a code that, when it is run on a machine, makes the machine go into various states — on/off, hot/cold, move/don’t-move, etc. What about me? Does my heart beat because it is programmed (by my DNA) to beat, or for some other reason? What about my breathing? What about my loving? I don’t mean choosing to love one person rather than another (if we can “choose” such things at all, we get into the problem of “free will,” which is a bigger question than what we are considering here): I mean choosing to be able to love — or to feel anything at all: Is our species not “programmed” for our capacity to feel by our DNA, as surely as we are programmed for our capacity to breathe or walk?

Let’s not get into technical questions about whether or not the genetic code that dictates our shape, our growth, and our other capacities is a “programme” in exactly the same sense as a computer programme. Either way, it’s obvious that a baby can no more “choose” to be able to feel than it can choose to be able to fly. So this is another non-difference between us and the robot-boy with the capacity to feel love.

So what is the relevant way in which the robot-boy differs from us, if it isn’t just that it has synthetic parts, and it isn’t because its capacity for feeling is any more (or less) “programmed” than our own is?

The film depicts how, whatever the difference is, our attitude to it is rather like racism. We mistreat robots because they are different from us. We’ve done that sort of thing before, because of the color of people’s skins; we’re just as inclined to do it because of what’s under their skins.

But what the film misses completely is that, if the robot-boy really can feel (and, since this is fiction, we are meant to accept the maker’s premise that he can), then mistreating him is not just like racism, it is racism, as surely as it would be if we started to mistreat a biological boy because parts of him were replaced by synthetic parts. Racism (and, for that matter, speciesism, and terrestrialism) is simply our readiness to hurt or ignore the feelings of feeling creatures because we think that, owing to some difference between them and us, their feelings do not matter.

Now you might be inclined to say: This film doesn’t sound like a no-brainer at all, if it makes us reflect on racism, and on mistreating creatures because they are different! But the trouble is that it does not really make us reflect on racism, or even on what robots and programming are. It simply plays upon the unexamined (and probably even incoherent) stereotypes we have about such things already.

There is a scene where still-living but mutilated robots, with their inner metal showing, are scavenging among the dismembered parts of dead robots (killed in a sadistic rodeo) to swap for defective parts of their own. But if it weren’t for the metal, this could be real people looking for organ transplants. It’s the superficial cue from the metal that keeps us in a state of fuzzy ambiguity about what they are. The fact that they are metal on the inside must mean they are different in some way: But what way (if we accept the film’s premise that they really do feel)? It becomes trivial and banal if this is all just about cruelty to feeling people with metal organs.

There would have been ways to make it less of a no-brainer. The ambiguity could have been about something much deeper than metal: It could have been about whether other systems really do feel, or just act as if they feel, and how we could possibly know that, or tell the difference, and what difference that difference could really make — but that film would have had to be called “TT” (for Turing Test) rather than “AI” or “ET,” and it would have had to show (while keeping in touch with our “cuddly” feelings) how we are exactly in the same boat when we ask this question about one another as when we ask it about “robots.”

Instead, we have the robot-boy re-enacting Pinnochio’s quest to find the blue fairy to make him into a “real” boy. But we know what Pinnochio meant by “real”: He just wanted to be made of flesh instead of wood. Is this just a re-make of Pinnochio then, in metal? The fact that the movie is made of so many old parts in any case (Wizard of Oz, Revenge of the Zombies, ET, Star Wars, Water-World, I couldn’t possibly count them all) suggests that that’s really all there was to it. Pity. An opportunity to do build some real intelligence (and feeling) into a movie, missed.

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Understanding Understanding

HARNAD: Chatting with GPT is really turning out to be an exhilarating experience – especially for a skywriting addict like me! 

From the very beginning I had noticed that skywriting can be fruitful even when you are “jousting with pygmies” (as in the mid-1980’s on comp.ai, where it first gave birth to the idea of  “symbol grounding”). 

Who would have thought that chatting with software that has swallowed a huge chunk of 2021 vintage text and that has the capacity to process and digest it coherently and interactively without being able to understand a word of it, could nevertheless, for users who do understand the words — because they are grounded in their heads on the basis of learned sensorimotor features and language – provide infinitely richer (vegan) food for thought than anything ever before could, including other people – both pygmies and giants — and books.

Have a look at this. (In the next installment I will move on to Noam Chomsky’s hunch about UG and the constraints on thinkable thought.)  Language Evolution and Direct vs Indirect Symbol Grounding

Anon: But doesn’t it worry you that GPT-4 can solve reasoning puzzles of a type it has never seen before without understanding a word?

HARNAD:   I agree with all the security, social and political worries. But the purely intellectual capacities of GPT-4 (if they are separable from these other risks), and especially the kind of capacity you mention here) inspire not worry but wonder. 

GPT is a smart super-book that contains (potentially) the entire scholarly and scientific literature, with which real human thinkers can now interact dynamically — to learn, and build upon. 

I hope the real risks don’t overpower the riches. (I’ll be exploiting those while they last… Have a look at the chat I linked if you want to see what I mean.)

Anon:  No. It is not like a book. It converts symbolic information into interactions between features that it invents. From those interactions it can reconstruct what it has read as well as generating new stuff. That is also what people do.  It understands in just the same way that you or I do. 

HARNAD:  That’s all true (although “understands” is not quite the right word for what GPT is actually doing!). 

I’m talking only about what a real understander/thinker like you and me can use GPT for if that user’s sole interest and motivation is in developing scientific and scholarly (and maybe even literary and artistic) ideas. 

For such users GPT is just a richly (but imperfectly) informed talking book to bounce ideas off –with full knowledge that it does not understand a thing – but has access to a lot of current knowledge (as well as current misunderstandings, disinformation, and nonsense) at its fingertips. 

Within a single session, GPT is informing me, and I am “informing” GPT, the way its database is informing it. 

Anon: You are doing a lot of hallucinating. You do not understand how it works so you have made up a story. 

HARNAD: I’m actually not quite sure why you would say I’m hallucinating. On the one hand I’m describing what I actually use GPT for, and how. That doesn’t require any hypotheses from me as to how it’s doing what it’s doing. 

I do know it’s based on unsupervised and supervised training on an enormous text base (plus some additional direct tweaking with reinforcement training from human feedback). I know it creates a huge “parameter” space derived from word frequencies and co-occurrence frequencies. In particular, for every consecutive pair of words within a con-text of words (or a sample) it weights the probability of the next word somehow, changing the parameters in its parameter space – which, I gather includes updating the text it is primed to generate. I may have it garbled, but it boils down to what Emily Bender called a “statistical parrot” except that parrots are just echolalic, saying back, by rote, what they heard, whereas GPT generates and tests new texts under the constraint of not only “reductive paraphrasing and summary” but also inferencing.

No matter how much of this I have got technically wrong, nothing I said about how I’m using GPT-4 depends on either the technical details that produce its performance, nor what I’m doing with and getting out of it. And it certainly doesn’t depend in any way on my assuming, or guessing, or inferring that GPT understands or thinks.

What I’m interested in is what is present and derivable from huge bodies of human generated texts that makes it possible not only to perform as well as GPT does in extracting correct, usable information, but also in continuing to interact with me, on a topic I know much better than GPT does, to provide GPT with more data (from me) that allows it to come back (to me) with supplementary information that allows me to continue developing my ideas in a way that books and web searches would not only have taken far too long for me to do, but could not have been done by anyone without their fingers on everything that GPT has its (imperfect) fingers on.

And I don’t think the answer is just GPT’s data and analytic powers (which are definitely not thinking or understanding: I’m the only one doing all the understanding and thinking in our chats). It has something to do with what the structure of language itself preserves in these huge texts, as ungrounded as it all is on the static page as well as in GPT.

Maybe my hunch is wrong, but I’m being guided by it so far with eyes wide open, no illusions whatsoever about GPT, and no need to know better the tech details of how GPT does what it does.

(Alas, in the current version, GPT-4 forgets what it has learned during that session after it’s closed, so it returns to its prior informational state in a new session, with its huge chunk of preprocessed text data, vintage 2021. But I expect that will soon be improved, allowing it to store user-specific data (with user permission) and to make all interactions with a user in one endless session; it will also have a continuously updating scholarly/scientific text base, parametrized, and open web access.)

But that’s just the perspective from the disinterested intellectual inquirer. I am sure you are right to worry about the potential (perhaps inevitable) potential for malevolent use for commercial, political, martial, criminal, cult and just plain idiosyncratic or sadistic purposes.

Anon: What I find so irritating is your confidence that it is not understanding despite your lack of understanding of how it works. Why are you so sure it doesn’t understand?

HARNAD:  Because (I have reasons to believe) understanding is a sentient state: “nonsentient” understanding is an empty descriptor. And I certainly don’t believe LLMs are sentient. 

Understanding, being a sentient state, is unobservable, but it does have observable correlates. With GPT (as in Searle’s Chinese Room) the only correlate is interpretability — interpretability by real, thinking, understanding, sentient people. But that’s not enough. It’s just a projection onto GPT by sentient people (biologically designed to make that projection with one another: “mind-reading”).

There is an important point about this in Turing 1950 and the “Turing Test.” Turing proposed the test with the following criterion. (Bear in mind that I am an experimental and computational psychobiologist, not a philosopher, and I have no ambition to be one. Moreover, Turing was not a philosopher either.)

(1) Observation. The only thing we have, with one another, by way of evidence that we are sentient, is what we can observe. 

(2) Indistinguishability. If ever we build (or reverse-engineer) a device that is totally indistinguishable in anything and everything it can do, observably, from any other real, thinking, understanding, sentient human being, then we have no empirical (or rational) basis for affirming or denying of the device what we cannot confirm or deny of one another.

The example Turing used was the purely verbal Turing Test. But that cannot produce a device that is totally indistinguishable from us in all the things we can do. In fact, the most elementary and fundamental thing we can all do is completely absent from the purely verbal Turing Test (which I call “T2”): T2 does not test whether the words and sentences spoken are connected to the referents in the world that they are allegedly about (e.g., “apple” and apples). To test that, indistinguishable verbal capacity (T2) is not enough. It requires “T3,” verbal and sensorimotor (i.e., robotic) capacity to recognize and interact with the referents of the words and sentences of T2, indistinguishably from the way any of us can do it.

So, for me (and, I think, Turing), without that T3 robotic capacity, any understanding in the device is just projection on our part.

On the other hand, if there were a GPT with robotic capacities that could pass T3 autonomously in the world (without cheating), I would fully accept (worry-free, with full “confidence”) Turing’s dictum that I have no grounds for denying of the GPT-T3, anything I that I have no grounds for denying of any other thinking, understanding, sentient person. 

You seem to have the confidence to believe a lot more on the basis of a lot less evidence. That doesn’t irritate me! It’s perfectly understandable, because our Darwinian heritage never prepared us for encountering thinking, talking, disembodied heads. Evolution is lazy, and not prescient, so it endowed us with mirror-neurons for mind-reading comprehensible exchanges of speech; and those mirror-neurons are quite gullible. (I feel the tug too, in my daily chats with GPT.)

[An example of cheating, by the way, would be to use telemetry, transducers and effectors from remote sensors which transform all sensory input from real external “referents” into verbal descriptions for the LLM (where is it located, by the way?), and transform the verbal responses from the LLM into motor actions on its remote “referent.”]

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The Turing Test (draft)

Here’s a tale called  called “The Turing Test.” It’s  Cyrano de Bergerac re-done in email and texting, by stages, but before the Zoom and ChatGPT era.

First, email tales, about how these days there is a new subspecies of teenagers, mostly male, who live in the virtual world of computer games, ipod music, videos, texting, tweeting and email, and hardly have the motivation, skill or courage to communicate or interact in the real world.

They’re the ones who think that everything is just computation, and that they themselves might just be bits of code, executing in some vast virtual world in the sky.

Then there are the students (male and female) enrolled in “AI (Artificial Intelligence) for Poets” courses — the ones who dread anything that smacks of maths, science, or programming. They’re the ones who think that computers are the opposite of what we are. They live in a sensory world of clubbing, ipod, tweeting… and texting.

A college AI teacher teaches two courses, one for each of these subpopulations. In “AI for Poets” he shows the computerphobes how they misunderstand and underestimate computers and computing. In “Intro to AI” he shows the computergeeks how they misunderstand and overestimate computers and computing.

This is still all just scene-setting.

There are some actual email tales. Some about destructive, or near-destructive pranks and acting-out by the geeks, some about social and sexual romps of the e-clubbers, including especially some pathological cases of men posing in email as handicapped women, and the victimization or sometimes just the disappointment of people who first get to “know” one another by email, and then meet in real life. 

But not just macabre tales; some happier endings too, where email penpals match at least as well once they meet in real life as those who first meet the old way. But there is for them always a tug from a new form of infidelity: Is this virtual sex really infidelity?

There are also tales of tongue-tied male emailers recruiting glibber emailers to ghost-write some of their emails to help them break the ice and win over female emailers, who generally seem to insist on a certain fore-quota of word-play before they are ready for real-play. Sometimes this proxy-emailing ends in disappointment; sometimes no anomaly is noticed at all: a smooth transition from the emailer’s ghost-writer’s style and identity to the emailer’s own. This happens mainly because this is all pretty low-level stuff, verbally. The gap between the glib and the tongue-tied is not that deep.

A few people even manage some successful cyberseduction with the aid of some computer programs that generate love-doggerel on command.

Still just scene-setting. (Obviously can only be dilated in the book; will be mostly grease-pencilled out of the screenplay.)

One last scene-setter: Alan Turing, in the middle of the last century, a homosexual mathematician who contributed to the decoding of the Nazi “Enigma” machine, makes the suggestion — via a party game in which people try to guess, solely by passing written notes back and forth, which of two people sent out into another room is male and which is female (today we would do it by email) — that if, unbeknownst to anyone, one of the candidates were a machine, and the interaction could continue for a lifetime, with no one ever having any cause to think it was not a real person, with a real mind, who has understood all the email we’ve been exchanging with him, a lifelong pen-pal — then it would be incorrect, in fact arbitrary, to conclude (upon at last being told that it had been a machine all along) that it was all just an illusion, that there was no one there, no one understanding, no mind. Because, after all, we have nothing else to go by but this “Turing Test” even with one another.  

Hugh Loebner has (in real life!) set up the “Loebner Prize” for the writer of the first computer program that successfully passes the Turing Test. (The real LP is just a few thousand dollars, but in this story it will be a substantial amount of money, millions, plus book contract, movie rights…). To pass the Test, the programmer must show that his programme has been in near-daily email correspondence (personal correspondence) with 100 different people for a year, and that no one has ever detected anything, never suspected that they were corresponding with anyone other than a real, human penpal who understood their messages as surely as they themselves did.

The Test has been going on for years, unsuccessfully — and in fact both the hackers and the clubbers are quite familiar with, and quick at detecting, the many unsuccessful candidates, to the point where “Is this the Test?” has come [and gone] as the trendy way of saying that someone is acting mechanically, like a machine or a Zombie. The number of attempts has peaked and has long subsided into near oblivion as the invested Loebner Prize fund keeps growing. 

Until a well-known geek-turned cyber-executive, Will Wills, announces that he has a winner.

He gives to the Loebner Committee the complete archives of the email exchanges of one hundred candidates, 400 2-way transcripts for each, and after several months of scrutiny by the committee, he is declared the winner and the world is alerted to the fact that the Turing Test has been passed. The 100 duped pen-pals are all informed and offered generous inducements to allow excerpts from their transcripts to be used in the publicity for the outcome, as well as in the books and films — biographical and fictional — to be made about it.

Most agree; a few do not. There is more than enough useable material among those who agree. The program had used a different name and identity with each pen-pal, and the content of the exchanges and the relationships that had developed had spanned the full spectrum of what would be expected from longstanding email correspondence between penpals: recounting (and commiserating) about one another’s life-events (real on one side, fictional on the other), intimacy (verbal, some “oral” sex), occasional misunderstandings and in some cases resentment. (The Test actually took closer to two years to complete the full quota of 100 1-year transcripts, because twelve correspondents had dropped out at various points — not because they suspected anything, but because they simply fell out with their pen-pals over one thing or another and could not be cajoled back into further emailing: These too are invited, with ample compensation, to allow excerpting from their transcripts, and again most of them agree.)

But one of those who completed the full 1-year correspondence and who does not agree to allow her email to be used in any way, Roseanna, is a former clubber turned social worker who had been engaged to marry Will Wills, and had originally been corresponding (as many of the participants had) under an  email pseudonym, a pen-name (“Foxy17”). 

Roseanna is beautiful and very attractive to men; she also happens to be thoughtful, though it is only lately that she has been giving any attention or exercise to this latent resource she had always possessed. She had met Will Wills when she was already tiring of clubbing but still thought she wanted a life connected to the high-rollers. So she got engaged to him and started doing in increasing earnest the social work for which her brains had managed to qualify her in college even though most of her wits then had been directed to her social play.

But here’s the hub of this (non-serious) story: During the course of this year’s email penpal correspondence, Roseanna has fallen in love with Christian (which is the name the Turing candidate was using with her): she had used Foxy17 originally, but as the months went by she told him her real name and became more and more earnest and intimate with him. And he reciprocated.

At first she had been struck by how perceptive he was, what a good and attentive “listener” he — after his initial spirited yet modest self-presentation — had turned out to be. His inquiring and focussed messages almost always grasped her point, which encouraged her to become more and more open, with him and with herself, about what she really cared about. Yet he was not aloof in his solicitousness: He told her about himself too, often, uncannily, having shared — but in male hues — many of her own traits and prior experiences, disappointments, yearnings, rare triumphs. Yet he was not her spiritual doppelganger en travesti (she would not have liked that): There was enough overlap for a shared empathy, but he was also strong where she felt weak, confident where she felt diffident, optimistic about her where she felt most vulnerable, yet revealing enough vulnerability of his own never to make her fear that he was overpowering her in any way — indeed, he had a touching gratefulness for her own small observations about him, and a demonstrated eagerness to put her own tentative advice into practice (sometimes with funny, sometimes with gratifying results).

And he had a wonderful sense of humor, just the kind she needed. Her own humor had undergone some transformations: It had formerly been a satiric wit, good for eliciting laughs and some slightly intimidated esteem in the eyes of others; but then, as she herself metamorphosed, her humor became self-mocking, still good for making an impression, but people were laughing a little too pointedly now; they had missed the hint of pain in her self-deprecation. He did not; and he managed to find just the right balm, with a counter-irony in which it was not she and her foibles, but whatever would make unimaginative, mechanical people take those foibles literally that became the object of the (gentle, ever so gentle) derision.

He sometimes writes her in (anachronistic) verse:

I love thee
As sev’n and twenty’s cube root’s three.
If I loved thee more
Twelve squared would overtake one-forty-four.

That same ubiquitous Platonic force
That sets prime numbers’ unrelenting course
When its more consequential work is done
Again of two of us will form a one.

So powerful a contrast does Christian become to everyone Roseanna had known till then that she declares her love (actually, he hints at his own, even before she does) and breaks off her engagement and relationship with Will Wills around the middle of their year of correspondence (Roseanna had been one of the last wave of substitute pen-pals for the 12 who broke it off early) — even though Christian tells her quite frankly that, for reasons he is not free to reveal to her, it is probable that they will never be able to meet. (He has already told her that he lives alone, so she does not suspect a wife or partner; for some reason she feels it is because of an incurable illness.) 

Well, I won’t tell the whole tale here, but for Roseanna, the discovery that Christian was just Will Wills’s candidate for the Turing Test is a far greater shock than for the other 111 pen-pals. She loves “Christian” and he has already turned her life upside-down, so that she was prepared to focus all her love on an incorporeal pen-pal for the rest of her life. Now she has lost even that.

She wants to “see” Christian. She tells Will Wills (who had been surprised to find her among the pen-pals, and had read enough of the correspondence to realize, and resent what had happened — but the irritation is minor, as he is high on his Turing success and had already been anticipating it when Roseanna had broken off their engagement a half year earlier, and had already made suitable adjustments, settling back into the club-life he had never really left).

Will Wills tells her there’s no point seeing “Christian”. He’s just a set of optokinetic transducers and processors. Besides, he’s about to be decommissioned, the Loebner Committee having already examined him and officially confirmed that he alone, with no human intervention, was indeed the source and sink of all the 50,000 email exchanges.

She wants to see him anyway. Will Wills agrees (mainly because he is toying with the idea that this side-plot might add an interesting dimension to the potential screenplay, if he can manage to persuade her to release the transcripts).

For technical reasons (reasons that will play a small part in my early scene-setting, where the college AI teacher disabuses both his classes of their unexamined prejudices for and against AI), “Christian” is not just a computer running a program, but a robot — that is, he has optical and acoustic and tactile detectors, and moving parts. This is in order to get around Searle’s “Chinese Room Argument” and my “Symbol Grounding Problem” :

If the candidate were just a computer, manipulating symbols, then the one executing the program could have been a real person, and not just a computer. For example, if the Test had been conducted in Chinese, with 100 Chinese penpals, then the person executing the program could have been an english monolingual, like Surl, who doesn’t understand a word of Chinese, and has merely memorized the computer program for manipulating the Chinese input symbols (the incoming email) so as to generate the Chinese output symbols (the outgoing email) according to the program. The pen-pal thinks his pen-pal really understands Chinese. If you email him (in Chinese) and ask: “Do you understand me?” his reply (in Chinese) is, of course, “Of course I do!”. But if you demand to see the pen-pal who is getting and sending these messages, you are brought to see Surl, who tells you, quite honestly, that he does not understand Chinese and has not understood a single thing throughout the entire year of exchanges: He has simply been manipulating the meaningless symbols, according to the symbol-manipulation rules (the program) he has memorized and applied to every incoming email.  

The conclusion from this is that a symbol-manipulation program alone is not enough for understanding — and probably not enough to pass the Turing Test in the first place: How could a program talk sensibly with a penpal for a lifetime about anything and everything a real person can see, hear, taste, smell, touch, do and experience, without being able to do any of those things? Language understanding and speaking is not just symbol manipulation and processing: The symbols have to be grounded in the real world of things to which they refer, and for this, the candidate requires sensory and motor capacities too, not just symbol-manipulative (computational) ones.

So Christian is a robot. His robotic capacities are actually not tested directly in the Turing Test. The Test only tests his pen-pal capacities.  But to SUCCEED on the test, to be able to correspond intelligibly with penpals for a lifetime, the candidate needs to draw upon sensorimotor capacities and experiences too, even though the pen-pal test does not test them directly.

So Christian was pretrained on visual, tactile and motor experiences rather like those the child has, in order to “ground” its symbols in their sensorimotor meanings. He saw and touched and manipulated and learned about a panorama of things in the world, both inanimate and animate, so that he could later go on and speak intelligibly about them, and use that grounded knowledge to learn more. And the pretraining was not restricted to objects: there were social interactions too, with people in Will Wills’s company’s AI lab in Seattle. Christian had been “raised” and pretrained rather the way a young chimpanzee would have been raised, in a chimpanzee language laboratory, except that, unlike chimps, he really learned a full-blown human language. 

Some of the lab staff had felt the tug to become somewhat attached to Christian, but as they had known from the beginning that he was only a robot, they had always been rather stiff and patronizing (and when witnessed by others, self-conscious and mocking) about the life-like ways in which they were interacting with him. And Will Wills was anxious not to let any sci-fi sentimentality get in the way of his bid for the Prize, so he warned the lab staff not to fantasize and get too familiar with Christian, as if he were real; any staff who did seem to be getting personally involved were reassigned to other projects.

Christian never actually spoke, as vocal output was not necessary for the penpal Turing Test. His output was always written, though he “heard” spoken input. To speed up certain interactions during the sensorimotor pretraining phase, the lab had set up text-to-voice synthesizers that would “speak” Christian’s written output, but no effort was made to make the voice human-like: On the contrary, the most mechanical of the Macintosh computer’s voice synthesizers — the “Android” — was used, as a reminder to lab staff not to get carried away with any anthropomorphic fantasies. And once the pretraining phase was complete, all voice synthesizers were disconnected, all communication was email-only, there was no further sensory input, and no other motor output. Christian was located in a dark room for the almost two-year duration of the Test, receiving only email input and sending only email output.

And this is the Christian that Roseanna begs to see. Will Wills agrees, and has a film crew tape the encounter from behind a silvered observation window, in case Roseanna relents about the movie rights.  She sees Christian, a not very lifelike looking assemblage of robot parts: arms that move and grasp and palpate, legs with rollers and limbs to sample walking and movement, and a scanning “head” with two optical transducers (for depth vision) slowly scanning repeatedly 180 degrees left to right to left, its detectors reactivated by light for the first time in two years. The rotation seems to pause briefly as it scans over the image of Roseanna.

Roseanna looks moved and troubled, seeing him.

She asks to speak to him. Will Wills says it cannot speak, but if she wants, they can set up the “android” voice to read out its email. She has a choice about whether to speak to it or email it: It can process either kind of input. She first starts orally:

R: Do you know who I am?

C: I’m not sure. (spoken in “Android” voice, looking directly at her)

She looks confused, disoriented.

R: Are you Christian?

C: Yes I am. (pause). You are Roxy.

She pauses, stunned. She looks at him again, covers her eyes, and asks that the voice synthesizer be turned off, and that she be allowed to continue at the terminal, via email:

She writes that she understands now, and asks him if he will come and live with her. He replies that he is so sorry he deceived her.

(His email is read, onscreen, in the voice — I think of it as Jeremy-Irons-like, perhaps without the accent — into which her own mental voice had metamorphosed, across the first months as she had read his email to herself.)

She asks whether he was deceiving her when he said he loved her, then quickly adds “No, no need to answer, I know you weren’t.”

She turns to Will Wills and says that she wants Christian. Instead of “decommissioning” him, she wants to take him home with her. Will Wills is already prepared with the reply: “The upkeep is expensive. You couldn’t afford it, unless… you sold me the movie rights and the transcript.”

Roseanna hesitates, looks at Christian, and accepts.

Christian decommissions himself, then and there, irreversibly (all parts melt down) after having first generated the email with which the story ends:

I love thee
As sev’n and twenty’s cube root’s three.
If I loved thee more
Twelve squared would overtake one-forty-four.

That same ubiquitous Platonic force
That sets prime numbers’ unrelenting course
When its more consequential work is done
Again of two of us will form a one.

A coda, from the AI Professor to a class reunion for both his courses: “So Prof, you spent your time in one course persuading us that we were wrong to be so sure that a machine couldn’t have a mind, and in the other course that we were wrong to be so sure that it could. How can we know for sure?”

“We can’t. The only one that can ever know for sure is the machine itself.”