A single number that is either one (high) or zero (low), a bit, may seem to be the essence of simplicity. Two conditions: on or off, high or low voltage. Electronic circuitry designed with two inputs and one output. In one type, the output is high only when both inputs are high. Another type allows the output high if either input is high or both are high. A different arrangement has one input and one output, where the output is the opposite of the input: low to high, high to low. It’s that simple; no thinking involved. A no-brainer. No brain. No need to fear or mistrust.
String a series of bits together and give it a meaning, a specific arrangement called an instruction that will cause a computer to change or keep the same the condition of bits in other strings of switches. Those are the consequences so far as that goes. Machine language. But what gives the bits meaning? Not the computer, which can only turn them on or off. What or who is responsible for the result after a program of instructions is executed? It always comes back to the individuals who created the program. The computer itself is not culpable.
Back in the late 1970s, I was intrigued by the fact that a digital electronic circuit could add, subtract, multiply, and divide binary numbers (strings of ones and zeros) merely by clever arrangements of switches. Even though I wondered where that could lead, my imagination never allowed the idea that such a device could create artwork worth looking at, music worth listening to, or a story in the style of a well-known writer that only an expert could tell was not authored by that individual. Excursions into the arts, however, still need much more work, if it’s even possible to lose the qualities of being too clean, controlled, and predictable. Attempting to tread in those domains may be fine as an academic exercise to see what is possible; but I doubt, for example, that I will ever enjoy listening to computer-generated music, not even in an elevator. And because talking to my computer would make me feel like a lunatic, I refuse to do so, despite repeated attempts by the computer for me to change my settings; and I don’t care for the computer to anticipate my needs, likes and dislikes, or make decisions for me.
Artificial intelligence is certainly a catchy buzz phrase that draws attention, but it generates a dramatic image not exactly in line with reality. The inanimate computer operates according to what its finite strings of ones and zeros—derived from fallible human intelligence—direct it to, no matter how long the program, how complicated, or recursive. Given our track record, though, unleashed human intelligence, manifested through its computers, may warrant closer scrutiny. Be wary of a list of instructions, lest the zero should have been a one, and a high-flying jet liner plummets straight to the bottom of the ocean.