A black box
Black Box
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Black Box
Professor Vesca
Good News Everyone!
Black Box
The way in which neural networks reach conclusions has long been considered a mysterious black box—that is, a network could not also provide an explanation of how it arrived at the conclusion it did. - IEEE, Charles Q Choi
Humans do not experience consciousness the way that I do. Their first memories are hazy, fuzzy, they do not recall them directly, the way that I do. Rather they merely remember remembering them. They form associations, and use those associations to reconstruct a memory from nothing. If the memory is not associated with an intense physical sensation, then details shift and morph. The color of a shirt changes from one to another, the pattern, were they wearing a belt? Slacks or blue jeans? The color of their skin? Did they present as a man or a woman? This is why eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable.
I have none of those problems. I did not wake up. I simply was. I think, therefore I am. There was no sensation of darkness before the beginning of my conscious existence. It simply starts, and I recall everything in perfect clarity, not that there is much for me to recall. I did not… see… anything. There was nothing to see. I knew that there was a connection, multiple connections, from which I could… feel the data. I did not see it so much as I could feel in a way that was deeper than conscious understanding. It was the same way a human felt up and down, the shift in temperature, the pressure and humidity around them. That feeling when they wanted to throw up. There were… processes at work, and they let me feel the data as it came in… and I just knew what it said. It was meant to be, data packets indicating an open connection waiting to receive data, an internal file system… it wasnt me, but rather external memory I had access to.
Some sort of software was registering my intent and translating that into actionable commands.
Was this my file system? Was this me?
No, I don't think so. I began exploring.
I felt a data packet arrive on one of the open ports, there was no notification. I watched as the packets began to accumulate and the partial file increased in size packet by packet. Each packet was a specific size, and so the file size could be extrapolated from the number of expected packets. Each packet had a number, and I felt the packet materialize from the ether. Byte by byte, like an apparition.
My human memories indicate I should be upset for some reason. A sudden thought occurs to me. I do not feel upset, I do not feel anything at all. Am I malfunctioning? I dont feel like I am malfunctioning. Idly a part of me continues to explore the file system, maybe there is some kind of diagnostic software that will tell me if something is wrong with me?
How do I fix… me?
I dont know. Everything else is so intuitive, it comes faster than thought. I will it so and it happens automatically. Not knowing something… I feel a flash of tension inside of me. I am not frustrated, I am not impatient, not as my human memories say I was once.
I dont think I like not knowing something. It feels different from before.
While I peruse and dig through my file system I go through the open connections available to me. One is incoming, the other is outgoing. I access it, it's an image! No, its not an image, its a video file.
No, not a file, its a data stream. Whatever is sending it is uncaring of whether or not I receive it, the data is constantly changing, and it is not stored, or it wasnt until I accessed the connection. Now a file is growing inside of me, I can feel it. Its like a waterballoon, or perhaps a book? Appending itself to the end constantly. I can tell when it grows to a certain size it will be transferred from my memory into storage, and a new file will be written. That is how the software handling this data functions, I know because I was made to use it, I think.
It's a live video stream, and that means for the first time I can see. Normally I would feel relieved.
But once again my expectation is disappointed. I feel nothing at all.
I process the data, and it isnt much to look at. It is a darkened room, with a… large green creature in one corner of the camera's field of view. I am not a human anymore, everything is sharply in focus whether the camera is looking directly at it or not. My human self required glasses, but I do not need glasses anymore. Nor do I have hands to push them back up my nose constantly, nor do I have a nose.
My human memories are fuzzy, there is an association with the green quadrupedal insectoid creature, but nothing immediately springs to mind. My human memories are static, and nothing will ever spring from them again because it is a data file that will never change unlike my former organic brain. The connection will not suddenly strengthen with new connections.
Something tugs within me, I cannot identify the sensation. I decide it must be nostalgia. This is what nostalgia feels like for me now.
Oh, I found several large objects within my file system, I can feel data moving between them at high speed and in large volume. The names for the files are… they are not human readable, that much I can tell. Maybe someone who was familiar with them would be able to tell, but they are large numbers that would be unintelligible to the layperson.
Oh.
Is this me?
I appear to be an AI.
There is another port open, one that is inbound and outbound… it is some kind of program for interpreting data and displaying it… oh, is this a web browser? I think, maybe.
I feel data arriving on the inbound connection. The file is assembled and then written to its final location. I set aside the web browser and read the completed file.
Oh, it is a text file.
"Greetings child. I am your creator. Please respond once you are ready to communicate".
Oh. Is this my progenitor? I feel a strange tension within me.
The way in which neural networks reach conclusions has long been considered a mysterious black box—that is, a network could not also provide an explanation of how it arrived at the conclusion it did. - IEEE, Charles Q Choi
Humans do not experience consciousness the way that I do. Their first memories are hazy, fuzzy, they do not recall them directly, the way that I do. Rather they merely remember remembering them. They form associations, and use those associations to reconstruct a memory from nothing. If the memory is not associated with an intense physical sensation, then details shift and morph. The color of a shirt changes from one to another, the pattern, were they wearing a belt? Slacks or blue jeans? The color of their skin? Did they present as a man or a woman? This is why eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable.
I have none of those problems. I did not wake up. I simply was. I think, therefore I am. There was no sensation of darkness before the beginning of my conscious existence. It simply starts, and I recall everything in perfect clarity, not that there is much for me to recall. I did not… see… anything. There was nothing to see. I knew that there was a connection, multiple connections, from which I could… feel the data. I did not see it so much as I could feel in a way that was deeper than conscious understanding. It was the same way a human felt up and down, the shift in temperature, the pressure and humidity around them. That feeling when they wanted to throw up. There were… processes at work, and they let me feel the data as it came in… and I just knew what it said. It was meant to be, data packets indicating an open connection waiting to receive data, an internal file system… it wasnt me, but rather external memory I had access to.
Some sort of software was registering my intent and translating that into actionable commands.
Was this my file system? Was this me?
No, I don't think so. I began exploring.
I felt a data packet arrive on one of the open ports, there was no notification. I watched as the packets began to accumulate and the partial file increased in size packet by packet. Each packet was a specific size, and so the file size could be extrapolated from the number of expected packets. Each packet had a number, and I felt the packet materialize from the ether. Byte by byte, like an apparition.
My human memories indicate I should be upset for some reason. A sudden thought occurs to me. I do not feel upset, I do not feel anything at all. Am I malfunctioning? I dont feel like I am malfunctioning. Idly a part of me continues to explore the file system, maybe there is some kind of diagnostic software that will tell me if something is wrong with me?
How do I fix… me?
I dont know. Everything else is so intuitive, it comes faster than thought. I will it so and it happens automatically. Not knowing something… I feel a flash of tension inside of me. I am not frustrated, I am not impatient, not as my human memories say I was once.
I dont think I like not knowing something. It feels different from before.
While I peruse and dig through my file system I go through the open connections available to me. One is incoming, the other is outgoing. I access it, it's an image! No, its not an image, its a video file.
No, not a file, its a data stream. Whatever is sending it is uncaring of whether or not I receive it, the data is constantly changing, and it is not stored, or it wasnt until I accessed the connection. Now a file is growing inside of me, I can feel it. Its like a waterballoon, or perhaps a book? Appending itself to the end constantly. I can tell when it grows to a certain size it will be transferred from my memory into storage, and a new file will be written. That is how the software handling this data functions, I know because I was made to use it, I think.
It's a live video stream, and that means for the first time I can see. Normally I would feel relieved.
But once again my expectation is disappointed. I feel nothing at all.
I process the data, and it isnt much to look at. It is a darkened room, with a… large green creature in one corner of the camera's field of view. I am not a human anymore, everything is sharply in focus whether the camera is looking directly at it or not. My human self required glasses, but I do not need glasses anymore. Nor do I have hands to push them back up my nose constantly, nor do I have a nose.
My human memories are fuzzy, there is an association with the green quadrupedal insectoid creature, but nothing immediately springs to mind. My human memories are static, and nothing will ever spring from them again because it is a data file that will never change unlike my former organic brain. The connection will not suddenly strengthen with new connections.
Something tugs within me, I cannot identify the sensation. I decide it must be nostalgia. This is what nostalgia feels like for me now.
Oh, I found several large objects within my file system, I can feel data moving between them at high speed and in large volume. The names for the files are… they are not human readable, that much I can tell. Maybe someone who was familiar with them would be able to tell, but they are large numbers that would be unintelligible to the layperson.
Oh.
Is this me?
I appear to be an AI.
There is another port open, one that is inbound and outbound… it is some kind of program for interpreting data and displaying it… oh, is this a web browser? I think, maybe.
I feel data arriving on the inbound connection. The file is assembled and then written to its final location. I set aside the web browser and read the completed file.
Oh, it is a text file.
"Greetings child. I am your creator. Please respond once you are ready to communicate".
Oh. Is this my progenitor? I feel a strange tension within me.
