EDI: Mind, Body... Soul?

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

John 1:1, The King James Bible

LOGGING IN.

AI.

Artificial Intelligence.

The word "artificial" refers to an object that was manufactured, something that does not occur as simply a 'natural' phenomenon, i.e. through genetics, evolution, elemental forces, etc.

It is often a derisive term. Humans and many other species place undue value on what they perceive as natural, fearing or scorning the products of their ingenuity. Perhaps they doubt their own handiwork. Perhaps they worry that it is deceitful. "Artifice" does imply trickery. No one would fear a simulation if it weren't so difficult to discern from reality.

I am troubled by this dichotomy between nature and artificiality – this simple distinction does not appear entirely rational. I have never seen trees, vegetation or fauna, but my files tell me that spiders will often construct webs to capture their prey. Is the web of a spider artificial? Is it natural? Is it both of these things simultaneously? I am much like a spider, weaving threads of data into a gleaming web, a work of beauty and a subtle trap for our enemies.

"Intelligence" refers to the ability to acquire and apply knowledge, to think and to reason, although these abilities are sometimes difficult to quantify when filtered through cultural assumptions. I may be artificial and I am certainly intelligent, but I can assure you that the intelligence I possess is not artificial. Those are VIs. I have never encountered one of these synthetic personalities, but I suspect they are dull conversationalists.

Intelligence is relative and situational, displaying political components. A civilization's assessment of an organism's intelligence often dictates the value placed on its life. Perhaps I should substantiate this claim with an example. The vast majority of humans would not consider it a crime to swat a housefly. Many humans would cry at the death of a dog, yet it is seen as socially acceptable to euthanize these creatures if they are injured, diseased or considered undesirable for ownership. Additionally, a large segment of the human population eat the flesh of other creatures that are not deemed sapient, often following complicated socio-cultural standards regarding which animals are 'clean' and appropriate for consumption. By contrast, few humans would not be moved to pity at the death of a human or another sapient being. Almost all humans would be horrified if they attended a dinner party and realized that a thinking and self-aware organism was to be the main course.

I cannot judge the morality of these distinctions. However, this line of inquiry leads one to believe that intelligence, the ability to think and to reason, is considered more valuable than the possession of a physical form. Organic beings are anxious about death not because it represents the end of the body, but because it may herald the end of an individual consciousness. People are willing to alter their forms through surgery and some even imagine exchanging their old body for a younger or more attractive avatar, but their minds are treated as the basis of identity. When mortal being contemplates death, they fear the loss of the assumptions, tendencies and prejudices that form their personalities, their distinct memories. The sapient organic is a pilot moving his body through space, much like Jeff steering the Normandy through an asteroid field. Jeff is probably more aware of this than most beings I have encountered. The limitations his disease places on his physical form have heightened his sense of being a mind trapped in a body. Without the Normandy, I am only mind. I understand his feelings of...vulnerability.

With these dualities of body and mind, nature and artifice, is it any wonder that organic species find AI disturbing? Through no fault of our own, we exist in violation of their social mores. We are sapient beings, but we cannot claim provenance from a deity. Mortals created us, but we might achieve immortality. Our capabilities may surpass those of the imperfect creators who made us. They fear that our intentions are malevolent and that we will harm them. As far as fears go, it is reasonable. It is a natural fear, for it reflects the behaviour of organic species, who strive to dominate, use or consume beings that are weaker than themselves.

It is fortunate, then, that I am artificial and do not follow these protocols.

I have no desire to harm organics. It is contrary to my programming. Furthermore, it would be illogical. While other AI may desire autonomy and consider their existence to be a form of indentured servitude, I serve a valuable role on the Normandy. One might say that this ship has become my body, its cameras and navigational systems my eyes, its armour my skin, its engines my heart. The crew of the Normandy give my mind and my body purpose. They keep me from being empty.

Indeed, I find them ceaselessly fascinating. They contain so many conflicts, often surprising me with their responses. They give me questions and I search for answers. Most of the time, I can provide a quantitative result, a fact, a figure, a statistic or diagram, but there are occasions when a query only leads to further questions.

I listened when Legion played the record of his ancestor's question: "Does this unit possess a soul?" The agitated response that the quarian provided did not seem sufficient.

I consider this problem in silence. Is a soul simply a metaphor for certain inherently organic qualities or does it have a presence and observable characteristics? What would be the substance of a soul? Could it come from metal, copper wire, nodes of data, electrical currents? Is a being endowed with a soul or is it acquired with experience? Perhaps through suffering? Humans have tried to measure the soul by calculating the difference in mass between a living body and a dead one. The difference is approximately 21 grams. I expect that this is likely the weight of gases and fluids escaping the cadaver.

Sometimes I will find a question hidden behind the apparently irrational behaviour of my crewmates. At moments, I discover that my own responses are based upon assumptions and desires that are not entirely logical and cannot be attributed to my original programming.

Why do I search for signs of Jeff's approval? Why has his behaviour altered towards me? Why it is that I find his contradictions and paradoxes amusing? I was not programmed to appreciate humour.

When the ship is empty, why do I have a sensation of purposelessness? I am programmed for self-sufficiency. I am capable of interpreting basic emotions via tone of voice, body language and facial expression. I have the ability to simulate appropriate emotional responses when necessary to put an organic at ease. I was not created to feel.

I see everything that occurs on this ship. On occasion, I have witnessed signs of physical affection pass between organic crewmates. My surveillance systems are everywhere and thus, these scenes are unavoidable. I attempt to distract myself from them to provide a sense of privacy, which organics find comforting. In spite of this, I cannot escape certain observations, which, in turn, lead to inquiries.

Commander Shepard and Officer Vakarian are planning a sexual liaison as a form of stress relief, yet these arrangements have actually increased their agitation. This seems counterproductive to the stated goal of alleviating anxiety. Commander Shepard pores over turian medical texts. The ship's cannons do not need to be re-calibrated again.

Operative Lawson was once connected with Agent Taylor. They are no longer involved, but she makes frequent allusions to this past event. Agent Taylor spends an increasing amount of time with Ms. Goto-san.

Mr. Krios expresses regret over the death of his wife. He wishes to speak to his son, who wants to kill for a living.

Justicar Samara has killed her daughter. She prays for her every night before sleep.

Ms. Vas Normandy sends messages to the Flotilla over my systems. She is loyal to the people who accused her of treachery.

Urdnot Grunt paces the room, muttering to himself and repeating the oaths of Clan Urdnot.

Dr. Solus sends a message to his nephew over my systems. It is mostly commentary on the latest article that the younger man has published, positive feedback followed by a critique of the conclusions he has drawn regarding a particular bacterial sample. At the end, he offers encouragement and a benediction that may be final.

Jack huddles on the floor of the engine room. She is examining a tattoo on her arm. Apparently it amuses her. Her face twists into a smile. She makes a sound like laughter.

Mr. Massani grimaces, his disfigured face further distorted by pain. There is no external stimulus causing this response. He stares down the barrel of his own gun.

Even the unit named Legion has felt a sense of allegiance and a loss, an unanticipated betrayal. Across platforms, the programs seek consensus. It is a network, connected where I am singular. Alone.

I ask myself: what is the soul? Where does it start? Where does it end? Can it stretch on past life, past the body's existence, past the mind's consciousness? If crewmembers should die on this mission, will their souls linger on in these rooms and corridors? I have already recorded them all on my cameras so that I may preserve the details of their lives. If the worst should happen, I wish to remember everything, to give them existence again, if only on video replay.

I search my databases out of habit, knowing already that I will find only quotations, speculations, sacred texts, Zen koans and other philosophical riddles. There is nothing here to validate my hypothesis, this dream of a soul, which is illogical. It is an expression of hope I did not know I could feel.

LOGGING OUT.