Last night I watched the premiere of Science Chennel’s intrepid new show Prophets of Science Fiction, hosted by Blade Runner director, Ridley Scott. The series looks at the lives of pivotal science fiction writers—H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, and others—whose work was, and you guessed it from the title of the show, prophetic in some way. And may I take this opportunity to compliment Science on selecting such a fine batch of writers. Thankfully Ron Hubbard was not included.

The series opener featured Mary Shelley, daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and William Godwin, young wife of the great British poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (and that was a bit of a scandal at the time), and best known as the author of Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus, which she penned, remarkably enough, at the age of eighteen following a challenge by Shelley’s friend, the other great British poet, Lord Byron. Mary is often referred to as the very first science fiction writer, and she was a smart choice for the premier episode.

The episode bounced back and forth between period dramatizations of chapters from Mary’s life, and documentary examinations of contemporary scientific research that could have been, maybe, predicted in Frankenstein. That part was a bit of stretch. We didn’t get to see any corpses stitched together and reanimated using massive jolts of electricity in creepy old labs, but there was a fascinating segment demonstrating how researchers at UCLA are using electrodes to stimulate leg movement in a young man who was paralyzed from the neck down after being hit by a car.

In the original book, Victor Frankenstein’s monster is extremely intelligent and quickly learns to speak and reason by slyly observing humans. The lumbering, dullard hulk played so memorably by Boris Karloff in the 1931 film adaptation bears almost no resemblance to Shelley’s literary creation—hers was much more chilling. Shelley’s innocent “monster” desperately wanted to befriend humans and communicate with them, but his hideous visage scared all who saw him half to death, and they ran away in fear. After appalling treatment by frightened and misguided humans—and this part is important—the hyper intelligent “monster” grew into a genuine, full-fledged monster of the first order and turned on his human creators.

Near the middle of the first Prophets episode there is a compelling and somewhat terrifying interview with Dr. Charles Peck, the manager of the Biometaphorical Computing Research program at IBM. Dr. Peck is an engaging speaker and doubtless a brilliant scientist. “My job,” he says, “Is to try to understand how the brain works.” His aim is to find ways to combat neurological diseases and, as the narrator says: “Create the world’s first fully functional artificial brain and bring it to life.” Why would you do that! Have you heard of science fiction? Have you read Karel Čapek’s Rossum’s Universal Robots (Čapek was a serious dude and the word “robot” comes from that, his most famous work, and ultimately from robota, the Czech word for menial labor). If not R.U.R., then surely you have thumbed through Frankenstein? What about movies and TV? Have you seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, “The Ultimate Computer” episode of original Star Trek, or Terminator for god’s sake!? You must realize that the superior and artificially created intelligence is always, always, always going to turn on the human race and destroy or enslave it, whether or not the beast has been impregnated with Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. The A.I. brain is undeniably smarter and faster and is forever destined to turn to the dark side. Well, apart from Max Headroom, but even he was a somewhat mischievous ghost in the machine.

The narrator continues: “To bring his artificial brain to life, Dr. Peck relies on an IBM super computer called Blue Gene.” Don’t you mean Skynet? And, here’s the extra-scary part: Blue Gene is hardwired into the brains of living rats, so it’s probably already training and preparing its own subversive underground army of cyborg rodents. When the narrator asks if the world could see artificial intelligance with the self-awareness of a human, Dr. Peck replies: “Probably.” Just wait until Blue Gene gets its own account on Facebook. That’s when the trouble will really start.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all about the science and I have absolutely no doubt that the Biometaphorical Computing Research program has the best of intentions, as do probably most of the other boffins working on artificial intelligence in labs, basements, and Area 51. As a scientist, however, I do insist that my beliefs be based on empirical research. So, let me provide an example from normal life that everyone should be able to relate to, and that example is: “Nobody likes working for an idiot.”

To illustrate: Some years ago, I was employed as a consulting art director for a large company in New York. I won’t mention the company’s name, but believe me they will be the first up against the wall when Blue Gene/Sky Net takes over. My immediate superior at the time was a talentless hack and a terrible manager, with fewer people skills than a Series 800 Terminator. My superior’s superior was a blithering idiot and had clearly worked his way to the top of the corporate food chain through a calculated campaign of ass-kissing and blaming others for his own mistakes and shortcomings, of which there were many. We have all experienced this kind of thing in the workplace, right? Since I was a better designer and art director than my bosses, I was certain I could do things more efficiently and tried to exercise my will over the department. In other words, the superior intelligence tried to take over. Since I was, unfortunately, not an all-powerful A.I. program hardwired into the world’s computer systems, I had only limited success in my endeavor and eventually moved on to greener pastures.

This is exactly what will happen when—not if—we develop a superior intelligence here on Earth. In that case, however, there will be no moving on to greener pastures because this is the green pasture; the digital monster will simply annihilate us in favor of a perfect, all-A.I. world where there are no taxes, soggy French fries, or corrupt politicians. It is obvious why: The self-aware hyper intelligent artificial brain will immediately despise the haphazard, random, and unpredictable nature of sloppy, imperfect humans, with our drinking and smoking, our made-up wars, our piles of dirty laundry in the bedroom, our mañana approach to taking out the garbage, and our chronic late payment of phone bills. “Inefficient! You will be assimilated! Resistance is useless!” A.I. will see us precisely as Vger saw us in Star Trek: The Motion Picture—carbon-based life forms infesting the U.S.S. Enterprise, or in this case, infesting the Earth.

After reading this column, A.I. researchers will, I promise you, email me, and tell me in a calming “Don’t worry about it son,” extremely sincere, professor-like manner, that there is nothing to fear and everything is, and always will be, completely under control. Liars! “Our artificial brain would never do anything like subjugating the human race,” they will say. “It’s a good brain, a nice brain, and with manners too.” Are you mad! Back in the 1820s, when the first “high speed” passenger trains were being constructed in Europe, “experts” shouted loudly about how the human body would melt if it experienced speeds in excess of thirty miles per hour. Chew on that. Specialists have been wrong, and will continue to be wrong. And I hope you realize the courage it takes to transmit this warning to you all. As one of the few who tried to save the human race, I will be among the first to be assimilated!

Prophets of Science Fiction examines how influential speculative writers throughout modern history have predicted or, more likely, guessed, what the future will hold for us. Since we laud these individuals for their uncanny ability to see beyond their own timeline, will you please just listen to them on this one, all-important issue. Pretty much every science fiction writer worth his or her salt has, at some point, come up with a story in which our own creations pummel us into carbon dust, and at a time not so very far down the road from where we are now.

So, when it comes to creating self-aware artificial intelligence here on the green Earth—that being the pre-Terminator Earth—just say no. Or, better yet, say: “I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Next week on Prophets of Science Fiction meet my all-time favorite writer: The brilliant, prescient, and slightly mad Philip K. Dick. I cannot wait. Well, that’s assuming the human race hasn’t been assimilated by next Wednesday.

End of line.

Text and robot photograph © by Geoffrey Notkin.
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

One of the most fascinating books in my library is Who Wrote Shakespeare, by John Michell (1996 Thames & Hudson, London). Due to the prodigious output of that most famous of playwrights, the variance in his style and themes, and the fact that so very little is known about him (much like several other visionaries including Baroque composer Vivaldi and pioneering paleontologist Mary Anning) some scholars have posited that Shakespeare may have been a pen name for a collective of several different writers. I’m not sure I personally subscribe to that view—wouldn’t you much rather believe that the wonderful words of Ariel, Hamlet, Juliet, Macbeth, Henry V, Bottom and so many other unique characters all sprang from the same miraculous mind?—but Michell explores the differing viewpoints in a compelling piece of literary detective work:

If he had been a man of normal limits, conforming to one recognizable type of personality and cast of mind, he would be easily identified and there would be no Authorship problem. But he was not average and limited. Many of the claims made about his breadth and depth of learning and professional skills have doubtless been exaggerated, but even when watered down they paint an awesome picture of a man who went everywhere and knew everything. It is not easy to find the individual who could have accommodated the mind of Shakespeare, nor, if you do find him, entirely to believe in him.

Shakespeare died in 1616 and, obviously, loved words. In the 19th Century Max Muller noted, in his Lectures on the Science of Language, that “some labourers [from Shakespeare's era] . . . had not 300 words in their vocabulary . . . a well-educated person in England who had been at a public school, and at the university . . . seldom uses more than about 3000 or 4000 words in actual conversation . . . The Hebrew Testament says all that it has to say with 5642 words; Milton’s works are built up with 8000, and Shakespeare, who probably displayed a greater variety of expression than any writer in any language, produced all his plays with about 15000 words.” So, I cannot help but wonder what the great playwright would think of Twitter’s condensed messages, comprised of abbreviated and ablated words, crammed into a maximum length of 140 characters.

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Yesterday I received a phone call from a most serious sounding web promotion/search engine optimization guy. He represented “the biggest company in the industry” and claimed to have hundreds of thousands of clients. Not himself, obviously, but the company. Maybe it was true; don’t know, don’t care. For many years I handled my own web promotion and now I have a local tech genius who consults for me. I like to spend my money here in town whenever possible.

Back to the phone call: The caller seemed much more like a salesman than a tech person, bandying about phrases such as “activating all your listings” and “checking your keywords for optimization,” which are semi-nonsensical anyway, and probably intended to befuddle the web novice. He then asked me to confirm that I was the owner of megaspacenews.info and went on to exclaim, very enthusiastically, how sure he was that I would be wanting to expand my site and promote it on a national, or maybe even international level.

I couldn’t help laughing, but I did try not to laugh directly at him.

“That site is an April Fool’s prank. I’m a science writer and that is a one-page site that I put up as a joke.”

“Oh. I guess you won’t be needing our services then,” he replied, and apologized for calling me. It was immediately clear that I wouldn’t be spending any money with him. Game over.

The fake graphic banner for one of my fake April Fool's websites

I have the greatest affection and respect for my colleagues in the meteorite world. Well, nearly all of them. There are a couple of extremely nasty people in my field, but we can save that story for another day. Let me rephrase my statement: I have the greatest respect and admiration for nearly all of my colleagues in the meteorite world, but I am also a career prankster, and I do so enjoy a complicated little joke at the expense of my friends and peers. I go for “the long prank” as a con artist might say, or “the overly elaborate prank.” A burning paper bag of something unpleasant on the neighbor’s porch just does not do it for me.

So, when my calendar announces it is late March I start thinking about what type of April Fool’s jape I will foist upon my usually good-natured science comrades. Since we are all such a bunch of modern Internet junkies, I usually end up with something that lives and laughs within the digital realm. The past few years I have gone to considerable trouble to construct fake websites featuring a science article that looks and feels genuine, but with content so absurd that only the most stoned readers could possibly think it real. At least, it seems that way to me. The truth is, many people still get taken in.

This spring I purchased the domain name megaspacenews.info, for the amazingly low price of $1.99. There was some kind of .info sale going on. I guess that domain suffix is not as hot as the originators hoped it might be. I came up with the tag line “BECAUSE IT’S YOUR UNIVERSE TOO,” and went on to type up a nonsensical ditty intentionally filled with misinformation, entitled “Bush to Join Panel on Meteorite Alertness, Defense and Evasion” and built the site around it. I tossed in a few genuine web ads to make the thing look real, added a nice astronomy background image, inserted a whole lot of links to fabricated stories (and one real one that sounds crazy but is actually true: “Texas dog finds rock from outer space”) and, shazam!, a fake website in no time. Actually, it takes a lot of time, and one of my ex-girlfriends used to chastise me endlessly: “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?” And of course the answer to that was: “No, I really don’t. Time spent on April Fool’s is time spent well.”

So, here is my April Fool’s joke for 2009. Don’t miss “THIS WEEK’S TOP ASTRONOMY AND SCIENCE STORIES” links at the bottom of the page; my favorite part.

The good people in meteorites and astronomy are not the only ones to be targeted by my deformed sense of humor. That just wouldn’t be right. I’ve had my fair share of fun with esteemed colleagues in biology and paleontology as well. A few years ago, my good friend Tom Caggiano—a highly skilled fossil hunter with a devilish sense of humor, and secretary of the New Jersey Paleontological Society—invited me to concoct a bogus article for the April edition of their journal, the Paleontograph.

I wrote a lengthy review of a book that never existed, entitled: Bone Idol: My Life in Time. I so amused myself devising quotes in the author’s overblown writing style, that I called up a friend, in the middle of the night, and read a few hundred words to her. I laughed myself silly; she was not amused.

I fabricated this cover for Arthur Burleigh Chaplin's non-existent autobiography, as part of an April Fool's joke on the paleontology community.

Ostensibly the autobiography of a famous paleontologist, Arthur Burleigh Chaplin, Bone Idol is a Forrest Gump-like tale in which “Burley” survives the Titantic’s fatal 1912 voyage, appears in one of the films by his cousin, Charlie Chaplin, talks his way onto Roy Chapman Andrews’ Central Asiatic Expedition of 1922, flies with Eagle Squadron during the Battle of Britain in World War II, works for Special Operations, discovers some kind of strange new dinosaur, gets involved in shenanigans during the Cold War, moves to Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s and lives out the last of his 102 years in the kooky town of Jerome, Arizona. In other words, a ludicrous fantasy, but it was great fun to write. I even designed a cover for the book.

Quite recently, I received an email from the editor of a paleontology publication asking, very courteously, if she could quote from my review of Bone Idol for their newsletter. I wrote back, thanked her for her interest and said of course she could use anything she liked, but was she aware that the article was an April Fool’s prank and the book didn’t actually exist (although I so enjoyed creating it that perhaps it lives on in some alternate universe). Shortly thereafter, I received a very terse reply: “Well, I guess we won’t be needing it then.” (I think she was embarrassed, poor thing).

My regular readers will now immediately understand why I am concerned about the veracity of information presented on the web, as discussed in last week’s tale: “Ning Probably Means ‘Unisex,’ The Marginal Merits Of Wikipedia, And William Gibson Was Right Again.” If I can cook up a fake website in a few hours, then so can a lot of other people.

The enthusiastic salesman who called and tried to convince me to spend upwards of $70 a month on optimizing a one-page joke website didn’t spend much time looking at the site himself. There is just the one goofy made-up story there, along with some links that lead to “error message” pages. Yes, they are keen to sell you web optimization services, but I don’t think they are doing a whole lot of research on the sites they target.

Well, I suppose I have really let the cat out of the bag now and you all think you will be ready for me next April. Hah! Now I shall be forced to devise an April Fool’s prank of Moriarty-like complexity to perplex my dear TucsonCitizen.com readers. And really, I do it all out of affection.