Robots have no empathy
It’s October 15th, 1940, 411 days from the day Germany invaded Poland and in doing so, sadly put to bed the idea that last World War was “The war to end all wars”.
Those 411 days were eventful to say the least. During those dark days Britain sends troops to France as part of the British Expeditionary Force only to have to evacuate them in retreat at Dunkirk. A military defeat yes; but also, a moral victory, a demonstration of resilience in the face of overwhelming odds and proof that you might lose the battle but the war? To be decided…
Winston Churchill replaces Neville Chamberlain whose effort at appeasement had failed and just in time for him to deliver his iconic “We shall fight them on beaches” speech to the house of commons.
Thankfully for the British the fighting on the beaches never occurs because “so many owe so much to so few” following the Battle of Britain and the heroics of the British Air Force aided the stiff upper lip of ordinary men, women and children during the Blitz.
Across the pond, the USA watches the unfolding conflict with a mixture of concern and hesitation. America, while increasingly supportive of Britain is officially neutral.
It is a country still recovering from the economic devastation of the Great Depression and although there is great sympathy for Britain, public opinion favours staying out of the war. After all the last time the USA sent its soldiers over to Europe to fight ‘someone else’s war was meant to be the last time.
Hollywood, though cautious about making overtly anti German films for fear of losing profits in the lucrative German market begins producing films sympathetic to the Allied cause.
It is this moment in time, that the greatest silent movie star, British born, USA based Charlie Chaplin, decides to utter his first words in the movie ‘The Great Dictator’.
The Great Dictator could be summed up as a film about our better selves verse our shadow self.
In "The Great Dictator," Chaplin plays a dual role: a simple formerly amnesic barber with newly acquired memories of his life during the First World War, and his doppelganger, a war-hungry dictator named Hynkel.
Through a series of mishaps and mistaken identities, these two worlds collide. The simple barber, mistaken for the ‘great’ dictator, is thrust into the spotlight at a crucial moment, just after the dictator orders the invasion of a neighbouring country.
As the country’s soldiers prepare to march into the neighbouring country, Chaplin as our unlikely hero finds himself addressing a sea of expectant faces with the weight of history on his shoulders.
It's at this pivotal moment, with the world holding its breath, that Chaplin – embodying both the innocent barber and his tyrannical lookalike – prepares to deliver a speech that will echo through the ages.
Chaplin most famous known as the silent Little Tramp of the past is silent no more. Instead with his newfound voice he challenges the very foundations of fascism and appeals to the better angels of the soldiers’ and our nature.
In this moment, the film becomes a powerful allegory for the conflict between our better selves and our shadow selves, mirroring the global struggle unfolding beyond the silver screen.
30,611 days (around 84 years) have passed since the film opened and yet the speech stills resonates as much today as it did then.
Perhaps no more so than near the end of the 3-minute speech where he appeals directly to the shared humanity of the soldiers…
“…The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress: the hate of men will pass, and dictators die and the power they took from the people, will return to the people and so long as men die liberty will never perish. . .
Soldiers: don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you, who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you as cattle, as cannon fodder.
Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts. You are not machines. You are not cattle. You are men. You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don't hate, only the unloved hate. Only the unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers: don't fight for slavery, fight for liberty.”
But is the coming world of AI set to be a world of machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts? Chaplin's words, originally aimed at the dehumanizing forces of fascism, now echo with an uncanny resonance in our digital age.
As we stand on the precipice of an AI revolution, we find ourselves grappling with questions that Chaplin's barber could scarcely have imagined. The machines of our time don't march in lockstep or wear uniforms, but they infiltrate our lives with algorithms and data, reshaping the very fabric of human interaction.
Yet, in this brave new world of artificial intelligence, we find ourselves returning to a fundamental truth that Chaplin so eloquently expressed: the irreplaceable value of human empathy. While AI can process vast amounts of data, make lightning-fast calculations, and even mimic human behaviour, it lacks the ineffable quality of genuine empathy - the ability to truly understand and share the feelings of another.
This empathy, this quintessentially human trait, is what separates us from the "machine men with machine minds and machine hearts" that Chaplin warned against.
It's the wellspring of our creativity, our compassion, and our capacity for moral reasoning. As we hurtle towards a future increasingly shaped by AI, we must hold fast to this core of our humanity.
But how do we preserve and nurture this empathy in an increasingly digital world?
Perhaps the answer lies in the very medium through which Chaplin delivered his message: Art.
Art, in all its forms, serves as a mirror to our humanity, reflecting our joys, our sorrows, our fears, and our hopes. It challenges us to see the world through different eyes, to feel what others feel, to understand experiences beyond our own. In short, it cultivates empathy.
From Chaplin's silent films to today's immersive virtual reality experiences, art has always been at the forefront of technological innovation. Yet, it remains deeply, irrevocably human. It's a testament to our ability to use tools - even digital ones - to express the full spectrum of human emotion and experience.
As we navigate the complex terrain of an AI-augmented world, we would do well to remember Chaplin's impassioned plea. We are not machines. We are not cattle. We are humans, with the love of humanity in our hearts. And it is this love, this empathy, nurtured and expressed through art, that will allow us to harness the power of AI while retaining our essential humanity.
In the end, the beautiful world Chaplin envisioned - a world of abundance, fairness, and progress - can only be built by beings capable of imagining it. And that imagination, that ability to envision a better future and work towards it, is the product of our uniquely human empathy.
As we stand at this crossroads of human and artificial intelligence, let us not forget the power of art to remind us of our shared humanity.
For in that shared humanity lies our greatest strength, our deepest wisdom, and our brightest hope for the future.
And here's the truth that Chaplin's barber understood that we must never forget: Robots have no empathy. They cannot feel the warmth of a loving embrace, shed a tear at a beautiful sunset, or be moved by the plight of a stranger. But we can. We do.
This empathy - this profound ability to understand and share the feelings of another - is our gift, our burden, and our responsibility.
It's what makes us human. It's what allows us to create art that moves hearts and changes minds. It's what enables us to build bridges across divides, to heal wounds, and to dream of a better world.
As we forge ahead into this brave new world of artificial intelligence, we carry with us this uniquely human trait. And herein lies our greatest opportunity: we have the power to imbue our creations with the very essence of what makes us human. We can teach our machines not just to think, but to care.
But to do so, we must first hold fast to our own humanity. We must nurture our empathy, celebrate our diversity, and cherish our shared experiences. We must continue to create art that speaks to the soul, that challenges us to see the world through others' eyes, that reminds us of our common bonds.
For in the end, the machines we create will be a reflection of ourselves. If we approach their development with empathy, with wisdom, and with a deep appreciation for the complexity of human experience, we can create a future where technology enhances rather than diminishes our humanity.
So let us heed Chaplin's call. Let us fight not for slavery to our machines, but for the liberty to be fully, gloriously human. Let us use our uniquely human gift of empathy to guide our technological progress, to inform our artificial intelligences, and to create a world of true abundance, fairness, and beauty.
