Can a machine think?

I'm going to consider the question, "Can a machine think?" But for this we must first define the meaning of the term "think" ...

A. Turing.

trigger chain

Twice a week, in the evenings, the grandmaster came to the Institute of Cybernetics and played with the electronic machine.

In the spacious and deserted hall there was a low table with a chessboard, a clock and a push-button control panel. The grandmaster sat down in a chair, arranged the pieces and pressed the "Start" button. On the front of the electronic machine, a movable mosaic of indicator lamps lit up. The objective of the tracking system was aimed at the chessboard. Then a short inscription flashed on the matte board. The car made its first move.

It was quite small, this car. It sometimes seemed to the grandmaster that the most ordinary refrigerator was standing opposite him. But this "refrigerator" invariably won. In a year and a half, the grandmaster barely managed to draw only four games.

The machine has never been wrong. The threat of time pressure never hung over her.

The grandmaster tried more than once to knock down the car, making a deliberately ridiculous move or sacrificing a piece. As a result, he had to hastily press the "Surrender" button.

The grandmaster was an engineer and experimented with a machine to refine the theory of self-organizing automata. But at times he was infuriated by the absolute equanimity of the "refrigerator". Even at the critical moments of the game, the machine did not think for more than five or six seconds. Calmly blinking the multi-colored lights of the indicator lamps, she wrote down the strongest possible move. The machine was able to make adjustments for the style of play of its opponent. Sometimes she raised the lens and looked at the person for a long time. The grandmaster was worried and made mistakes...

During the day, a silent laboratory assistant came into the hall. Frowningly, without looking at the machine, he reproduced on the chessboard the games played at different times by outstanding chess players. The lens of the "refrigerator" was extended to failure and hung over the board.

The machine did not look at the laboratory assistant. She recorded information dispassionately.

The experiment for which the chess automaton had been created was drawing to a close. It was decided to organize a public match between man and machine. Before the match, the grandmaster began to appear at the institute even more often. The grandmaster understood that losing was almost inevitable. And yet he stubbornly looked for weaknesses in the game of the "refrigerator". The machine, as if guessing about the upcoming fight, every day played stronger and stronger. She unraveled the grandmaster's most ingenious plans with lightning speed. She smashed his pieces with sudden and exceptional attacks...

Shortly before the start of the match, the car was transported to the chess club and installed on the stage. The grandmaster arrived at the very last minute. He already regretted that he agreed to the match. It was unpleasant to lose to the “refrigerator” in front of everyone.

The grandmaster put all his talent and all his will to win into the game. He chose an opening that he had not yet played with a machine, and the game immediately escalated.

On the twelfth move, the grandmaster offered the car a bishop for a pawn. A subtle, pre-prepared combination was associated with the bishop's sacrifice. The machine thought for nine seconds - and rejected the victim. From that moment on, the grandmaster knew that he would inevitably lose. However, he continued the game - confidently, boldly, risky.

None of those present in the hall had ever seen such a game. It was super art. Everyone knew that the machine always wins. But this time the position on the board changed so quickly and so abruptly that it was impossible to tell who would win.

After the twenty-ninth move, the message “Draw” flashed on the scoreboard of the machine.

The grandmaster looked at the "refrigerator" in astonishment and forced himself to press the "No" button. They shot up, rearranging the light pattern, indicator lights - and froze warily.

At the eleventh minute, she made the move that the grandmaster feared most of all. A swift exchange of pieces followed. The position of the grandmaster worsened. However, the word “Draw” reappeared on the signal board of the car.

The grandmaster stubbornly pressed the "No" button and led the queen into an almost hopeless counterattack.

The tracking system of the machine immediately began to move. The glass eye of the lens stared at the man. The grandmaster tried not to look at the machine.

Gradually, yellow tones began to predominate in the light mosaic of indicator lamps.

They became richer, brighter - and finally all the lamps went out, except for the yellow ones. A golden beam fell on the chessboard, surprisingly similar to warm sunlight.

In tense silence, the hand of the large control clock clicked, jumping from division to division. The car thought. She thought for forty-three minutes, although most of the chess players sitting in the hall believed that there was nothing special to think about and that it was safe to attack with a knight.

Suddenly, the yellow lights went out. The lens, shuddering uncertainly, took its usual position. A record of the move made appeared on the scoreboard: the machine carefully moved the pawn. There was a noise in the hall; many felt that this was not the best move.

Four moves later, the machine admitted defeat.

The grandmaster, pushing back his chair, ran up to the car and jerked up the side shield. Under the shield, the red light of the control mechanism flashed and went out.

A young man, a correspondent for a sports newspaper, made his way onto the stage, which was immediately filled with chess players.

Looks like she just gave in, someone said uncertainly. - She played so amazingly - and suddenly ...

Well, you know, - objected one of the famous chess players, - it happens that even a person does not notice a winning combination. The machine played at full strength, but its capabilities were limited. Only and everything.

The grandmaster slowly lowered the shield of the machine and turned to the correspondent.

So, - he repeated impatiently, opening his notebook, - what is your opinion?

My opinion? - asked the grandmaster. - Here it is: the trigger chain in the one hundred and ninth block has failed. Of course, the pawn move is not the strongest. But now it is difficult to say where is the cause and where is the effect. Maybe because of this trigger chain, the machine did not notice the best move. Or maybe she really decided not to win - and it cost her electrocuted triggers. After all, it is not so easy for a person to break himself ...

But why this weak move, why lose? - the correspondent was surprised. - If a machine could think, it would strive to win.

The grandmaster shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

How to say… Sometimes it is much more humane to make a weak move.

Ready for takeoff!

The lighthouse stood on a high rock, far out into the sea. People appeared at the lighthouse only occasionally to check the automatic equipment. About two hundred meters from the lighthouse, an island rose from the water. For many years I started on an island, as if on a pedestal, they installed spaceship who returned to Earth after a long-distance voyage. It did not make sense to send such ships into space again.

I came here with an engineer who was in charge of lighthouses on the entire Black Sea coast.

When we got to the top of the lighthouse, the engineer handed me the binoculars and said:

There will be a storm. Very fortunate: before bad weather, he always comes to life.

The reddish sun shone dimly on the gray crests of the waves. The rock cut the waves, they went around it and noisily climbed the slippery, rusty stones. Then, with a deep sigh, they spread like foamy streams, opening the way for new waves. This is how the Roman legionnaires advanced: the front row, having struck, went back through the open formation, which then closed and with new force went on the attack.

Through binoculars, I could see the ship well. It was a very old two-seat Long Range Reconnaissance starship. Two neatly patched holes stood out in the bow. A deep dent ran along the hull. The gravity booster ring was split in two and flattened. Cone-shaped seekers of a long-obsolete system and infrasound meteorological observation slowly rotated above the wheelhouse.

You see, - said the engineer, - he feels that there will be a storm.

Somewhere a seagull screamed in alarm, and the sea echoed with the dull beats of the waves. A gray haze, raised over the sea, gradually clouded the horizon. The wind pulled the brightened crests of the waves towards the clouds, and the clouds, overloaded with bad weather, descended to the water. From the contact of the sky and the sea, a storm was supposed to break out.

Well, I still understand this, the engineer continued: - solar panels they feed the batteries, and the electronic brain controls the devices. But everything else ... Sometimes he seems to forget about the earth, about the sea, about storms and begins to be interested only in the sky. A radio telescope comes out, the locator antennas rotate day and night ... Or something else. Suddenly, some kind of pipe rises and begins to look at people. In winter, there are cold winds here, the ship is covered with ice, but as soon as people appear at the lighthouse, the ice instantly disappears ... By the way, algae does not grow on it ...

The sea was advancing on the island. The waves went one after another - and each next was higher and stronger than the previous one. As far as the eye could see, everything was filled with gray waves. Storm lights were lit on the ship.

There you go, you see! said the engineer triumphantly. - Now he will turn on his spotlight. At times it seems to me that he will fly away. He will take it and fly away ... I was here one night, so far ... You see, the moon was rising over the sea, and the ship ... it was really reaching for it. This rough thing, the antennas and some other things right there, behind the cabin, everything was directed towards the moon. Mystic!..

I explained to the engineer that there is no mysticism here. On ships put in perpetual parking, do not turn off the electronic equipment. This is necessary for the ship to take care of itself: take measures against corrosion, icing, prevent the accumulation of dust and dirt, and signal in case of unforeseen danger. It happens that the electronic brain does something that is completely unnecessary: ​​it monitors the moon and stars, registers cosmic radiation, magnetic storms... But a ship cannot fly into space: it has no crew, no fuel, no main units of the gravitational accelerator.

The engineer shook his head doubtfully and asked:

And the pipe? Why is he leading her to the lighthouse?

I didn't have time to answer.

A searchlight moved up over the teardrop-shaped cabin of the ship. A bluish beam easily broke through the pre-storm haze hanging over the sea. Sliding along the shore, the beam rested on the base of the lighthouse, and then rose to the site.

From the bright light, I involuntarily closed my eyes. The spotlight immediately went out.

All lights on the ship were on. They illuminated the black, wave-polished stones of the island and the greenish hull of the starship. A gap appeared in the side of the ship: the doors of the main hatch were moving apart.

This... was not! repeated the engineer excitedly.

He kept his eyes on the binoculars and spoke very loudly, almost screaming. The wind, already gaining strength, hummed in the steel trusses of the lighthouse, and I heard only fragments of phrases:

“For forty years… my predecessors… no one knew…”

Waves washed over the island. But old ship, who had seen the great hurricanes of the Star World, stopped paying attention to the approaching storm. With solemn, even majestic slowness, he did everything that was supposed to be done before takeoff.

A ladder descended from an open hatch. A complex system antennas took the stowed position. In the central part of the hull, short, sharply bent wings moved forward. Gas rudders appeared behind the nozzles of the starting engine. They were bent, these rudders, but they became immaculately the way it was required for a short run through the water. The periscope sensor of the video system (the “pipe” the engineer was talking about) turned to the side high seas. The green light of the start-signal blinked three times, and a scarlet pennant rose above the wheelhouse.

This was the traditional signal: “Ready for takeoff!”

Waves rolled over the island, breakers boiled around the ship. It suddenly seemed to me that the sea was still, and the ship was rushing forward. It seemed to me that the roar of the starting engine was heard. It lasted a few seconds, no more. But I understood why this small, inconspicuous island was chosen for the eternal parking of the ship.

Suddenly, the lights on the starship went out.

We've been waiting a long time. The wind shook the lighthouse platform stronger and stronger.

Need to go! - Leaning towards me, the engineer shouted and wiped his wet face.

Low, above the water itself, a blue-hot lightning flashed. The lingering thunder rumbles merged with the roar of the waves.

The storm has begun.

As we descended the spiral staircase, the engineer said:

The thing is, he was looking for you. He always looked at people, but only today he saw you and opened the hatch.

Why me? I asked. - After all, we were together.

You are dressed in Starfleet uniform, - the engineer answered and repeated with conviction; - Well, yes, you are wearing an astronaut uniform.

It was a very naive idea, but forgivable to a non-specialist. The electronic machines on the old stellar scouts can't tell the difference between people's clothes. Probably, the car found out that a strong storm was coming, and made the simplest decision under these conditions - to take off, to get away from the storm. The ship, of course, could not rise, but nevertheless prepared for takeoff.

After listening to my explanation, the engineer said uncertainly:

Well, perhaps this is how it is ... I do not argue ... However, he has been on this island for forty years. Fourty years! Has nothing spontaneously changed in his electronic memory during this time? ..

I didn't answer the engineer. I was thinking about something else.

The starship was forever chained to the rocks. Other ships passed over him, distant stars rose and set. And if there was anything resembling intelligence in the old coral, what could its sleepless electronic brain be thinking?

For forty years this brain was left to its own devices. Only to himself. And also memories.

First contact

The director of the institute, without looking at the staff gathered in his office, scratched his thick black beard for a long time and finally said gloomily:

My young colleagues, this is a scandal. The purest scandal ever. Even an ultra-scandal.

We will be laughed at.

And what actually happened? - calmly asked a young man in a cowboy shirt.

The director looked at him sadly through large horn-rimmed spectacles with convex lenses:

You, the head of the experimental laboratory, should know this. Yes.

Last night the Martian spoke to the Aristotle.

What... a Martian? - the girl sitting at the window, the head of the department of information-logical machines, said uncertainly.

Don't look at me like that," the director said, pronouncing each syllable clearly.

I'm sane. The "Martian" I'm talking about is capitalized and in quotation marks.

The girl smiled shyly.

Yes, the director continued. - Nobody remembers. Nobody knows what it's all about.

Okay, I'll remind you. Three years ago, my dear colleagues, three goals ago, when you were still students, we set up an experiment. The person who set up this experiment is now working in another city. Yes. It was about whether an astronaut and an intelligent inhabitant of some other planet could understand each other.

Of course, if they meet. I hope you can guess that this problem has a direct bearing on us cyberneticians. Yes. It is related to the problem of coding and transcoding from language to language.

Quite right! - exclaimed the head of the electronic modeling department, putting on horn-rimmed glasses, very similar to the director's glasses. - Now I remember.

Two automata were built that could communicate with each other using acoustic devices. One automaton was called “Erg Noor”, and the other ... and the other - for some reason, “Aristotle”.

That is, how is it "for some reason" ?! - the director was indignant. - It is clear to the child: the greater the distance between intelligent beings, the more difficult it is for them to find a common language. Therefore, the first automaton received all the information, all the knowledge and ideas that, according to historians, Aristotle or his contemporary scientist should have had. And the second ... Yes, there were a lot of troubles with the second machine gun. We tuned it under the supervision of astronomers, biologists, philosophers and these... well, science fiction. It was terribly difficult! How many consultants - so many opinions.

But after all, nothing came of this experience, - the head of the electronic modeling department said cautiously, taking off his glasses that interfered with him.

What does "failed" mean? - the director asked indignantly? - Do you think that at the first meeting "Erg Noop" should have thrown himself on the neck of "Aristotle"? Or maybe you think that they immediately had to put up a fight? ..

The director sternly looked at the hushed employees and suddenly smiled:

Then, three years ago, it also seemed to us that something like this would happen ... - he made a vague gesture with his hand. - First contact. Romance. Yes. But nothing happened. They were silent - and did not want to talk to each other.

Imperfect programming, design errors. Yes. And the machines were handed over to the backup storage. With strict instructions: store carefully! Just in case.

Everything is kept neatly there,” the girl said. - A special room, a constant temperature, cleanliness ... An employee is on duty at night.

Which employee? the director asked quietly. - Allow me to inquire - which employee? - And, without waiting for an answer, he rapped out; - Watchman! The most ordinary watchman! The same watchman, my dear colleagues, whom you respectfully call Uncle Vasya.

Uncle Vasya is very conscientious about his duties, the girl objected.

In good faith,” the director agreed, ruefully stroking his beard. - Even too conscientiously. Yesterday, at eleven at night, he called me and said that these two ... well, "Erg Noop" and "Aristotle" - suddenly started talking. Do you understand, dear colleagues? They started talking. We started arguing.

About what? asked the boy in the cowboy shirt impatiently.

Oh, what are you interested in? the director said very politely. - I foresaw this and that's why I called you yesterday. To you and everyone else. But no one was at home. Yes.

And I came to Uncle Vasya alone. So, "Erg Noop" and "Aristotle" really argued. They screamed at the top of their iron throats. The hall rumbled like a steam hammer!

So the experience was a success! the girl exclaimed. What were they arguing about?

About what? the director asked calmly. - And here's what. "Aristotle" claimed that in the football championship, the team "Wings of the Soviets" would come out on top in group "A". And “Erg Noop”, in a shrill and vibrating voice that one science fiction writer invented for him, stubbornly repeated: “Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense ... 97.6 percent, Son of the Blue Planet for the victory of the Dynamo team. Yes! "Aristotle" poured out the names of the players, referred to sports observers and ... and I ask you not to laugh! the director snapped. - I don't see anything funny in it.

We're not laughing," the girl said. - We try not to laugh. Nothing happened. It's just that these machines are badly programmed, that's all.

You think so? The director turned to her. - Well, I figured it out. Uncle Vasya, who was on duty at the storage facility, read aloud sports newspapers and magazines for three years. He even listened to broadcasts from stadiums. Moreover, some of you liked to go there in the morning. So to speak, to discuss sports news. Yes. And no one remembered that there were cars nearby, albeit old and bad, but cars. No one remembered that automatons have acoustic receivers and, therefore, can ...

Do not be upset, please, - said the young man in the cowboy shirt. - Machine guns are of no value: they are, in fact, not needed. But if you want, you can easily remove this extra information about ... football.

No, no, you need to figure it out, - the girl objected. - Let the machines were considered unsuccessful, unusable. But now… now they are arguing about football. Doesn't this show that a machine can think like a human? That is almost like a person.

The director shook his head.

My young friend, he said sarcastically. - These are the blocks of probability analyzers. But only. How can you say that automatons think when one of them talks about the Wings of the Soviets team, and the other about Dynamo ?! It is clear to the child: Spartak will take the championship. Do you ever go to stadiums?..

Weird question

Anatoly Sergeevich Sklyarov, a thirty-year-old professor of history, comfortably sitting on the sofa, re-read The Three Musketeers for the hundredth time. Cardinal Richelieu summoned d'Artagnan to himself, and this worried Anatoly Sergeevich, although he knew that everything would end well. The cardinal had already handed the patent to the brave Gascon for the rank of lieutenant when a timid knock was heard from behind the wall. Anatoly Sergeevich looked at his watch; it was two a.m. He put down his book and got up from the couch.

The second half of the dacha was rented by a mathematics teacher - a quiet, shy old man. For two weeks, Sklyarov, absorbed in working on an article for a historical journal, exchanged only a few insignificant phrases with his neighbor.

Anatoly Sergeevich lit a cigarette and went to the window. The knock was repeated.

Sklyarov buttoned up his pajamas and went out onto the veranda. The mathematician stood at the door of his room.

Excuse me, please, - he said quickly, seeing Sklyarov. - I decided to disturb you ...

He coughed and fell silent.

What happened, Semyon Pavlovich? asked the professor, looking attentively at his neighbor. The old man, as always, was dressed in a black, carefully pressed suit. But by the tie - too bright and hastily tied - Sklyarov realized that something extraordinary had happened.

Semyon Pavlovich had a very kind face, and now it seemed to Sklyarov especially sweet and kind. The professor thought that old children's doctors have such faces, for whom the main weapon is a wooden stethoscope darkened with time and boundless human kindness.

The mathematician stroked his lush mustache, which still retained its dashing appearance, in embarrassment, and said uncertainly:

Machine ... She will now speak. I waited six months, and now the control light came on. You are a professor, a doctor of sciences, and that is the only reason why I dared at such a late hour… For objectivity…

Sklyarov was about to say that he understood almost nothing about cars. But the old man was excited, and Anatoly Sergeevich did not object.

They went into the room rented by the mathematician. “Yes, it’s not very comfortable,” thought Sklyarov, briefly looking around the room. A table littered with books, an iron bed neatly covered with a gray soldier's blanket, a pot-bellied cupboard with carved legs - everything was shifted to one corner. A lamp hung from the ceiling on a black cord, covered with a sheet of cardboard instead of a lampshade. The chairs were littered with sheets of tattered magazines, boxes of radio components and tools. The room smelled of night dampness and flowers. Along the wall, on the floor, lined up glass jars with blooming roses.

Semyon Pavlovich pointed to the windowsill:

Here, please take a look.

At open window there was a very old SI-235 radio receiver. Sklyarov looked at Semyon Pavlovich in surprise.

It's just a case, - explained the mathematician. He spoke in a whisper, as if afraid the machine would hear him. - The case, you know, doesn't matter. And the car is inside. You sit down please...

He brought Sklyarov a chair, while he himself continued to pace the room. As he talked, he took off and put on his glasses. They were old, too, with round lenses and a metal frame, braided with some kind of flaky brown material.

I assembled it six months ago, - said the mathematician. - Of course, you know that there is a discussion about whether a machine can think. I, of course, do not have the necessary preparation ... No, no, you just do not think that I am going to speak with my opinion. I set up a little experiment... - He smiled shyly: - Maybe experiment is too strong a word. It's just a simple experience, nothing more.

The fact is that Einstein once expressed such an idea ... Here I will quote you as a keepsake: “Whatever the machine does, it will be able to solve any problems, but it will never be able to pose at least one.” Isn't it a deep thought? .. You might think that I have the audacity to argue with Einstein.

He waved his hands in protest: - No, I just set up an experiment. This is the first machine that is specifically designed to pose problems.

Sklyarov no longer listened to mathematics. He looked at Semyon Pavlovich, mechanically nodded his head and thought that the old man did not even suspect how grandiose his experiment was. Anatoly Sergeevich for some reason remembered another teacher - Tsiolkovsky and respectfully asked:

Your machine... could it be useful for astronautics?

The mathematician looked over his spectacles in surprise at Sklyarov.

I don't know, I didn't think about that," he said apologetically. - Of course, to some extent ... Let's say, for exploration of unexplored planets.

Sklyarov interrupted impatiently:

And you haven't shown this car to anyone yet?

Semyon Pavlovich was completely embarrassed. He stood in front of the professor, tall, thin, awkwardly built in an old man's way, rubbing his hands excitedly. Anatoly Sergeevich suddenly became alert. Like any person far from technology, he was sure that discoveries are born only in laboratories equipped with the latest technology. What it consisted of, this last word of technology, he imagined rather vaguely and therefore put a particularly solemn meaning into this concept.

Did you assemble it yourself? he asked carefully.

Yeah, - Sklyarov said vaguely.

For some reason, he remembered d'Artagnan. After Dumas' book, it was easier to believe in the extraordinary. “What if this thing really works?” he thought.

In essence, everything first had an unsightly appearance: a steam locomotive, the first steamboat ...

Even the first cyclotron.”

What question will this… um… machine ask? - he asked. - Anything mathematical?

I don't know, replied the mathematician. - Right, I don't know. She can choose any problem - in mathematics, and, excuse me, in history, and in biology ... Even, so to speak, from the sphere of practical life. It is, figuratively speaking, stuffed with all sorts of information. Of course, I could not fill all its memory myself, but I managed to use ready-made elements. My former student works at the academy, and he helped me get ready-made elements. Of course, they were intended for other purposes, but in this car they are assembled differently. There, you know, a lot is written down.

A dozen encyclopedias, various reference books, textbooks, magazines, newspapers ... Sklyarov wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

Semyon Pavlovich quickly answered:

No, that is, yes ... We will hear Morse code.

Anatoly Sergeevich went up to the car. The sashes of the open window creaked softly.

Somewhere very close, a rooster crowed. A long-drawn-out electric locomotive hummed and suddenly stopped, as if frightened that it had broken the silence of the night.

Tell me, Semyon Pavlovich, - the professor asked, - what kind of problem can there be? I understand that you cannot give a definite answer, but at least approximately.

Believe me, I did not think about it, - the mathematician replied. - The first experience ... Only one thing is important here: that the question posed by the machine should not be meaningless.

Sklyarov heard laughter and shuddered: simple human laughter seemed so strange to him now. Two men were walking along the plank sidewalk along the fence enclosing the garden. They were in no hurry, and from the muffled young voices it was easy to guess that they were a boy and a girl. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. There was a quick, indistinct whisper. The train hummed nervously. It was fast approaching, and the hasty clatter of the wheels swallowed up all the sounds of the night.

Moscow, two forty, - said Semyon Pavlovich. - Shall we begin, if you don't mind?

The professor returned to the chair. He could hardly contain his excitement. Anatoly Sergeevich loved history to oblivion. Maybe that's why it seemed to him that the first problem posed by the machine was bound to be related to history.

Let's begin, Semyon Pavlovich," he said excitedly, and looked around the room. Now everything in this room seemed different to him - significant, even ironic. "Let's start," he repeated.

The mathematician straightened his tie, which had strayed to one side, and, with a noisy sigh, moved the lever protruding from the slot on the front of the machine. Something clicked.

A low hiss was heard.

Sklyarov peered tensely into the case of an old radio receiver. The speaker hissed for a long time, and it began to seem to Anatoly Sergeevich that the experiment had failed. He looked inquiringly at the mathematician and at that moment heard the broken fraction of Morse code. Semyon Pavlovich rushed to write. Sklyarov did not know Morse code and looked impatiently first at the machine, then at the mathematician.

The signals ended as suddenly as they began.

Anatoly Sergeevich jumped up from his chair and ran up to the mathematician. He handed him an uneven strip of paper torn from a newspaper.

She asked a question! So... Do you think this is not a meaningless question?

Sklyarov read what was written. At first, the thought flashed through his mind: “Well, well. Be that as it may, this box has a sense of humor.” Then he thought, “Strange question. A very strange question. What if she… seriously? - and looked suspiciously at the car.

Well, what do you think, professor? Semyon Pavlovich asked with concern in his voice. -

Question... not meaningless?

It's hard for me to judge, - said Sklyarov. - Perhaps, to some extent, the question is natural. For the first time, the machine got the opportunity, on its own ... um ... on its own initiative, to ask a person about something, and now ... Yes, yes, - he said more confidently, - it is quite logical that she started with this very question. For some reason, it is generally accepted that a machine should think somehow ... um ... in a machine way. And if she thinks, then as a person. Do you understand my point? Here is the Moon - it shines by the reflected light of the Sun. So is the car.

Show this car to specialists tomorrow. Do you hear, Semyon Pavlovich?

Be sure to show it to cybernetics. Let them decide. And yet ... keep this piece of paper.

He handed the mathematician a strip of newsprint, on which, under the dots and dashes, one phrase was written in neat handwriting: "Can a person think?"

"The car was laughing..."

(From the diary)

…Today she turned one year old.

I remember well how a year ago we sat here in this room and silently looked at the gray body of the car. At eleven o'clock seventeen minutes I pressed the start key, and the machine began to work.

Work? No, that's not the right word. The machine was intended to simulate human emotions. This is not the first such experience with self-organizing and self-developing machines. But we were based on the latest physiological discoveries and very carefully made all the adjustments recommended by psychologists.

A year ago, I asked my assistants how they thought the experiment would end.

She will fall in love, - answered Korneev.

Very rough model. She will be like a k-extremely limited person.

Boring h-person.

Well, what about you? I asked Belov.

He shrugged.

There are no failures in such experiments. If a machine can imitate human emotions well, we will give biologists interesting material. If it... well, if it doesn't work, biologists will have to reconsider a few things.

This is also helpful.

For two weeks the machine worked excellently, and we got the most valuable data. And then the first surprise happened: the car suddenly had a passion. She became interested in ... volcanoes.

This went on for ten days. The machine harassed us with the classification of volcanoes. She stubbornly typed on tape: Vesuvius, Krakatoa, Kilauea, Sakurajima… She liked the old descriptions of eruptions, especially the story of the geologist Leopold von Buch about the eruption of Vesuvius in 1794. She endlessly repeated this story: “On the night of June 12, there was a terrible earthquake, which was repeated on June 15 at 11 am, with a strong underground shock. The whole sky suddenly lit up with a red flame ... "

Then she forgot about it. I absolutely forgot. She turned off the memory blocks that stored information about volcanoes. Man cannot do such a thing.

The experiment entered a phase of the unforeseen. I told the assistants about this, and Belov replied:

All the better. New facts are more valuable than new hypotheses. Hypotheses come and go, but the facts remain - Nonsense! Antroshchenko said. Facts alone don't give you anything. They are like distant stars...

Please don't touch the stars! Korneev exclaimed.

I listened to their argument, but I was thinking about something completely different. At that moment, I already knew what was going to happen next.

Very soon, my prediction began to come true. It suddenly turned out that the machine hates the constellation Orion and all the stars included in Lacaille's catalog from No. 784 to No.

1265. Why the constellation Orion? Why these particular stars? We could take the car apart and find an explanation. But that meant aborting the experiment. And we gave the car complete freedom. We just connected new elements to the memory blocks and observed the behavior of the machine.

And it was very strange, this behavior. The machine, for example, turned on the yellow light that meant crying when it first learned the structural formula of benzene. The machine did not react in any way to the formula of dinatrisalicylic acid. But the mention of the sodium salt of this acid suddenly infuriated her: the yellow signal turned orange, and then the lamp burned out ...

Music, in general, any information related to art, left the car impassive. But she was amused when nouns of the middle gender of four letters were found in the text of the information. The green signal instantly turned on and the bell began to rattle dejectedly: the car was laughing ...

She worked twenty-four hours a day. In the evening we left the institute, and the electronic brain of the machine continued to process information, change the settings of the logic control units. Surprises awaited us in the morning. One day the machine began to compose poetry. Strange poems: about the fight between "horizontal cats" and "symmetrical meridian"...

Once I arrived at the institute at night. The car was in a dark room. There was only a small purple light on the dashboard, which meant the car was in a good mood.

I stood in the dark for a long time. It was very quiet. And suddenly the machine laughed. Yes, she laughed! A green signal flashed and the bell rang sadly ...

... Now, when I write these lines, the machine laughs again. I am sitting in another room, but the door is ajar and I hear the bell screech. The machine laughs at quadratic equations. She stirs up her huge memory, looks for texts with quadratic equations - and laughs.

Claude Bernard once said: "Do not be afraid of contradictory facts - each of them is the germ of a discovery." But we have too many conflicting facts. Sometimes it seems to me that we simply created an imperfect machine ...

Or is everything right?

Here is my thought:

You can't compare a machine to a person. In our view, robots are almost people endowed with either machine anger or machine superintelligence. Nonsense! A naive question is whether a machine can think. You have to answer “no” and “yes” at the same time. No - for a person's thinking is formed by life" in society. Yes - because the machine can still think and feel. Not as a person, but as some other being. Like a car. And this is neither better nor worse than human thinking, but simply different.

The machine can determine the temperature of the air to the nearest thousandth of a degree, but it will never feel or understand what the wind caressing the skin is like. And a person will never feel what a change in self-induction is, he will never feel the process of magnetization. Man and machine are different.

A machine will only be able to think like a person when it has everything that a person has: a homeland, a family, the ability to humanly feel light, sound, smell, taste, heat and cold ...

But then it will cease to be a machine.

Machine What I fly through the air is called the "Tu-154 medium-range passenger aircraft." But just as in English the word “ship” is feminine, so we, pilots, talk about our native aircraft: “she”, “car”. Our feeder. This alone implies that we