In today's society, privacy is closely guarded. People rationalize who and how they share information. Does it make sense then that we so easily invest our security and, more importantly, our emotions in machines? We do it everyday when we hop onto our computer or use our phone to check email and reach out to friends, co-workers and family. In fact, automation plays an integral part of our social existence and when pushed, most of us would admit that we are deeply invested in the operation of all kinds of machines. My blog and your reading it are a simple case in point.
So when or where do we draw the line? How do we interact with each other and are these interactions meaningful? I posed this question in my last blog entry, not quite sure how I felt about the use of robots in eldercare. Undoubtedly, the answers to these questions are complicated. They shape our personal and social values about how we should care for each other. Arguably, they define our humanness and what we believe. Can robots provide a substitute for human caregiving and can people who suffer from alzheimer's truly benefit by interacting with robots? On both counts I wonder if we are traversing a slippery slope or participating in a game of Russian roulette.
Over time, machinery has played an increasingly invaluable role in caregiving for the elderly and the sick. We utilize various types of automation or machinery, whether it be in the diagnosis of a condition to keeping the blood flowing through the arteries to sustain life. We continue to develop new ways of improving the quality of life. So don't robotics simply add to our arsenal of tools to care for the aged and the sick?
Unfortunately I believe the relationship that develops from this kind of interaction is counter-intuitive to what it means to be truly human. In the immediate short term, elderbots may solve the problem of companionship and some perfunctory nursing jobs like helping a physically challenged person to be dressed, fed or changed. What is lost in this equation however is our responsibility to care for each other and to preserve our "humanness" on so many levels. When you think about the fraudulent exchange, using a computer to keep someone company or to alleviate the lonliness or fear of alzheimer's patients, I don't think the interaction has the same value. We may not be lonely but we are essentially alone without human interaction. Artificial intelligence is just that - artificial.
Consider the following scenario: if you could leave your father who suffers from dementia in the care of a robot that could Skype you at work and keep you informed when your father falls or has a medical emergency, would this really satisfy your father's caregiving needs? Even if a robot could calm him down like a real nurse when he becomes agitated and disoriented, would this provide him with a level of human dignity equal to what he deserves, having been your caregiver for the years that you were growing up and struggling to establish a life for yourself? Or are you buying a robotic babysitter that eases the guilt or difficulties you experience as his caregiver?
What happens when both your father and you become emotionally invested in this machine? Does it matter that your father doesn't really know the difference and the robot can keep him company when you are not available? I can't imagine a world where the dynamics of the human condition depend on robots to keep us satiated. The pain of living and all of the imperfections in our human condition are what define us. Our ability to care for one another will always be fundamentally flawed and full of difficulty. The personal care and respect that we give to each other, despite its flaws, matters more than working out the glitches of substitute nurses that are not capable of real, human interaction.
So when or where do we draw the line? How do we interact with each other and are these interactions meaningful? I posed this question in my last blog entry, not quite sure how I felt about the use of robots in eldercare. Undoubtedly, the answers to these questions are complicated. They shape our personal and social values about how we should care for each other. Arguably, they define our humanness and what we believe. Can robots provide a substitute for human caregiving and can people who suffer from alzheimer's truly benefit by interacting with robots? On both counts I wonder if we are traversing a slippery slope or participating in a game of Russian roulette.
Over time, machinery has played an increasingly invaluable role in caregiving for the elderly and the sick. We utilize various types of automation or machinery, whether it be in the diagnosis of a condition to keeping the blood flowing through the arteries to sustain life. We continue to develop new ways of improving the quality of life. So don't robotics simply add to our arsenal of tools to care for the aged and the sick?
Unfortunately I believe the relationship that develops from this kind of interaction is counter-intuitive to what it means to be truly human. In the immediate short term, elderbots may solve the problem of companionship and some perfunctory nursing jobs like helping a physically challenged person to be dressed, fed or changed. What is lost in this equation however is our responsibility to care for each other and to preserve our "humanness" on so many levels. When you think about the fraudulent exchange, using a computer to keep someone company or to alleviate the lonliness or fear of alzheimer's patients, I don't think the interaction has the same value. We may not be lonely but we are essentially alone without human interaction. Artificial intelligence is just that - artificial.
Consider the following scenario: if you could leave your father who suffers from dementia in the care of a robot that could Skype you at work and keep you informed when your father falls or has a medical emergency, would this really satisfy your father's caregiving needs? Even if a robot could calm him down like a real nurse when he becomes agitated and disoriented, would this provide him with a level of human dignity equal to what he deserves, having been your caregiver for the years that you were growing up and struggling to establish a life for yourself? Or are you buying a robotic babysitter that eases the guilt or difficulties you experience as his caregiver?
What happens when both your father and you become emotionally invested in this machine? Does it matter that your father doesn't really know the difference and the robot can keep him company when you are not available? I can't imagine a world where the dynamics of the human condition depend on robots to keep us satiated. The pain of living and all of the imperfections in our human condition are what define us. Our ability to care for one another will always be fundamentally flawed and full of difficulty. The personal care and respect that we give to each other, despite its flaws, matters more than working out the glitches of substitute nurses that are not capable of real, human interaction.