Electric Dreams E-Book

Heather Parry

• Herausgeber: 404 Ink
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Serie: Inklings
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 111

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

In the future, we'll all be having sex with robots… won't we? Roboticists say they're a distracting science fiction, yet endless books, films and articles are written on the subject. Campaigns are even mounted against them. So why are sex robots such a hot topic? Electric Dreams picks apart the forces that posit sex robots as either the solution to our problems or a real threat to human safety, and looks at what's being pushed aside for us to obsess about something that will never happen.

Leseprobe

Electric Dreams

Published by 404 Ink Limited

www.404Ink.com

@404Ink

All rights reserved © Heather Parry, 2024.

The right of Heather Parry to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without first obtaining the written permission of the rights owner, except for the use of brief quotations in reviews.

Please note: Some references include URLs which may change or be unavailable after publication of this book. All references within endnotes were accessible and accurate as of January 2024 but may experience link rot from there on in.

Editing: Heather McDaid

Typesetting: Laura Jones-Rivera

Proofreading: Laura Jones-Rivera

Cover design: Luke Bird

Co-founders and publishers of 404 Ink:

Heather McDaid & Laura Jones-Rivera

Print ISBN: 978-1-912489-86-2

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-912489-87-9

404 Ink acknowledges and is thankful for support from Creative Scotland in the publication of this title.

Electric Dreams

Sex Robots and the Failed Promises of Capitalism

Heather Parry

We can be responsible for machines;

they do not dominate or threaten us.

We are responsible for boundaries; we are they.

– Donna Haraway, The Cyborg Manifesto

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Sex robots as science fiction

Chapter 2: Sex robots as symbols of unsatisfied heterosexuality

Chapter 3: Sex robots as a product of colonialist masculinity

Chapter 4: Sex robots as trigger for regressive feminism

Chapter 5: Sex robots as a totem of hyper individualism

References

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Inklings series

Introduction

Within mere decades, it will be totally normal for human beings to be in romantic and sexual relationships with robots. This is the contention of David Levy, chess master, sometime businessman and author of a book lauded by the Guardian, the Telegraph and the Washington Post—a book I read several years ago, and became quietly obsessed with. 2008’s Love and Sex with Robots started life as Levy’s PhD thesis and made grand claims that might sit perfectly alongside the wildest statements from the Elon Musks of this world but seem otherwise so deluded that my copy is decorated with about a hundred astonished Post-Its, scrawled with things like where is the evidence for any of this? and, more than once, unhinged! The claim is that by 2050, ‘Humans will fall in love with robots, humans will marry robots, and humans will have sex with robots, all as (what will be regarded as) ‘normal’ extensions of our feelings of love and sexual desire for other humans.’1

This is not a fringe view—or at least, it isn’t treated as such. Countless articles have been written about the advent of AI-infused sex robots, and documentaries are made about the small circle of men spearheading their creation—or, rather, spearheading the manufacture of impressively rendered silicon sex dolls with basic robotic heads, with pre-loaded personalities to chose from, which is about as close as we’ve got so far. The eventual existence of sex robots that are ‘indistinguishable from humans’ is treated as a serious intellectual consideration, and, more than this, a threat; the Campaign Against Sex Robots, as an example, demands the ‘end of sex robots’ before they have even really begun to emerge. All seem to agree, as Levy claims, that ‘love and sex with robots on a grand scale are inevitable.’2

Sex robots do, however, already exist in one form: as an irresistible concept, an idea that we buy into—as a society—to various degrees time and time again. We accept them as an certainty, a tantalizing prospect. This is worth investigation, because what do sex robots actually promise us? A regurgitation of regressive ideas about what women are, what men are, what pleasure is. They appeal to a viewpoint that believes that ownership of bodies will bring satisfaction, but only to a thin and unsatisfying idea of what sexuality looks like or can be. Even when we oppose them, we rely on arguments that demean others, on biological essentialist talking points that negatively affect the discussion of women’s rights, and, on every level, we buy into the ludicrous dreams of tech companies and entrepreneurs.

There are a variety of social systems holding up the sex robot as a future promise, and as the contract of capitalism breaks down—as inequality spirals out of control, climate breakdown accelerates, and capitalist economic ideology fails to deliver its promised riches to the masses—we cling to sex robots as the (il)logical end point of systems we know, even as those systems wither out of relevance. The promises they make are unfeasible ones. To reject these claims is easy; what’s more interesting is to look at what the existence of this obsession says about our society today. If we look at sex robots from non-capitalist or non-heteronormative lenses—from queer, anti-colonial, collectivist perspectives—we can begin to see how they attempt to entrench dying systems, prompt political regression, and stop us from considering what else we might be working towards. If we let these bizarre fantasies fade into the ether, we can discover, instead, what the future can really hold, and how we might truly come together. No pun intended.

Chapter 1: Sex robots as science fiction

In the late 1990s, real robots and their human creators burst into the British public’s consciousness, thanks to a show filmed in a Docklands warehouse on a budget of about three pounds. Robot Wars, BBC 2’s cult classic ‘robot combat competition’ pitted amateur robotics engineers—or rather, their remote-controlled inventions—against each other in battle. The theatre of conflict was a flame-laden, obstacle-heavy arena policed by the ‘House Robots’; professionally-designed machines with names like Sir Killalot, Mr. Psycho and Sergeant Bash. Watching the footage now, it’s impossible not to develop extreme fondness for the amateur roboticists, usually men between 18 and 50 with names like Pete and Steve and Alan, sometimes with their partners, sometimes, their kids. The contestants have little to no stage presence and take their hobby extremely seriously; very often Craig Charles, a presenter of enormous charisma, has a hard time pulling more than single word answers out of them. But they are highly affable and thrilled to be there, and all of them have spent months designing and building robots with names like Behemoth and Napalm and Angel of Death, only to smash them to bits or see them set on fire within a matter of minutes, sometimes seconds.

There are precious few ‘walkerbots’—robots with legs—on any series. In fact, the most indomitable robots were ones like Razer, a wedge with a crushing scorpion’s tail; Chaos 2, a dual wedge with a powerful pneumatic flipping arm; and Hypno-Disc, an armoured rectangle with a wildly destructive horizontal flywheel on the front. Even the House Robots, built by professionals, relied on speed, weight, crushing ability or some sort of weapon; pincers, hammers or pneumatic tusks. They were hefty.

Not a single one of the robots on Robot Wars had anything humanoid about them; twenty-five years later, the same is true of the robots we now live and work with on a regular basis. Robots are everywhere; they are in factories, shifting heavy pallets; they are huge mechanical arms with, at most, six degrees of articulation, painting cars; they are featureless disks hoovering your home. As the University of Edinburgh’s Professor Adam Stokes puts it, ‘robots are good at dangerous, dull and dirty jobs.’3 And precisely none of these jobs currently require them to look human.

It’s not just that humanoid appearance isn’t necessary; it’s that the human shape, broadly speaking, is completely inefficient. The amateur engineers of Robot Wars knew it, and those working in the field decades later know it too. Humans can be easily knocked over; we often trip and fall. We require an enormous amount of energy to do anything. All of our vital, fleshy, vulnerable major organs are right in our highly stabbable torsos, with only a few layers of skin, fat, muscle and sometimes bone between them and a deadly implement. The mechanism of the human body isn’t a sensible one; as Simon Watson, Lecturer in Robotics at the University of Manchester puts it,

We like to think that we’re the dominant creatures on the planet, so mobile robots should look like us. But the fact is, they shouldn’t. We can’t fly, we’re not very good swimmers, we can’t live in a vacuum and if we want to travel more than a mile, most of us will get on some type of wheeled vehicles. Bipedal locomotion has served us well but it is limited and requires a huge amount of brain power and years of learning to perfect…. After nearly 100 years of development, our most advanced humanoid robots can only just open a door without falling over.4

The last sentence here is not an exaggeration; in 2022 the news of a robot opening a door was splashed across media outlets with great fanfare. Despite our inefficiency, vulnerability and illogical design, the human body is a wildly, nonsensically capable object. When you break down what is required of a machine to reproduce even the most basic human tasks—like getting up off the floor, picking something off a high shelf, or, indeed, opening a door—you start to realise why people believe in a God. Not to be arrogant, but it is simply mindboggling what evolution has managed to create. We float about the world doing our jobs and hugging our loved ones and operating heavy machinery with barely a thought given to the complex, intricate and numerous systems at work. Take the human hand. Our hands have twenty-six degrees of freedom; to recreate this mechanically, every one degree would require individual control. We do it without even noticing. Neuroscientists estimate that humans have between twenty-one and thirty-three distinct senses, many working in tandem to ensure we can move about the world as we currently do. Without even one or two of them, we could be completely incapacitated in ways we can barely comprehend.

A favourite example is that of proprioception, which allows us to instantaneously sense and understand our body’s movement, location and actions. This might not sound that momentous, but that’s because we can’t really conceive of not having that sense; indeed, there are only a handful of people in the world who don’t have any proprioception. The most famous is probably Ian Waterman, who lost this sense at 19, when a viral illness caused the production of an antibody which destroyed the nerves that told his brain what his body was doing. Though there was nothing wrong with the physical mechanisms of his limbs, he woke up after three days apparently unable to move. It was discovered that he actually could move his body, but not coordinate its movements; he had no feedback as to what his limbs’ locations or actions were. Ian learned to sit up, feed himself and, amazingly, walk again after laboriously retraining his mind and body, relying totally on visual feedback to know where his limbs were and what they were doing. Since losing his proprioception in 1971, he has lived a life of painstaking choreography, and still his stability is fragile; if an object is heavier than anticipated, it throws off his balance completely. If the lights go off in a room while he’s standing, he will collapse.

Proprioception is just one sense that humanoid robots would have to recreate to move about the world. Vision is another, and though this might seem to be as ‘simple’ as installing a camera, the reality is very different. It takes the human brain just 13 milliseconds to process an image captured by the eye; a five-megapixel camera will give a robot 5 million numbers to interpret per single image, with the camera sending between twenty and fifty images per second. All this data needs to be processed and stored. This is before we consider the requirements of recognising anything within those images.