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Steven Pinker -- How the Mind Works - Hampshire High Italian ...

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148 J HOW THE MIND WORKSbehavior, <strong>the</strong> only thing left missing by <strong>the</strong> lack of a <strong>the</strong>ory of sentiencewould be an understanding of sentience itself.But saying that we have no scientific explanation of sentience is not<strong>the</strong> same as saying that sentience does not exist at all. I am as certainthat I am sentient as I am certain of anything, and I bet you feel <strong>the</strong>same. Though I concede that my curiosity about sentience may never besatisfied, I refuse to believe that I am just confused when I think I amsentient at all! (Dennett's analogy of unexplained wetness is not decisive:wetness is itself a subjective feeling, so <strong>the</strong> observer's dissatisfaction isjust <strong>the</strong> problem of sentience all over again.) And we cannot banish sentiencefrom our discourse or reduce it to information access, becausemoral reasoning depends on it. The concept of sentience underlies ourcertainty that torture is wrong and that disabling a robot is <strong>the</strong> destructionof property but disabling a person is murder. It is <strong>the</strong> reason that <strong>the</strong>death of a loved one does not impart to us just self-pity at our loss but<strong>the</strong> uncomprehending pain of knowing that <strong>the</strong> person's thoughts andpleasures have vanished forever.If you bear with me to <strong>the</strong> end of <strong>the</strong> book, you will learn my ownhunch about <strong>the</strong> mystery of sentience. But <strong>the</strong> mystery remains a mystery,a topic not for science but for ethics, for late-night dorm-rbom bullsessions, and, of course, for one o<strong>the</strong>r realm:On a microscopic piece of sand that floats through space is a fragment ofa man's life. Left to rust is <strong>the</strong> place he lived in and <strong>the</strong> machines heused. Without use, <strong>the</strong>y will disintegrate from <strong>the</strong> wind and <strong>the</strong> sand and<strong>the</strong> years that act upon <strong>the</strong>m; all of Mr. Cony's machines—including <strong>the</strong>one made in his image, kept alive by love, but now obsolete ... in <strong>the</strong>Twilight Zone.

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