Gamma Ray Magazine

GAMMA RAY: How would you define
the term science fiction? How is science
fiction integrated into our society?
DAVID BRIN: Many have tried to define
science fiction, most often focusing
on the “science” part, which is terribly
misleading. I like to call it the literature
of exploration and change. While other
genres obsess upon so-called “eternal
verities,” SF deals with the possibility that
our children may have different problems
and priorities. They may, indeed, be very
different than we have been, as we today
are very different than our forebears.
Change is the salient feature of our age.
All creatures live embedded in time,
though only humans seem to lift their
heads to comment on this fact, lamenting
the past or worrying over what’s to come.
Our brains are uniquely equipped to
handle this temporal skepsis. Twin neural
clusters that reside just above our eyes—
the prefrontal lobes—appear especially
adapted for extrapolating ahead.
Meanwhile, swathes of older cortex can
flood with vivid memories of yesterday,
triggered by the merest sensory tickle, as
when a single aromatic whiff sent Proust
back to roam his mother’s kitchen for
80,000 words. The crucial thing about
SF is not the furniture. Anne McCaffrey
wrote real science fiction about… dragons!
And despite lasers, Star Wars is pure
fantasy, because it assumes a changeless-endless
cycle of rule by demigods.
Crucially, Anne’s feudal-style dragon
riders discover they used to fly starships.
And they want… them… back.
Does science fiction predict change or
simply present a possibility of change?
Most SF authors deny trying to “predict.”
The future is a minefield and surprise
is the explosive. That is not to say we
shouldn’t note when an author gets
something right. My own fans keep a wiki
tracking my score—hits and misses—from
near future extrapolations like EARTH
and EXISTENCE. Still, what we truly
aim for are “plausibilities.” These are
possible eventualities that might rattle any
sense of comfy stability in the onrushing
realm, just beyond tomorrow. Elsewhere I
go into the importance of self-preventing
prophecies—SF tales that have quite possibly
saved our lives and certainly helped
save freedom, by inoculating a definitely
NOT-sheep-like public with heightened
awareness of some potential danger.
Among the greatest of these were Dr.
Strangelove, Soylent Green, and Nineteen
Eighty-Four, all of which helped
make the author’s vivid warning somewhat
obsolete through the unexpected miracle
that people actually listened.
If you could re-write Isaac Asimov’s
Three Laws of Robotics, what would you
change and what would you add? (Given
that, in their very nature, they become
contradictory.) What is your “ideal” AI
being, if any?
Well, I did my best to “channel” Isaac in
my novel FOUNDATION’S TRIUMPH,
which tied together most of the loose ends
still dangling when he passed from the
scene. There are several problems with
Isaac’s epochally interesting Three Laws,
foremost of which is that there’s just no
demand for companies and researchers
to put in the hard labor of implementing
such rigid software instructions. Then
there’s the logically inevitable end point
to the Three Laws. Once they get smart,
some computers or robots will become
lawyers, and interpret things their own
way. Asimov showed clever machines
formulating a zeroth law: A robot may
not harm humanity, or by inaction, allow
humanity to come to harm. This was
extrapolated chillingly by Jack Williamson
in The Humanoids, in which machines
decide that service means protection,
and protection means preventing us from
taking any risks at all. “No, no, don’t use
that knife, you might hurt yourself.” Then
a generation later, “No, no, don’t use that
fork.” Then, “Don’t use that spoon. Just
sit on this pillow and we’ll do everything
for you.” As it happens, I consult for a
number of groups and companies working
on AI (artificial intelligence), and I keep
pointing out that there is just one known
example of intelligence so far in the cosmos.
Moreover, there is a way of handling
your creations so that they are likely to be
loyal to you, even if they’re much smarter.
It’s a tried and true method that worked
for quite a few million people who created
entities smarter than themselves in times
past—transforming them into beings who
are stronger, more capable, and sometimes
more brilliant than their parents can
imagine. The technique is to raise them as
members of your civilization. Raise them
as our children.
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