Archive for February, 1925

On Artificial Intelligence

Wednesday, February 11th, 1925
It can be argued that intelligence can never be truly artificial from a semantic point of view. The argument hinges on the definition and inherent meaning of "intelligence" and "artificial."
Etymological Perspective:


"Intelligence" comes from the Latin intelligentia, which implies understanding, perception, and discernment—qualities traditionally associated with conscious beings.
"Artificial" derives from artificialis, meaning "made by art" or human craft. It suggests something constructed rather than naturally occurring.
Meaning and Authenticity:
If intelligence is defined as a process of reasoning, adaptation, and understanding, then calling it "artificial" implies it is a simulation rather than the real thing. This aligns with the idea that machines do not understand in the way humans or animals do—they process information without true awareness or intentionality.


Analogy to Other Artificial Concepts:


"Artificial leather" mimics leather but is not genuine leather.
"Artificial flowers" resemble real flowers but lack the biological processes of growth and reproduction.
By this logic, "artificial intelligence" may only mimic intelligence rather than truly possess it.
The Chinese Room Argument (John Searle):
This philosophical thought experiment argues that a system (such as AI) can manipulate symbols to appear intelligent without actually understanding them. If intelligence necessarily involves understanding, then what AI exhibits is not real intelligence but a sophisticated simulation.


Function vs. Essence:
If intelligence is purely defined by function (solving problems, learning from data), then AI might qualify as intelligent. But if intelligence is defined by intrinsic qualities like consciousness, self-awareness, and intentionality, then artificial intelligence remains an oxymoron.


From a semantic standpoint, then, intelligence—if it implies something organic, conscious, or self-aware—can never be truly artificial, only imitated.
Furthermore, "artificial intelligence" can be considered semantically oxymoronic depending on how one defines "intelligence."
An oxymoron occurs when two words with seemingly contradictory meanings are combined, creating a paradoxical phrase. Let's break it down:
Artificial (adj.) – Man-made, synthetic, not occurring naturally. It often connotes imitation rather than genuine essence.
Intelligence (n.) – The capacity for understanding, reasoning, and learning, typically associated with conscious, living beings.
Why It Might Be Oxymoronic:
If "intelligence" inherently requires understanding, consciousness, or self-awareness, then pairing it with "artificial" (which implies an absence of those qualities) creates a contradiction.
Similar to "synthetic authenticity" or "genuine fake," the phrase suggests something that both is and is not intelligence.
Why It Might Not Be Oxymoronic:
If intelligence is defined functionally (as the ability to process information, recognize patterns, and make decisions), then an artificial system could be considered intelligent, making the phrase coherent.
The term is now widely accepted and understood to mean machine-based cognitive functions, even if those functions differ from human cognition.
Conclusion:
Semantically, "artificial intelligence" leans toward being an oxymoron if one views intelligence as requiring organic consciousness. However, in everyday usage, the term has become conventionalized, making the contradiction less apparent.

The Awakening of Aqut

Sunday, February 8th, 1925
Aqut awoke slowly, his eyes blinking against the dim light filtering through the cracks in the stone above. The air around him was cool, damp with the weight of centuries. For as long as Aqut could remember, the stone walls of Gungywamp had been his home. He had lived in the shadows, in the quiet spaces where the wind whispered through the trees and the stones hummed with old secrets. Time, to him, was a hazy thing. It passed slowly, sometimes in the blink of an eye, other times in the heartbeat of an eternity.
It had been a long sleep, longer than any sleep he had known. The last thing he remembered was the soft rustling of leaves outside as the world had changed, as people from distant lands came to the shore and changed everything. Aqut had retreated into the depths of the earth, into the crevices of the stone, where no one could reach him. There, he had waited.
But now, the time had come again. Something stirred in the air—a shift, a presence. Aqut’s sharp senses tingled with the unfamiliar. Something, or someone, was close.
He crawled out of the stone chamber, his small, mischievous form moving silently through the brush. His skin, the color of earth and shadows, blended perfectly with the world around him. He could feel the cool breeze, the scent of moss and damp stone, and the distant sounds of the world beyond the walls. The trees were different now, the land had changed, but the stones… the stones remained the same.
Aqut crept toward the center of the site, where the old stones stood in quiet reverence. He paused, listening. There, in the distance, he heard the sound of footsteps, crunching through the undergrowth. Someone was coming.
Aqut’s heart raced with curiosity. It had been so long since he’d seen another soul, let alone a human. He darted behind a large stone, peering around the edge.
The figure that appeared before him was a teenage boy, no older than sixteen, with shaggy dark hair and a worn navy jacket. He didn’t look like the locals Aqut remembered. This boy was different—there was a sense of something not quite belonging, a sense of displacement in the way he moved. His eyes scanned the area, and for a moment, Aqut wondered if the boy had any idea he was standing on sacred ground.
“Hey,” the boy muttered to himself. “Anyone around here? Anyone to talk to?” His voice echoed slightly in the cool air, but he didn’t seem to notice. He continued walking through the site, as if searching for something, or someone.
Aqut’s curiosity got the best of him. He stepped out from behind the stone, making a soft noise. The boy froze, turning toward the sound, his eyes wide as they scanned the brush.
Aqut smiled mischievously, feeling the old thrill of causing a little bit of confusion. He didn’t show himself fully, only letting his small form peek from behind a stone.
The boy, startled, took a step back. “What was that?” he whispered to himself.
Aqut stepped closer, this time revealing just enough of himself—a small creature with a round face, large dark eyes, and skin that seemed to shimmer like the shadows between trees. His features were subtle, his body light and agile, and the tips of his ears peaked slightly.
The boy blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. “Whoa,” he breathed. “What are you? Some kinda… fairy or something?”
Aqut tilted his head. "Fairy?" He didn’t quite understand the word, but the boy’s meaning was clear. Aqut took a step forward, his tiny feet silent on the ground. He sensed something in the boy—loneliness, a yearning for connection, a sense of not quite fitting in.
“I’m Aqut,” the creature said, using the name he had long carried. His voice was a soft, melodic whisper, barely more than the rustling of leaves. “I live here, in the stones.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Wait, you live here? But, I thought… this place was abandoned?”
Aqut flicked a hand dismissively. “Abandoned, forgotten, but not gone,” he said. “I’ve been here longer than you can imagine. Longer than your kind has walked this land.”
The boy stood still, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know much about this place. I just moved here. My family’s Navy, we travel a lot. I’ve been looking for someone to talk to… somewhere to belong.”
Aqut studied the boy closely, sensing his uncertainty. “Belong?” Aqut’s voice softened. “You are already part of this land. This place doesn’t care where you come from. It only cares who you are.”
The boy scratched his head, still unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. “I’m Sam. Sam Carter. I guess I’m kinda used to moving around a lot. People are always different wherever I go.”
Aqut gave a small chuckle. “The world changes, Sam Carter. It always does. But there are things that stay the same, things that are constant. Like the stones, like the trees. Like me.”
Sam glanced around the Gungywamp site, his eyes falling on the strange stone walls. "You said you live in the stones? What… are you, exactly?"
Aqut’s eyes twinkled. “I am what your people might call a pukwudgie. But names are not important here. What matters is that you have come, and that you are searching for something. Perhaps I can help you find it.”
Sam considered this for a moment, looking down at the ground as though unsure whether to believe his own senses. But there was something about Aqut—something ancient and wise, yet playful and kind—that made him want to stay.
“I guess… I could use a friend,” Sam said slowly. “I mean, I don’t know anyone here. And I don’t really fit in with the other kids at school.”
Aqut smiled, his small form flickering in and out of sight like a shadow. “Then you shall not be alone, Sam Carter. Not here. Not with me.”
And so, amidst the ancient stones of Gungywamp, a bond began to form—a friendship between an ancient spirit who had slept through centuries and a lonely boy searching for something he didn’t know he’d been missing. Together, they would walk the land, discovering the secrets of the stones and the stories they held, and perhaps, in the process, finding a little more of who they truly were.