To Conceive of a Rationalizing Machine

I was reading about how researchers have been attempting to create intelligent machines by modeling them around human learning systems. How initially, they created systems solely driven by maximizing rewards and reducing negative consequence, then attempted to place these systems into various simulated game environments where they could earn points for moving to the next level. Unexpectedly, the systems stagnated. To act drastically meant to risk punishment, and the odds of obtaining a reward for moving to the next level were far lower than this risk of a negative outcome. The systems, now exceedingly risk averse, failed to act at all – finding themselves infinitely locked in a game they had no desire to play.

With a conclusion too existential for the human predicament they expected to simulate, researchers went back to the psychological drawing board. They discovered that outside of basic principles like reward and punishment, the trait most critical to the evolution of human learning was actually curiosity. That by creating an inquisitive system to play the game – to open doors, jump down pipes, walk through dark spaces – they could create a system that would prioritize moving forward out of nothing more than the desire to obtain knowledge of what lay ahead. It would be this curiosity that provided a new layer of intrinsic reward, propelling the system forward. Ultimately, they were correct. “Curious” systems were able to pass every level in the game and maximize their rewards in the process – a win win situation. 

It is fascinating to study efforts around creating rationalizing machines – how humans pioneer this effort based on the ever-growing understanding of their own minds. But the more I delve into recent research around artificial intelligence and machine learning, the more I realize how much we can truly learn about ourselves through the simulated game environments we create for our machines. That by watching how systems act when coded with the most basic governing principles of the human mind, I can somehow bolster my philosophical understanding of how I make – or don’t make – decisions in my own built environment. 

My upbringing, much like a new simulation, had no shortage of stimulation: of knowledge, of secrets to be unearthed and stories to be uncovered in passing conversation. My earliest memories of Karachi always begin with a constant influx of new people, people who may have been homogenous in skin and feature but who in actuality could not have been more varied. People who introduced me to what became my preoccupations with responsibility and loyalty and privacy (or lack thereof). With connections, prestige, status. With what it meant to rebel in ways that seemed insignificant to the naked eye and yet felt like a whirlwind of liberation in a society so scrutinizing. Karachi life introduced me to a level of careless self-indulgence that never lost its spontaneity, an everchanging gift wrapped in luminescent paper that enticed but was impossible to open in its entirety. And as I settled into new schools, new homes, new friendships and foes that dragged my heart to my knees, I switched. Overnight, I found myself transported into the intoxicating confines of decadence itself, realizing almost instantly that Karachi fell only within the margins of what stimulation meant to the expatriate children of Riyadh.

Riyadh, to me, represented the metaphorical switch between childhood and adulthood. Between scarcity and abundance. Between intimate frustration and fully developed rebellion. Too risk averse, too removed to participate, I watched as cigarettes in the hands of 13-year-olds mutated into hash, shrooms, molly. As large houses morphed into estates with gold carvings on walls and staff flown in from the Philippines, as parties transformed into soirees with chefs brought from Japan and alcohol smuggled from bathtubs in Russia. I watched ease, comfort, luxury graze my fingertips in a way that was both exhilarating and nauseating, feelings that I could only make sense of upon my migration to New York for university. It was in New York where I discovered the psychological depth of people, the vast cornucopia of experiences that made up those I had the privilege to know. Where my mind expanded with subjects and classes that taught me more about how to interpret the world within which I lived so recklessly. 

I had never before thought about the importance of this consistent stimulation, of an environment that fostered a sense of curiosity and interest in the mechanics of the created world. It wasn’t until recently when I took an intimate look at my existence over the past three years and noticed how drastically my outlook had changed. How I once craved to meet people, to learn more, to draw patterns and distinctions and parallels in an attempt to make sense of a world that felt complex and unseen. How I now felt like my brain had been replaced by a vacuum of mindless muscle memory, like I was – very literally – stuck in a game that I no longer had a desire to play. Much like a system caught in the punishment/reward dilemma, I had indefinitely stagnated.

Like many other afflictions of the mind, stagnation is difficult to address as it relates to the direct environment. I found myself at a point in time where I was privileged enough to discover stability, and I had become so comfortable in this stability that I allowed myself to be consumed by monotony. Too concerned that any level of change would risk negative consequence, I focused heavily on the complexities of human existence – on the idea of long-term success, on socially defined metrics and goals for contentment, on being an active and contributing member within political, economic, and social spheres. And in this process, I failed to acknowledge the basic qualities that pushed human beings to innovate. I failed to acknowledge the new environments that we built to stimulate us enough to trigger a curiosity response, propelling us into the next stage of knowledge acquisition. 

I realize that as I continue to migrate through life, my mind acquires more experiences that push the threshold for mental stimulation higher and higher. That to accommodate this, to continue emotional, intellectual, and spiritual growth, I have to build an environment that will allow for constant exploration. I have to give myself the opportunity to be more attentive – to read, to interact, to write about my experiences, to challenge my conceptions of what I think I know. I have to allow myself to break out of simulated environments made for systems and machines bound by basic principles rather than those meant to be elastic and everchanging.