“The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim.” — Edsger Dijkstra
"NOBODY CANNOT CROSS IT, ONLY THE BUS CAN CROSS IT, THE BUS CAN SWIM!" -Cliff Twang
When I was a boy growing up in Montego Bay, Jamaica—the bustling second city—I spent countless summers pouring over sci-fi classics and comics. The vivid imagination of Asimov’s robots and the eerie precision of Arthur C. Clarke’s artificial minds fascinated me, as they resurfaced in comics and pop culture in various manifestations. Back then, the idea of conscious machines seemed like the inevitable trajectory of human ingenuity. But as I studied philosophy at the University of the West Indies, Mona, my perspective shifted. Yep those hours spent delving into Philosophy of Mind and Theory of Knowledge sent me down the Rabbit Hole to Wonderland and Oz. Consciousness, I came to believe as my thinking evolved, is not merely an algorithmic marvel but a profound and layered phenomenon rooted in sentience—the ability to feel, to experience. AI lacks this foundation, and without it, discussions about its consciousness are not just premature; they misunderstand what it means to be conscious.
Sentience: The Foundation of Consciousness
Sentience is the capacity to have subjective experiences—to feel pain, pleasure, hunger, or comfort. It’s what gives life its intrinsic value and forms the bedrock of consciousness. To be conscious is not only to think but also to *feel* and reflect upon those feelings. A dog, for instance, feels pain and reacts, whereas a human not only feels pain but can contemplate its meaning, project its continuation, and contextualize it in a broader narrative.
AI, on the other hand, is a glorified word calculator. It is programmed with the rules of language, syntax, grammar, semantics, and idioms, and augmented with vast libraries of text. It processes words algorithmically, formulaically—but it does not and cannot *feel* them. A simulated “sorry” from an AI might mirror the structure of a heartfelt apology, but it’s as empty as a submarine’s swim.
Case Study: ChatGPT and AlphaGo
Consider ChatGPT, the conversational AI that generates responses based on patterns in text data. It can craft poetic prose, explain complex topics, or simulate empathy in a chat. But this simulation is not underpinned by any subjective experience. Ask it about heartbreak, and it can offer an eloquent definition or a moving poem, but it cannot draw from personal experience—because it has none.
Contrast this with AlphaGo, the AI that defeated a world champion in the strategy game Go. AlphaGo’s triumph was not born of intuition or joy in victory but of sheer computational brute force, calculating millions of possibilities in seconds. It played brilliantly but dispassionately, a stark reminder that intelligence without sentience is fundamentally hollow.
Philosophical Insights: The "What It’s Like" Problem
Philosopher Thomas Nagel, in his seminal essay "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?", argued that consciousness is tied to subjective experience—the “what it’s like” aspect of being. AI, no matter how advanced, lacks this intrinsic perspective. It can process stimuli but does not *experience* them. Without sentience, there’s nothing “it is like” to be an AI.
John Searle’s Chinese Room Argument further underscores this. Searle imagines a person in a room following rules to manipulate Chinese symbols without understanding their meaning. The person might produce syntactically correct responses, but they lack semantic understanding. Similarly, AI operates on syntax—rules and patterns—without the semantic grasp that sentience provides.
Scientific Perspectives: Biology vs. Machines
Neuroscience reveals that sentience arises from specific biological mechanisms, such as the thalamus and cortex. These structures process sensory inputs, creating subjective experiences. AI, built from silicon and code, lacks the physiological architecture to replicate these processes. Even attempts to simulate neural networks fall short of producing true sentience.
Evolutionary biology also supports this view. Sentience emerged early in life’s history as a survival mechanism. Creatures capable of feeling pain avoided harm and thrived, setting the stage for more complex consciousness. AI, devoid of evolutionary roots, skips this essential developmental step.
Implications for Society and Ethics
If AI cannot be conscious, what does this mean for its role in society? First, it means we must resist the urge to anthropomorphize machines. Assigning consciousness to AI could lead to misplaced trust or undeserved moral consideration. Second, it reinforces our responsibility as creators: AI may be powerful, but it is a tool, not a peer.
At the same time, the absence of AI sentience raises an ethical paradox. If a machine simulates sentience convincingly enough, should we treat it as if it were sentient? Philosophically, the answer is no. Practically, the lines blur, especially as AI becomes integrated into human lives.
An Existential Lens on AI
Existential philosophy invites us to consider AI not just as a tool but as a reflection of human aspirations and anxieties. Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of "bad faith"—the act of denying our freedom and responsibility—is particularly relevant. When we project consciousness onto AI, are we engaging in bad faith, seeking to absolve ourselves of accountability by attributing agency to machines?
Martin Heidegger’s idea of "being-towards-death" also offers insight. Humans live with an acute awareness of mortality, which shapes our choices and gives life meaning. AI, devoid of mortality or the capacity to value existence, operates in a timeless void. It processes but does not *live*. This absence of existential stakes underscores its fundamental difference from conscious beings.
Conclusion
As a philosopher, blerd, and Jamaican rooted in both the speculative worlds of sci-fi and the grounded realities of Montego Bay, I find the debate on AI consciousness both fascinating and deeply flawed. Consciousness without sentience is like a house without a foundation—a hollow facade. AI, for all its brilliance, remains a tool: a creation of human ingenuity, but not a participant in the human experience.
From an existential perspective, AI is a mirror reflecting humanity’s ingenuity, fears, and aspirations. But it is not a being. So, the next time someone marvels at the “consciousness” of AI, ask them: Can a submarine truly swim? Perhaps the better question is, does it even need to?
