Tag Archives: empathy
#437809 Q&A: The Masterminds Behind ...
Illustration: iStockphoto
Getting a car to drive itself is undoubtedly the most ambitious commercial application of artificial intelligence (AI). The research project was kicked into life by the 2004 DARPA Urban Challenge and then taken up as a business proposition, first by Alphabet, and later by the big automakers.
The industry-wide effort vacuumed up many of the world’s best roboticists and set rival companies on a multibillion-dollar acquisitions spree. It also launched a cycle of hype that paraded ever more ambitious deadlines—the most famous of which, made by Alphabet’s Sergei Brin in 2012, was that full self-driving technology would be ready by 2017. Those deadlines have all been missed.
Much of the exhilaration was inspired by the seeming miracles that a new kind of AI—deep learning—was achieving in playing games, recognizing faces, and transliterating voices. Deep learning excels at tasks involving pattern recognition—a particular challenge for older, rule-based AI techniques. However, it now seems that deep learning will not soon master the other intellectual challenges of driving, such as anticipating what human beings might do.
Among the roboticists who have been involved from the start are Gill Pratt, the chief executive officer of Toyota Research Institute (TRI) , formerly a program manager at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA); and Wolfram Burgard, vice president of automated driving technology for TRI and president of the IEEE Robotics and Automation Society. The duo spoke with IEEE Spectrum’s Philip Ross at TRI’s offices in Palo Alto, Calif.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
IEEE Spectrum: How does AI handle the various parts of the self-driving problem?
Photo: Toyota
Gill Pratt
Gill Pratt: There are three different systems that you need in a self-driving car: It starts with perception, then goes to prediction, and then goes to planning.
The one that by far is the most problematic is prediction. It’s not prediction of other automated cars, because if all cars were automated, this problem would be much more simple. How do you predict what a human being is going to do? That’s difficult for deep learning to learn right now.
Spectrum: Can you offset the weakness in prediction with stupendous perception?
Photo: Toyota Research Institute for Burgard
Wolfram Burgard
Wolfram Burgard: Yes, that is what car companies basically do. A camera provides semantics, lidar provides distance, radar provides velocities. But all this comes with problems, because sometimes you look at the world from different positions—that’s called parallax. Sometimes you don’t know which range estimate that pixel belongs to. That might make the decision complicated as to whether that is a person painted onto the side of a truck or whether this is an actual person.
With deep learning there is this promise that if you throw enough data at these networks, it’s going to work—finally. But it turns out that the amount of data that you need for self-driving cars is far larger than we expected.
Spectrum: When do deep learning’s limitations become apparent?
Pratt: The way to think about deep learning is that it’s really high-performance pattern matching. You have input and output as training pairs; you say this image should lead to that result; and you just do that again and again, for hundreds of thousands, millions of times.
Here’s the logical fallacy that I think most people have fallen prey to with deep learning. A lot of what we do with our brains can be thought of as pattern matching: “Oh, I see this stop sign, so I should stop.” But it doesn’t mean all of intelligence can be done through pattern matching.
“I asked myself, if all of those cars had automated drive, how good would they have to be to tolerate the number of crashes that would still occur?”
—Gill Pratt, Toyota Research Institute
For instance, when I’m driving and I see a mother holding the hand of a child on a corner and trying to cross the street, I am pretty sure she’s not going to cross at a red light and jaywalk. I know from my experience being a human being that mothers and children don’t act that way. On the other hand, say there are two teenagers—with blue hair, skateboards, and a disaffected look. Are they going to jaywalk? I look at that, you look at that, and instantly the probability in your mind that they’ll jaywalk is much higher than for the mother holding the hand of the child. It’s not that you’ve seen 100,000 cases of young kids—it’s that you understand what it is to be either a teenager or a mother holding a child’s hand.
You can try to fake that kind of intelligence. If you specifically train a neural network on data like that, you could pattern-match that. But you’d have to know to do it.
Spectrum: So you’re saying that when you substitute pattern recognition for reasoning, the marginal return on the investment falls off pretty fast?
Pratt: That’s absolutely right. Unfortunately, we don’t have the ability to make an AI that thinks yet, so we don’t know what to do. We keep trying to use the deep-learning hammer to hammer more nails—we say, well, let’s just pour more data in, and more data.
Spectrum: Couldn’t you train the deep-learning system to recognize teenagers and to assign the category a high propensity for jaywalking?
Burgard: People have been doing that. But it turns out that these heuristics you come up with are extremely hard to tweak. Also, sometimes the heuristics are contradictory, which makes it extremely hard to design these expert systems based on rules. This is where the strength of the deep-learning methods lies, because somehow they encode a way to see a pattern where, for example, here’s a feature and over there is another feature; it’s about the sheer number of parameters you have available.
Our separation of the components of a self-driving AI eases the development and even the learning of the AI systems. Some companies even think about using deep learning to do the job fully, from end to end, not having any structure at all—basically, directly mapping perceptions to actions.
Pratt: There are companies that have tried it; Nvidia certainly tried it. In general, it’s been found not to work very well. So people divide the problem into blocks, where we understand what each block does, and we try to make each block work well. Some of the blocks end up more like the expert system we talked about, where we actually code things, and other blocks end up more like machine learning.
Spectrum: So, what’s next—what new technique is in the offing?
Pratt: If I knew the answer, we’d do it. [Laughter]
Spectrum: You said that if all cars on the road were automated, the problem would be easy. Why not “geofence” the heck out of the self-driving problem, and have areas where only self-driving cars are allowed?
Pratt: That means putting in constraints on the operational design domain. This includes the geography—where the car should be automated; it includes the weather, it includes the level of traffic, it includes speed. If the car is going slow enough to avoid colliding without risking a rear-end collision, that makes the problem much easier. Street trolleys operate with traffic still in some parts of the world, and that seems to work out just fine. People learn that this vehicle may stop at unexpected times. My suspicion is, that is where we’ll see Level 4 autonomy in cities. It’s going to be in the lower speeds.
“We are now in the age of deep learning, and we don’t know what will come after.”
—Wolfram Burgard, Toyota Research Institute
That’s a sweet spot in the operational design domain, without a doubt. There’s another one at high speed on a highway, because access to highways is so limited. But unfortunately there is still the occasional debris that suddenly crosses the road, and the weather gets bad. The classic example is when somebody irresponsibly ties a mattress to the top of a car and it falls off; what are you going to do? And the answer is that terrible things happen—even for humans.
Spectrum: Learning by doing worked for the first cars, the first planes, the first steam boilers, and even the first nuclear reactors. We ran risks then; why not now?
Pratt: It has to do with the times. During the era where cars took off, all kinds of accidents happened, women died in childbirth, all sorts of diseases ran rampant; the expected characteristic of life was that bad things happened. Expectations have changed. Now the chance of dying in some freak accident is quite low because of all the learning that’s gone on, the OSHA [Occupational Safety and Health Administration] rules, UL code for electrical appliances, all the building standards, medicine.
Furthermore—and we think this is very important—we believe that empathy for a human being at the wheel is a significant factor in public acceptance when there is a crash. We don’t know this for sure—it’s a speculation on our part. I’ve driven, I’ve had close calls; that could have been me that made that mistake and had that wreck. I think people are more tolerant when somebody else makes mistakes, and there’s an awful crash. In the case of an automated car, we worry that that empathy won’t be there.
Photo: Toyota
Toyota is using this
Platform 4 automated driving test vehicle, based on the Lexus LS, to develop Level-4 self-driving capabilities for its “Chauffeur” project.
Spectrum: Toyota is building a system called Guardian to back up the driver, and a more futuristic system called Chauffeur, to replace the driver. How can Chauffeur ever succeed? It has to be better than a human plus Guardian!
Pratt: In the discussions we’ve had with others in this field, we’ve talked about that a lot. What is the standard? Is it a person in a basic car? Or is it a person with a car that has active safety systems in it? And what will people think is good enough?
These systems will never be perfect—there will always be some accidents, and no matter how hard we try there will still be occasions where there will be some fatalities. At what threshold are people willing to say that’s okay?
Spectrum: You were among the first top researchers to warn against hyping self-driving technology. What did you see that so many other players did not?
Pratt: First, in my own case, during my time at DARPA I worked on robotics, not cars. So I was somewhat of an outsider. I was looking at it from a fresh perspective, and that helps a lot.
Second, [when I joined Toyota in 2015] I was joining a company that is very careful—even though we have made some giant leaps—with the Prius hybrid drive system as an example. Even so, in general, the philosophy at Toyota is kaizen—making the cars incrementally better every single day. That care meant that I was tasked with thinking very deeply about this thing before making prognostications.
And the final part: It was a new job for me. The first night after I signed the contract I felt this incredible responsibility. I couldn’t sleep that whole night, so I started to multiply out the numbers, all using a factor of 10. How many cars do we have on the road? Cars on average last 10 years, though ours last 20, but let’s call it 10. They travel on an order of 10,000 miles per year. Multiply all that out and you get 10 to the 10th miles per year for our fleet on Planet Earth, a really big number. I asked myself, if all of those cars had automated drive, how good would they have to be to tolerate the number of crashes that would still occur? And the answer was so incredibly good that I knew it would take a long time. That was five years ago.
Burgard: We are now in the age of deep learning, and we don’t know what will come after. We are still making progress with existing techniques, and they look very promising. But the gradient is not as steep as it was a few years ago.
Pratt: There isn’t anything that’s telling us that it can’t be done; I should be very clear on that. Just because we don’t know how to do it doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Continue reading
#436484 If Machines Want to Make Art, Will ...
Assuming that the emergence of consciousness in artificial minds is possible, those minds will feel the urge to create art. But will we be able to understand it? To answer this question, we need to consider two subquestions: when does the machine become an author of an artwork? And how can we form an understanding of the art that it makes?
Empathy, we argue, is the force behind our capacity to understand works of art. Think of what happens when you are confronted with an artwork. We maintain that, to understand the piece, you use your own conscious experience to ask what could possibly motivate you to make such an artwork yourself—and then you use that first-person perspective to try to come to a plausible explanation that allows you to relate to the artwork. Your interpretation of the work will be personal and could differ significantly from the artist’s own reasons, but if we share sufficient experiences and cultural references, it might be a plausible one, even for the artist. This is why we can relate so differently to a work of art after learning that it is a forgery or imitation: the artist’s intent to deceive or imitate is very different from the attempt to express something original. Gathering contextual information before jumping to conclusions about other people’s actions—in art, as in life—can enable us to relate better to their intentions.
But the artist and you share something far more important than cultural references: you share a similar kind of body and, with it, a similar kind of embodied perspective. Our subjective human experience stems, among many other things, from being born and slowly educated within a society of fellow humans, from fighting the inevitability of our own death, from cherishing memories, from the lonely curiosity of our own mind, from the omnipresence of the needs and quirks of our biological body, and from the way it dictates the space- and time-scales we can grasp. All conscious machines will have embodied experiences of their own, but in bodies that will be entirely alien to us.
We are able to empathize with nonhuman characters or intelligent machines in human-made fiction because they have been conceived by other human beings from the only subjective perspective accessible to us: “What would it be like for a human to behave as x?” In order to understand machinic art as such—and assuming that we stand a chance of even recognizing it in the first place—we would need a way to conceive a first-person experience of what it is like to be that machine. That is something we cannot do even for beings that are much closer to us. It might very well happen that we understand some actions or artifacts created by machines of their own volition as art, but in doing so we will inevitably anthropomorphize the machine’s intentions. Art made by a machine can be meaningfully interpreted in a way that is plausible only from the perspective of that machine, and any coherent anthropomorphized interpretation will be implausibly alien from the machine perspective. As such, it will be a misinterpretation of the artwork.
But what if we grant the machine privileged access to our ways of reasoning, to the peculiarities of our perception apparatus, to endless examples of human culture? Wouldn’t that enable the machine to make art that a human could understand? Our answer is yes, but this would also make the artworks human—not authentically machinic. All examples so far of “art made by machines” are actually just straightforward examples of human art made with computers, with the artists being the computer programmers. It might seem like a strange claim: how can the programmers be the authors of the artwork if, most of the time, they can’t control—or even anticipate—the actual materializations of the artwork? It turns out that this is a long-standing artistic practice.
Suppose that your local orchestra is playing Beethoven’s Symphony No 7 (1812). Even though Beethoven will not be directly responsible for any of the sounds produced there, you would still say that you are listening to Beethoven. Your experience might depend considerably on the interpretation of the performers, the acoustics of the room, the behavior of fellow audience members or your state of mind. Those and other aspects are the result of choices made by specific individuals or of accidents happening to them. But the author of the music? Ludwig van Beethoven. Let’s say that, as a somewhat odd choice for the program, John Cage’s Imaginary Landscape No 4 (March No 2) (1951) is also played, with 24 performers controlling 12 radios according to a musical score. In this case, the responsibility for the sounds being heard should be attributed to unsuspecting radio hosts, or even to electromagnetic fields. Yet, the shaping of sounds over time—the composition—should be credited to Cage. Each performance of this piece will vary immensely in its sonic materialization, but it will always be a performance of Imaginary Landscape No 4.
Why should we change these principles when artists use computers if, in these respects at least, computer art does not bring anything new to the table? The (human) artists might not be in direct control of the final materializations, or even be able to predict them but, despite that, they are the authors of the work. Various materializations of the same idea—in this case formalized as an algorithm—are instantiations of the same work manifesting different contextual conditions. In fact, a common use of computation in the arts is the production of variations of a process, and artists make extensive use of systems that are sensitive to initial conditions, external inputs, or pseudo-randomness to deliberately avoid repetition of outputs. Having a computer executing a procedure to build an artwork, even if using pseudo-random processes or machine-learning algorithms, is no different than throwing dice to arrange a piece of music, or to pursuing innumerable variations of the same formula. After all, the idea of machines that make art has an artistic tradition that long predates the current trend of artworks made by artificial intelligence.
Machinic art is a term that we believe should be reserved for art made by an artificial mind’s own volition, not for that based on (or directed towards) an anthropocentric view of art. From a human point of view, machinic artworks will still be procedural, algorithmic, and computational. They will be generative, because they will be autonomous from a human artist. And they might be interactive, with humans or other systems. But they will not be the result of a human deferring decisions to a machine, because the first of those—the decision to make art—needs to be the result of a machine’s volition, intentions, and decisions. Only then will we no longer have human art made with computers, but proper machinic art.
The problem is not whether machines will or will not develop a sense of self that leads to an eagerness to create art. The problem is that if—or when—they do, they will have such a different Umwelt that we will be completely unable to relate to it from our own subjective, embodied perspective. Machinic art will always lie beyond our ability to understand it because the boundaries of our comprehension—in art, as in life—are those of the human experience.
This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.
Image Credit: Rene Böhmer / Unsplash Continue reading
#436190 What Is the Uncanny Valley?
Have you ever encountered a lifelike humanoid robot or a realistic computer-generated face that seem a bit off or unsettling, though you can’t quite explain why?
Take for instance AVA, one of the “digital humans” created by New Zealand tech startup Soul Machines as an on-screen avatar for Autodesk. Watching a lifelike digital being such as AVA can be both fascinating and disconcerting. AVA expresses empathy through her demeanor and movements: slightly raised brows, a tilt of the head, a nod.
By meticulously rendering every lash and line in its avatars, Soul Machines aimed to create a digital human that is virtually undistinguishable from a real one. But to many, rather than looking natural, AVA actually looks creepy. There’s something about it being almost human but not quite that can make people uneasy.
Like AVA, many other ultra-realistic avatars, androids, and animated characters appear stuck in a disturbing in-between world: They are so lifelike and yet they are not “right.” This void of strangeness is known as the uncanny valley.
Uncanny Valley: Definition and History
The uncanny valley is a concept first introduced in the 1970s by Masahiro Mori, then a professor at the Tokyo Institute of Technology. The term describes Mori’s observation that as robots appear more humanlike, they become more appealing—but only up to a certain point. Upon reaching the uncanny valley, our affinity descends into a feeling of strangeness, a sense of unease, and a tendency to be scared or freaked out.
Image: Masahiro Mori
The uncanny valley as depicted in Masahiro Mori’s original graph: As a robot’s human likeness [horizontal axis] increases, our affinity towards the robot [vertical axis] increases too, but only up to a certain point. For some lifelike robots, our response to them plunges, and they appear repulsive or creepy. That’s the uncanny valley.
In his seminal essay for Japanese journal Energy, Mori wrote:
I have noticed that, in climbing toward the goal of making robots appear human, our affinity for them increases until we come to a valley, which I call the uncanny valley.
Later in the essay, Mori describes the uncanny valley by using an example—the first prosthetic hands:
One might say that the prosthetic hand has achieved a degree of resemblance to the human form, perhaps on a par with false teeth. However, when we realize the hand, which at first site looked real, is in fact artificial, we experience an eerie sensation. For example, we could be startled during a handshake by its limp boneless grip together with its texture and coldness. When this happens, we lose our sense of affinity, and the hand becomes uncanny.
In an interview with IEEE Spectrum, Mori explained how he came up with the idea for the uncanny valley:
“Since I was a child, I have never liked looking at wax figures. They looked somewhat creepy to me. At that time, electronic prosthetic hands were being developed, and they triggered in me the same kind of sensation. These experiences had made me start thinking about robots in general, which led me to write that essay. The uncanny valley was my intuition. It was one of my ideas.”
Uncanny Valley Examples
To better illustrate how the uncanny valley works, here are some examples of the phenomenon. Prepare to be freaked out.
1. Telenoid
Photo: Hiroshi Ishiguro/Osaka University/ATR
Taking the top spot in the “creepiest” rankings of IEEE Spectrum’s Robots Guide, Telenoid is a robotic communication device designed by Japanese roboticist Hiroshi Ishiguro. Its bald head, lifeless face, and lack of limbs make it seem more alien than human.
2. Diego-san
Photo: Andrew Oh/Javier Movellan/Calit2
Engineers and roboticists at the University of California San Diego’s Machine Perception Lab developed this robot baby to help parents better communicate with their infants. At 1.2 meters (4 feet) tall and weighing 30 kilograms (66 pounds), Diego-san is a big baby—bigger than an average 1-year-old child.
“Even though the facial expression is sophisticated and intuitive in this infant robot, I still perceive a false smile when I’m expecting the baby to appear happy,” says Angela Tinwell, a senior lecturer at the University of Bolton in the U.K. and author of The Uncanny Valley in Games and Animation. “This, along with a lack of detail in the eyes and forehead, can make the baby appear vacant and creepy, so I would want to avoid those ‘dead eyes’ rather than interacting with Diego-san.”
3. Geminoid HI
Photo: Osaka University/ATR/Kokoro
Another one of Ishiguro’s creations, Geminoid HI is his android replica. He even took hair from his own scalp to put onto his robot twin. Ishiguro says he created Geminoid HI to better understand what it means to be human.
4. Sophia
Photo: Mikhail Tereshchenko/TASS/Getty Images
Designed by David Hanson of Hanson Robotics, Sophia is one of the most famous humanoid robots. Like Soul Machines’ AVA, Sophia displays a range of emotional expressions and is equipped with natural language processing capabilities.
5. Anthropomorphized felines
The uncanny valley doesn’t only happen with robots that adopt a human form. The 2019 live-action versions of the animated film The Lion King and the musical Cats brought the uncanny valley to the forefront of pop culture. To some fans, the photorealistic computer animations of talking lions and singing cats that mimic human movements were just creepy.
Are you feeling that eerie sensation yet?
Uncanny Valley: Science or Pseudoscience?
Despite our continued fascination with the uncanny valley, its validity as a scientific concept is highly debated. The uncanny valley wasn’t actually proposed as a scientific concept, yet has often been criticized in that light.
Mori himself said in his IEEE Spectrum interview that he didn’t explore the concept from a rigorous scientific perspective but as more of a guideline for robot designers:
Pointing out the existence of the uncanny valley was more of a piece of advice from me to people who design robots rather than a scientific statement.
Karl MacDorman, an associate professor of human-computer interaction at Indiana University who has long studied the uncanny valley, interprets the classic graph not as expressing Mori’s theory but as a heuristic for learning the concept and organizing observations.
“I believe his theory is instead expressed by his examples, which show that a mismatch in the human likeness of appearance and touch or appearance and motion can elicit a feeling of eeriness,” MacDorman says. “In my own experiments, I have consistently reproduced this effect within and across sense modalities. For example, a mismatch in the human realism of the features of a face heightens eeriness; a robot with a human voice or a human with a robotic voice is eerie.”
How to Avoid the Uncanny Valley
Unless you intend to create creepy characters or evoke a feeling of unease, you can follow certain design principles to avoid the uncanny valley. “The effect can be reduced by not creating robots or computer-animated characters that combine features on different sides of a boundary—for example, human and nonhuman, living and nonliving, or real and artificial,” MacDorman says.
To make a robot or avatar more realistic and move it beyond the valley, Tinwell says to ensure that a character’s facial expressions match its emotive tones of speech, and that its body movements are responsive and reflect its hypothetical emotional state. Special attention must also be paid to facial elements such as the forehead, eyes, and mouth, which depict the complexities of emotion and thought. “The mouth must be modeled and animated correctly so the character doesn’t appear aggressive or portray a ‘false smile’ when they should be genuinely happy,” she says.
For Christoph Bartneck, an associate professor at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, the goal is not to avoid the uncanny valley, but to avoid bad character animations or behaviors, stressing the importance of matching the appearance of a robot with its ability. “We’re trained to spot even the slightest divergence from ‘normal’ human movements or behavior,” he says. “Hence, we often fail in creating highly realistic, humanlike characters.”
But he warns that the uncanny valley appears to be more of an uncanny cliff. “We find the likability to increase and then crash once robots become humanlike,” he says. “But we have never observed them ever coming out of the valley. You fall off and that’s it.” Continue reading