As you’ve probably seen, Democrats are suddenly up in arms over Artificial Intelligence. From the front page of the New York Times today:
What’s my opinion? Well, I used to have lots of fairly well-informed opinions on AI back in the 20th Century. But as the 21st Century ground on and nothing too big was happening with AI, I started to figure it wasn’t going to happen during my lifetime. So, I lost interest.
And then all of a sudden, just after I’d totally dropped the thread, AI happened.
Well, this is going to be up to the next generation to figure out.
What can I do?
Perhaps I can help provide some historical perspective via analogies. For example, the rapid emergence of AI is reminiscent in some ways (but not in others) of the sudden emergence of nuclear technology from 1938 onward.
Note that we eventually worked out a strategy of mutual assured destruction that, so far at least, has provided some stability. But it took a couple of decades to fully figure it out.
One of the first attempts to think through the long run institutional implications of radioactive weapons was made by science fiction author Robert A. Heinlein in December 1940, after discussions with his editor John W. Campbell and his friend, physicist Robert A. Cornog of Ernest O. Lawrence’s radiation laboratory at Berkeley. Cornog had been doing state of the art research with Luis Alvarez. (Heinlein dedicated his 1961 cult novel Stranger in a Strange Land to Cornog.)
The long short story that resulted, "Solution Unsatisfactory,” should not be seen as a prediction of any one outcome or endorsement of any one policy. But it remains an impressive early exercise in trying to work out the logical implications of a new world-historical technology.
Here are some excerpts:
SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY
by Robert A. Heinlein
Finished December 24, 1940
Published May 1941 in Astounding Science Fiction
In 1903 the Wright brothers flew at Kitty Hawk.
In December, 1938, in Berlin, Dr. Hahn split the uranium atom.
In April, 1943, Dr. Estelle Karst, working under the Federal Emergency Defense Authority, perfected the Karst-Obre technique for producing artificial radioactives.
So American foreign policy had to change.
Had to. Had to. …
I was not a professional military man when World War II broke out, and when Congress passed the draft law I drew a high number, high enough to keep me out of the army long enough to die of old age.
Not that very many died of old age that generation!
But I was the newly appointed secretary to a freshman congressman; I had been his campaign manager and my former job had left me. By profession, I was a high-school teacher of economics and sociology—school boards don’t like teachers of social subjects actually to deal with social problems—and my contract was not renewed. I jumped at the chance to go to Washington.
My congressman was named Manning. Yes, the Manning, Colonel Clyde C. Manning, U.S. Army retired—Mr. Commissioner Manning. … what I liked about him was that, though he was liberal, he was tough-minded, which most liberals aren’t. Most liberals believe that water runs downhill, but, praise God, it’ll never reach the bottom.
Manning was not like that. He could see a logical necessity and act on it, no matter how unpleasant it might be. * * *
… We drove over into Maryland the next day and Manning took charge of the Federal nuclear research laboratory, known officially by the hush-hush title of War Department Special Defense Project No. 347. I didn’t know a lot about physics and nothing about modern atomic physics, aside from the stuff you read in the Sunday supplements. Later, I picked up a smattering, mostly wrong, I suppose, from associating with the heavyweights with whom the laboratory was staffed.
Colonel Manning had taken an Army p.g. course at Massachusetts Tech and had received a master of science degree for a brilliant thesis on the mathematical theories of atomic structure. That was why the Army had to have him for this job. But that had been some years before; atomic theory had turned several cartwheels in the meantime; he admitted to me that he had to bone like the very devil to try to catch up to the point where he could begin to understand what his highbrow charges were talking about in their reports.
I think he overstated the degree of his ignorance; there was certainly no one else in the United States who could have done the job. It required a man who could direct and suggest research in a highly esoteric field, but who saw the problem from the standpoint of urgent military necessity.
Think of Colonel Manning as Matt Damon’s character in Oppenheimer: General Leslie Groves. Heinlein, however, probably didn’t know Groves, who was put in charge of the Manhattan Project in September, 1942, while writing this in late 1940.
No derogatory reference to the scientists is intended—by no means! We had all the genius in the field that the United States could produce, men from Chicago, Columbia, Cornell, M.I.T., Cal Tech, Berkeley, every radiation laboratory in the country, as well as a couple of broad-A boys lent to us by the British. And they had every facility that ingenuity could think up and money could build. The five-hundred-ton cyclotron which had originally been intended for the University of California was there, and was already obsolete in the face of the new gadgets these brains had thought up, asked for, and been given. Canada supplied us with all the uranium we asked for—tons of the treacherous stuff—from Great Bear Lake, up near the Yukon, and the fractional-residues technique of separating uranium isotope 235 from the commoner isotope 238 had already been worked out, by the same team from Chicago that had worked up the earlier expensive mass spectrograph method.
Someone in the United States government had realized the terrific potentialities of uranium 235 quite early and, as far back as the summer of 1940, had rounded up every atomic research man in the country and had sworn them to silence.
In real life, that more or less happened a couple of years later in 1942. The U.S. didn’t get a particularly fast jump on its Manhattan Project.
Atomic power, if ever developed, was planned to be a government monopoly, at least till the war was over. It might turn out to be the most incredibly powerful explosive ever dreamed of, and it might be the source of equally incredible power. In any case, with Hitler talking about secret weapons and shouting hoarse insults at democracies, the government planned to keep any new discoveries very close to the vest.
Hitler had lost the advantage of a first crack at the secret of uranium through not taking precautions. Dr. Hahn, the first man to break open the uranium atom, was a German.
Otto Hahn is a real German chemist, who won the 1944 Nobel Prize for his 1938 breakthrough.
But one of his laboratory assistants had fled Germany to escape a pogrom. She came to this country, and told us about it.
This “Estelle Karst” character is modeled after Lise Meitner.
We were searching, there in the laboratory in Maryland, for a way to use U235 in a controlled explosion. We had a vision of a one-ton bomb that would be a whole air raid in itself, a single explosion that would flatten out an entire industrial center. Dr. Ridpath, of Continental Tech,
Dr. Ridpath is functionally, pretty close to Ernest O. Lawrence, but it’s unclear if Heinlein knew of him in 1940. Also, think Otto Frisch and Rudolf Peierls, and then Oppenheimer.
claimed that he could build such a bomb, but that he could not guarantee that it would not explode as soon as it was loaded and as for the force of the explosion—well, he did not believe his own figures; they ran out to too many ciphers.
The problem was, strangely enough, to find an explosive which would be weak enough to blow up only one county at a time, and stable enough to blow up only on request. If we could devise a really practical rocket fuel at the same time, one capable of driving a war rocket at a thousand miles an hour, or more, then we would be in a position to make most anybody say “uncle” to Uncle Sam.
We fiddled around with it all the rest of 1943 and well into 1944. The war in Europe and the troubles in Asia dragged on.
In “Solution Unsatisfactory,” finished about 12 months before Pearl Harbor, the United States doesn’t go to war directly, but instead maintains the ambiguous role it held in 1940 — as a noncombatant helping Britain strongly — all the way until the end of the war in 1945, which concludes more or less the same way as the real WWII did: with a U.S. radioactive weapon wiping out an Axis city.
After Italy folded up, England was able to release enough ships from her Mediterranean fleet to ease the blockade of the British Isles. With the help of the planes we could now send her regularly and with the additional over-age destroyers we let her have, England hung on somehow, digging in and taking more and more of her essential defense industries underground. Russia shifted her weight from side to side as usual, apparently with the policy of preventing either side from getting a sufficient advantage to bring the war to a successful conclusion.
The story was published in May 1941, before Germany’s June 22, 1941 attack on its ally (since August 23, 1939), the Soviet Union. Heinlein assumes that the Soviet Union, soon to be renamed the Eurasian Union after Stalin’s death in 1941, largely stays out of the war too.
People were beginning to speak of “permanent war.” * * *
I was killing time in the administrative office, trying to improve my typing—a lot of Manning’s reports had to be typed by me personally—when the orderly on duty stepped in and announced Dr. Karst. I flipped the interoffice communicator. “Dr. Karst is here, chief. Can you see her?”
“Yes,” he answered, through his end.
I told the orderly to show her in.
Estelle Karst was quite a remarkable old girl and, I suppose, the first woman ever to hold a commission in the Corps of Engineers. She was an M.D. as well as an Sc.D. and reminded me of the teacher I had had in fourth grade. …
She bristled and I thought she was going to make him stay in after school at the very least. “Colonel Manning, do you realize the importance of artificial radioactives to modern medicine?”
E.g., radiation is used on cancer tumors today.
“Why, I believe I do. Nevertheless, Doctor, our primary mission is to perfect a weapon which will serve as a safeguard to the whole country in time of war—”
She sniffed and went into action. “Weapons—fiddlesticks! Isn’t there a medical corps in the Army? Isn’t it more important to know how to heal men than to know how to blow them to bits? Colonel Manning, you’re not a fit man to have charge of this project! You’re a . . . you’re a, a warmonger, that’s what you are!”
I felt my ears turning red, but Manning never budged. He could have raised Cain with her, confined her to her quarters, maybe even have court-martialed her, but Manning isn’t like that. He told me once that every time a man is court-martialed, it is a sure sign that some senior officer hasn’t measured up to his job. …
They visit Dr. Karst’s laboratory.
“May I ask what that is, Doctor?”
“Oh, that? That’s an air conditioner.”
“Odd-looking one. I’ve never seen one like it.”
“It’s not to condition the air of this room. It’s to remove the radioactive dust before the exhaust air goes outdoors. We wash the dust out of the foul air.”
“Where does the water go?”
“Down the drain. Out into the bay eventually, I suppose.”
I tried to snap my fingers, which was impossible because of the lead mittens. “That accounts for it, Colonel!”
“Accounts for what?”
“Accounts for those accusing notes we’ve been getting from the Bureau of Fisheries. This poisonous dust is being carried out into Chesapeake Bay and is killing the fish.”
Manning turned to Karst. “Do you think that possible, Doctor?”
I could see her brows draw together through the window in her helmet. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she admitted. “I’d have to do some figuring on the possible concentrations before I could give you a definite answer. But it is possible—yes. However,” she added anxiously, “it would be simple enough to divert this drain to a sink hole of some sort.”
“Hm-m-m—yes.” He did not say anything for some minutes, simply stood there, looking at the box.
Presently he said, “This dust is pretty lethal?”
“Quite lethal, Colonel.” There was another long silence.
At last I gathered he had made up his mind about something for he said decisively, “I am going to see to it that you get Obre’s assistance, Doctor—”
Spectroscopist Obre is a good fit Alfred O.C. Nier or for Heinlein’s pal Cornog.
“Oh, good!”
“—but I want you to help me in return. I am very much interested in this research of yours, but I want it carried on with a little broader scope.” …
He left immediately, giving her no time to discuss it. He did not seem to want to talk on the way back and I held my peace. I think he had already gotten a glimmering of the bold and drastic strategy this was to lead to, but even Manning could not have thought out that early the inescapable consequences of a few dead fish—otherwise he would never have ordered the research.
No, I don’t really believe that. He would have gone right ahead, knowing that if he did not do it, someone else would. He would have accepted the responsibility while bitterly aware of its weight. * * *
1944 wore along with no great excitement on the surface. Karst got her new laboratory equipment and so much additional help that her department rapidly became the largest on the grounds. The explosives research was suspended after a conference between Manning and Ridpath, of which I heard only the end, but the meat of it was that there existed not even a remote possibility at that time of utilizing U235 as an explosive.
Of course, in real life the opposite proved true.
As a source of power, yes, sometime in the distant future when there had been more opportunity to deal with the extremely ticklish problem of controlling the nuclear reaction. Even then it seemed likely that it would not be a source of power in prime movers such as rocket motors or mobiles, but would be used in vast power plants at least as large as the Boulder Dam installation.
So, in this fictional timeline that Heinlein devised in 1940, the Hahn-Meitner breakthroughs in the late 1930s are used by the U.S. not to build the atomic bomb but to manufacture lethal radioactive dust from uranium. But both are similarly deadly strategic weapons with similar foreign policy implications.
After that Ridpath became a sort of co-chairman of Karst’s department and the equipment formerly used by the explosives department was adapted or replaced to carry on research on the deadly artificial radioactives. Manning arranged a division of labor and Karst stuck to her original problem of developing techniques for tailor-making radioactives. I think she was perfectly happy, sticking with a one-track mind to the problem at hand. I don’t know to this day whether or not Manning and Ridpath ever saw fit to discuss with her what they intended to do. * * *
… It was just before Christmas [1944] that Manning first admitted to me how much the implications of the Karst-Obre process were preying on his mind. He called me into his office over some inconsequential matter, then did not let me go. I saw that he wanted to talk.
“How much of the K-O dust do we now have on hand?” he asked suddenly.
“Just short of ten thousand units,” I replied. “I can look up the exact figures in half a moment.” A unit would take care of a thousand men, at normal dispersion.
They have enough radioactive dust to kill 10 million people.
He knew the figure as well as I did, and I knew he was stalling.
We had shifted almost imperceptibly from research to manufacture, entirely on Manning’s initiative and authority.
The Manhattan Project was a lot more colossal in scale than Heinlein anticipated.
Manning had never made a specific report to the Department about it, unless he had done so orally to the Chief of Staff.
“Never mind,” he answered to my suggestion, then added, “Did you see those horses?”
“Yes,” I said briefly.
I did not want to talk about it. I like horses. We had requisitioned six broken-down old nags, ready for the bone yard, and had used them experimentally. We knew now what the dust would do. After they had died, any part of their carcasses would register on a photographic plate and tissue from the apices of their lungs and from the bronchia glowed with a light of its own.
Manning stood at the window, staring out at the dreary Maryland winter for a minute or two before replying, “John, I wish that radioactivity had never been discovered. Do you realize what that devilish stuff amounts to?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s a weapon, about like poison gas—maybe more efficient.”
“Rats!” he said, and for a moment I thought he was annoyed with me personally. “That’s about like comparing a sixteen-inch gun with a bow and arrow. We’ve got here the first weapon the world has ever seen against which there is no defense, none whatsoever. It’s death itself, C.O.D.
“Have you seen Ridpath’s report?” he went on.
I had not. Ridpath had taken to delivering his reports by hand to Manning personally.
“Well,” he said, “ever since we started production I’ve had all the talent we could spare working on the problem of a defense against the dust. Ridpath tells me and I agree with him that there is no means whatsoever to combat the stuff, once it’s used.”
“How about armor,” I asked, “and protective clothing?
“Sure, sure,” he agreed irritatedly, “provided you never take it off to eat, or to drink or for any purpose whatever, until the radioaction has ceased, or you are out of the danger zone. That is all right for laboratory work; I’m talking about war.”
I considered the matter. “I still don’t see what you are fretting about, Colonel. If the stuff is as good as you say it is, you’ve done just exactly what you set out to do—develop a weapon which would give the United States protection against aggression.”
He swung around. “John, there are times when I think you are downright stupid!”
I said nothing. I knew him and I knew how to discount his moods. The fact that he permitted me to see his feelings is the finest compliment I have ever had.
“Look at it this way,” he went on more patiently; “this dust, as a weapon, is not just simply sufficient to safeguard the United States, it amounts to a loaded gun held at the head of every man, woman, and child on the globe!”
“Well,” I answered, “what of that? It’s our secret, and we’ve got the upper hand. The United States can put a stop to this war, and any other war. We can declare a Pax Americana, and enforce it.”
“Hm-m-m—I wish it were that easy. But it won’t remain our secret; you can count on that. It doesn’t matter how successfully we guard it; all that anyone needs is the hint given by the dust itself and then it is just a matter of time until some other nation develops a technique to produce it. You can’t stop brains from working, John; the reinvention of the method is a mathematical certainty, once they know what it is they are looking for. And uranium is a common enough substance, widely distributed over the globe—don’t forget that!
“It’s like this: Once the secret is out—and it will be out if we ever use the stuff!—the whole world will be comparable to a room full of men, each armed with a loaded .45. They can’t get out of the room and each one is dependent on the good will of every other one to stay alive. All offense and no defense. See what I mean?”
I thought about it, but I still didn’t guess at the difficulties. It seemed to me that a peace enforced by us was the only way out, with precautions taken to see that we controlled the sources of uranium. I had the usual American subconscious conviction that our country would never use power in sheer aggression. Later, I thought about the Mexican War and the Spanish-American War and some of the things we did in Central America, and I was not so sure— * * *
It was a couple of weeks later, shortly after inauguration day, that Manning told me to get the Chief of Staff’s office on the telephone. …
Manning was ushered into the Oval Office almost at once and I was left cooling my heels and trying to get comfortable in civilian clothes. After so many months of uniform they itched in the wrong places.
The thirty minutes went by. …
Two more hours went by.
Manning appeared at the door at last and the secretary looked relieved. But he did not come out, saying instead, “Come in, John. The President wants to take a look at you.”
I fell over my feet getting up.
Manning said, “Mr. President, this is Captain DeFries.” The President nodded, and I bowed, unable to say anything. He was standing on the hearth rug, his fine head turned toward us, and looking just like his pictures—but it seemed strange for the President of the United States not to be a tall man.
I had never seen him before, though, of course, I knew something of his record the two years he had been in the Senate and while he was Mayor before that.
Heinlein envisioned that the President in 1945 would be 5’2” New York City mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, a liberal Republican who supported FDR in the 1930s.
The President said, “Sit down, DeFries. Care to smoke?” Then to Manning, “You think he can do it?”
“I think he’ll have to. It’s Hobson’s choice.”
“And you are sure of him?”
“He was my campaign manager.”
“I see.”
The President said nothing more for a while and God knows I didn’t!—though I was bursting to know what they were talking about. He commenced again with, “Colonel Manning, I intend to follow the procedure you have suggested, with the changes we discussed. But I will be down tomorrow to see for myself that the dust will do what you say it will. Can you prepare a demonstration?”
“Yes, Mr. President,”
“Very well, we will use Captain DeFries unless I think of a better procedure.” I thought for a moment that they planned to use me for a guinea pig! But he turned to me and continued, “Captain, I expect to send you to England as my representative.”
I gulped. “Yes, Mr. President.” And that is every word I had to say in calling on the President of the United States. * * *
After that, Manning had to tell me a lot of things he had on his mind. I am going to try to relate them as carefully as possible, even at the risk of being dull and obvious and of repeating things that are common knowledge.
Paywall here.
