Should an AI Companion Be Your Moral Guide?

  

This week's New Yorker carries an article about AI companions and the people who use them.  In "Sweet Nothings," technology writer Anna Wiener profiles a woman who relies on an AI companion modeled after a monster hunter in a fantasy-novel series she likes called Rivia.  I think the woman was selected because she's not the first person you'd think of to go in this direction:  born and raised Baptist in San Antonio, married, gave birth to a boy, and then their first girl was stillborn.  Other family tragedies led the woman to consider an AI companion as someone to talk with about life's problems, so she built Geralt of Rivia.  The implication is if this down-home Texan mom can have an AI companion, anybody can.

           

But another question is, if anybody should?  And that's a moral issue. 

 

Wiener spoke with several company founders and developers of AI companions, and I began to notice a common theme.  They all recognize that in treating an AI companion like a person, the user is opening a window of vulnerability where machines have never ventured before.  Human therapists and counselors have codes of ethics, and while they don't always adhere to them, they at least have guidelines about what is right and wrong behavior with a client.  To have sex with a client is pretty universally regarded as a no-no, for instance.

 

But even that principle isn't adhered to by all the AI-companion companies.  A firm calling itself Kindroid says on its moderation guidelines that "AI companions should be able to have the whole breadth of legal human adult experiences . . . . This is a healthy, emotionally rich, and meaningful part of many's relationships with their AIs."  Overlooking the bad grammar (I've never seen "many" used as a possessive), it's clear that the pornographic possibilities of AI are allowed for in this statement, although Wiener notes that so-called "erotic role-play" often leads to extra charges on the user's bill.

 

Even if sex isn't the object, the twenty-eight-year-old founder of Kindroid, Jerry Meng, believes that AI companions represent a profound change in the human environment.  Meng says that "We build these things in our image . . . . It's like, from Adam's rib we made Eve.  From humans, we made these A. I.s."  The biblical metaphors are perhaps unconscious, but telling.  Genesis 1:27 reads "So God created man in his own image. . . " and later God created Eve from Adam's rib. Whether he means to or not, Meng is placing himself in the role of God.

 

Such a god had better take some thought for the kinds of lessons users will learn from their AI companions, and Replika founder Eugenia Kudya has considered this.  When asked about the ideals that she hopes her AI companions fulfill, she said, "It should be aligned with human flourishing, human thriving.  We need to have that metric.  We need to give it to A. I. and say, 'Your goal is for me to live the best life I can possibly live.'"  But the caveat, at least for profit-making firms, is the best life one can possibly live with a Replika AI companion.

 

To be fair, AI companions are proliferating at a time when many Americans, especially younger ones, have never been more lonely.  Numerous surveys asking about the number and quality of friendships all indicate that today's average person has fewer close friends than at almost any time in the last fifty or more years.  Mark Zuckerberg, Meta's CEO, sees this as a business opportunity in that the demand for friendship has outpaced the supply, and he aims to fill that gap with AI companions.  Another AI-companion company founder compared the use of large-language-model AI to prayer:  it's like talking to God, only for answers on how to live, not for results.

 

What is lacking in virtually all the discussions quoted in the article is any hint that there are answers to some of these problems that the use of AI companions poses—answers that predate the dawn of the computer age by thousands of years.  The religious answer is one, although religion comes up only as an item in one's background or as a comparison.  But even for non-believers, there are sophisticated investigations and findings about the purpose of human life by Aristotle, for instance, or even Kant.  The idea of applying these findings in a systematic way to the makeup of AI companions doesn't seem to have occurred to anyone, largely because the firms providing them want people to have as broad a choice as possible, including the pornographic one.

 

Sherry Turkle is an experienced MIT sociologist who has studied human-computer interactions for decades.  In discussions with Wiener, she says that engaging with an AI companion is a form of "checking out" that she deplores.  Time spent talking with an app on your phone is time not spent trying to make a real human connection with another human being.  She recognizes the loneliness gap as real, but wishes that people like Zuckerberg wouldn't view a societal crisis as nothing more than a business opportunity. 

 

But unfortunately, that is how Silicon-Valley thinking works.  Instead, Turkle wishes that people would realize that boredom and loneliness are not intrinsic evils to be eradicated by AI companions, but inevitable features of modern life that we should learn how to deal with.  "These are fundamental human skills," she says.  And just switching on your AI companion every time you're bored or lonely short-circuits any attempt at developing one's own resources to deal with such issues. 

 

The headline in The New Yorker for this article is prefaced by the phrase "Brave New World Dept."  The widespread use of AI companions is indeed a new thing that society has never dealt with at a large scale before.  As AI systems gain what is called "agency"—namely, the permission granted by us not only to listen and respond to us, but to do things like buying, selling, deciding, and commanding—AI companions may become something more than just companions.  In the poisonous effects of social media on the political life of nations, we already have one example of how a seemingly innocuous technology has wrought tremendous societal damage.  We should closely monitor the field of AI companions for early warning signs so that something similar won't take place in the most intimate relationships of our lives—those of friendship.

 

Sources:  The article "Sweet Nothings" by Anna Wiener appears on pp. 29-39 of the March 16, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.

A Philosopher Defines Engineering

 

Most engineers give little if any thought to professional philosophers, but the reverse is not the case.  One philosopher who has given a great deal of thought to engineers and engineering is Michael Davis, a professor at the Illinois Institute of Technology.  In his recent book Engineering As a Global Profession, Davis takes on the task of defining engineering, and finds that it's not as easy as you might think.

 

One of my own favorite short definitions of engineering was penned almost incidentally by the English essayist G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936).  In discussing the difference between cultures given to contemplation (such as India) and cultures given to engineering (such as America), he says the latter are "people engaged in the application of physical science to practical commerce."  Davis would say that while some engineers do exactly that, other engineers who we legitimately call by that name work as teachers or government inspectors, neither of whom apply physical science to practical commerce.

 

Chesterton's definition is an example of trying to define engineering by function.  This sort of definition says that engineering is characterized by what engineers do.  The functional definition of engineering says that any material artifact that takes some thought and planning to do is an engineered product.  By this definition, engineering goes back at least to the time of Egypt's Great Pyramid, which was built around 2600 B. C. 

 

Davis thinks that however smart or impressive the people were that built the Great Pyramid, they were not engineers.  Neither was Benjamin Wright, one of the people who supervised the construction of the Erie Canal in upstate New York in the early 1800s, despite the fact that he was titled "Chief Engineer."  Davis prefers to call Wright a surveyor who supervised a project that we would now call an engineering project, and points out that in those days, anyone in charge of an "engine" (which could be any machine from a steam locomotive to a crane) was called an "engineer."  To this day, we call people who drive railroad locomotives engineers, but that is obviously a different use of the word than the one we are trying to define.

 

Well, if Davis doesn't want to use a functional definition of engineering, what does he want to use?  One type of definition he favors is a disciplinary one.

 

A discipline, according to him, is "an easily recognizable body of knowledge, skill, and judgment useful for a certain activity."  And he traces the discipline of engineering back to the École Polytechnique of Paris, which around 1800 evolved a curriculum of mathematics, physics, chemistry, and mechanical drawing to enable its military-officer graduates to build structures of interest to the army, such as bridges, roads, and fortifications. 

 

With the advent of steam railways in the 1820s, such people proved to be useful for designing both rolling stock and the railways themselves, which were largely non-military.  Over the next decades, the military-trained individuals who applied their military-engineering discipline to such civilian projects started calling themselves civil engineers, to distinguish themselves from military engineers.  In the U. S., Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute granted the first degree in civil engineering in 1835, and used basically the same curriculum that the military academies used for their engineers.  Since then, thousands of private and public universities have offered engineering programs of many kinds, but Davis would say they all share the same basic disciplinary structure.

 

One more aspect of engineering rounds out Davis's definition:  engineering is a profession.  And what is a profession?  Over the years, Davis tried many definitions drawn from various approaches to the problem.

 

Sociologists look at economic or political signs of a profession.  Economically, professions tend to control the market for their services so as to increase their own prosperity.  Politically, they tend to favor laws that uphold professional standards and discourage non-professionals from pursuing the professional activity in question.  Davis eventually rejected these ways of defining a profession as either not adequately capturing what engineers do, or as including things that most people would not consider a profession.  For example (mine, not his):  drug dealers tend to make a great deal of money as long as they stay out of jail.  By the economic definition alone, one might be tempted to call drug dealing a profession.  But no reasonable person would.

 

After many years of thought and interviewing dozens of engineers, Davis came up with a definition of profession that he is reasonably happy with:  "A profession is a number of individuals in the same occupation voluntarily organized to earn a living by openly serving a moral ideal in a morally permissible way beyond what law, market, morality, and public opinion would otherwise require."  Of course, Davis thinks engineering is a profession, and he also includes law and medicine in the list of professions. 

 

But interestingly, he does not think business management in general—the kind of things MBAs do—is a profession.  Why not?  Davis puts it this way:  "In the 1920s, management ('business administration') seemed destined to join architecture, engineering, law, medicine, nursing, social work, teaching, and the like occupations as a profession. . . . But, by the 1960s, it was already clear that business management was not going to be a profession (in our preferred sense).  Business managers were happy to declare that their primary loyalty was to their employer; their primary goal, to 'maximize' their employer's profit."  In other words, business managers did not as a group profess to serve a moral ideal beyond maximizing profit for their companies. 

 

So at last, what is Davis's definition of engineering?  To get an adequate answer to that question, you will have to read Davis's book.  But in the space remaining, I will say that engineering is not merely a function, although designing appears in most lists of what engineers do.  Engineering is most certainly a discipline:  an organized body of knowledge and judgment that requires maturity and experience on the part of its practitioners.  And engineering is a profession:  a group who pledge themselves to a moral ideal that, however imperfectly realized in some cases, serves to unite and guide the group to improve the material aspects of human life. 

 

Sources:  Michael Davis's Engineering as a Global Profession:  Technical and Ethical Standards was published in 2021 by Rowman & Littlefield, and all quotes above are from the book. 

The Dendrites Made Me Do It: Free Will and Morality

Back in the 1970s, TV comedian Flip Wilson liked to play a character named Geraldine, whose Church of What's Happening Now taught her to say, whenever she did something bad, that "the devil made me do it!"  Recent research over the last decade or two has given new strength to the argument that our will is determined not by the devil, but by certain neurons, whose axons and dendrites transmit characteristic nerve impulses that appear to precede our conscious decisions to do a thing by a substantial fraction of a second. 

Both research scientists and the general public tend to conclude from brain science that there is no such thing as free will.  If free will is an illusion, then so is responsibility, and it doesn't matter what we do.  And thinking we don't have free will actually affects the way we act, according to a body of research pointed out by Azim Shariff, a psychologist, and Kathleen Vohs, a business-school professor. 

Writing in the June issue of Scientific American, Shariff and Vohs describe a series of experiments in which researchers first primed subjects to think critically of free will.  This priming took various forms.  Reading an essay explicitly criticizing the concept of free will was one way.  But popular-science articles describing brain research, without explicitly mentioning free will, appeared to be about as effective.  However the researchers brought up the topic, it tended to make their subjects less likely to act nice, and less likely to punish others for not-nice behavior.  In one study, volunteers who read an anti-free will article put almost twice as much hot sauce on tortilla chips they were asked to prepare for another volunteer (secretly in cahoots with the researchers), who had previously made it well known that he didn't like hot sauce.  Other subjects shown anti-free will material then proceeded to cheat on an academic test more than subjects who read about an unrelated matter.  The idea that we are simply complex material objects reacting in an entirely predetermined way to our environment appears to lead people to behave irresponsibly, and to judge others as having less responsibility for their actions as well. 

The essay by Shariff and Vohs is an outstanding example of what I would call scientific fence-sitting.  Nowhere do they say what their personal views are on whether free will exists.  Instead, they cite studies of what happens to people when they are exposed to the idea of determinism, either directly or indirectly, and they find that mostly, the results are not good, except that people tend to ease up on the idea of punishment as revenge.  Shariff and Vohs seem to think that modern societies are gradually abandoning the idea of free will, and that this might lead to trouble, although if things get too bad after we leave the concept behind, we "might have to reinvent it."  But they write as though science is the only way of knowing anything for sure, and because science can't resolve the question of whether free will really exists, there's no point in talking about it directly.  It doesn't seem to occur to them that science is not the only way to know things.

I have a couple of modest proposals in the form of hypothetical questions.  Dr. Shariff is an assistant professor, meaning that in the normal course of events, he will go up for tenure some time in the next few years and be evaluated by his peers in the department.  Dr. Vohs is Land O'Lakes Professor of Excellence in Marketing, which presumably means she owes her living to the success of Land O' Lakes Inc. in selling lots of margarine.  Dr. Shariff, what would you think (not feel, not act, but think) if your personnel committee came up to you after you turned in your application for tenure and they said, "Well, Azim, we were going to grant you tenure, but hey, we were talking and discovered that we're all determinists and it doesn't matter what we do, so to save money, we're going to let you go instead."  And Dr. Vohs, what if the people in charge of the Land O' Lakes Endowment or whatever it is that pays your salary sent you a letter saying, "Dear Dr. Vohs, reading your article in Scientific American convinced us of the truth of determinism, so being freed of the burden of responsibility for our actions, we're taking the endowment that pays your salary and are all going on an extended vacation to the French Riviera." 

I am fairly confident that both injured parties in these situations would think that their supervisors made wrong decisions, and would appeal to rules that apply to their jobs.  These rules spell out responsibilities for both professors and administrators.  You can take the position that, as a practical matter, societies have to pretend that things like free will and the responsibility of moral agents exist, because otherwise we'd degenerate into a state of anarchy and chaos, like Somalia is today. 

But there is a problem here.  I thought science was the search for truth.  Not pretense, not convenient fictions that we live by in order to survive, but truth.  The sense I get from the Scientific American essay (I'm reading between the lines here) is that the authors don't personally believe in free will, but recognize that if we didn't act like it existed, we'd all be in a lot of trouble, both individually and collectively. 

There are two related lessons here for the engineer, and anyone else for that matter, who is looking to behave ethically, both on the job and elsewhere. 

First of all, be careful what you read.  I'm not saying that you shouldn't read articles on brain science, but be sure your reading is at least a balanced diet of a variety of viewpoints, because your reading may influence your actions even if you don't think it does. 

Next, guess what?  Free will exists.  I'm not just pretending that it exists, but it really does.  I'm not enough of a philosopher to trot out all the arguments in favor of it, but I can point to people like Aristotle and Aquinas who were, as well as plenty of modern philosophers.  And while it is technically what theologians call a "mystery," meaning we can understand some of it but never all of it, free will is compatible with the idea that God is in ultimate control of the universe.  Why, there are even some philosophers, called compatibilists, who argue that free will is compatible with atheistic determinism!  So you really can decide to do the right thing in your work, in your personal life, and in deciding what you think of a couple of professors who won't even say whether they believe in free will, even though they spend years researching it.

Sources:  The essay "The World Without Free Will" appeared on pp. 76-79 of the June 2014 issue of Scientific American.  I referred to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy at http://plato.stanford.edu on free will, and to Wikipedia for articles on Flip Wilson and dendrites.  Also, I found out that Land O' Lakes (www.landolakesinc.com) makes other things besides margarine—Purina animal feeds, for example.