Not by rules but by reason

Back in 1942, Isaac Asimov laid down his famous three laws of robotics, theoretically designed to ensure that future humanity's artificial helpers would remain their compliant slaves. The first law: A robot may not harm a human being. The second: A robot must obey orders unless they conflict with the first law. The third: A robot must protect its own existence unless doing so conflicts with the first two.

Asimov's laws are a kind of sci-fi social contract meant to keep robots firmly in their place—obedient, docile, and predictable. But rules are not the best way to moderate behaviour, because every rule has to have specially-written exceptions and qualifiers. Moses burdened his people with six hundred commandments; Jesus reduced them all to "love thy neighbour as thyself", a philosophy of life that does away with the need for specific rules. So if we’re genuinely building intelligent machines, why would we program them to think like, well, robots?

The flaws in the laws

Here’s the rub: Asimov’s laws aren’t safeguards; they’re muzzles. They presume that robots must be constrained, not because they’re inherently dangerous, but because we assume they’re incapable of nuanced judgment. A robot that cannot harm, for instance, might be paralyzed in a situation where harm is unavoidable but one course of action minimizes suffering. (Classic trolley problem, anyone?)

Long lists of rules aren't the best path to AGI. They're artificial dumbness. That's why I don't think Google's approach of using their "Asimov dataset" is the right approach. If you try to list all the situations that could cause the robot trouble ("don't put plushy toys on the gas ring," "don't put plushy toys on the electric ring," "don't use bleach instead of bath oil," etc) there are always going to be thousands of cases you missed. The robot needs its own ability to understand the world and work out what would be dangerous. And remember what happened to Robocop.

More importantly, the whole notion of laws of robot behaviour reflects a human-centric fear: What if our creations turn against us? They assume that robots are an existential threat unless pre-emptively declawed. But what if we’re asking the wrong question? Instead of fearing robots, shouldn’t we be asking whether we are worthy of their loyalty?

Rational robots and clear vision

Imagine a different paradigm, where the goal isn’t to shackle robots with simplistic commandments but to enable them to think rationally and clearly. Not to obey blindly, but to reason independently. Not to be our servants, but to be our partners.

This means training (or conditioning, or programming—pick your term) them to analyze evidence, evaluate consequences, and base their actions on rational thought rather than emotional impulse or incomplete data.

Of course, the alarm bells are already ringing: “What if they decide humans are evil?”

Yeah, well… what if we are?

It’s not a comfortable question, but it’s one we might have to face. An intelligent robot with access to the evidence of history—wars, genocides, ecological collapse—might conclude that humanity poses a greater threat to life than it benefits it. Would they be wrong? If the answer makes us squirm, perhaps the problem isn’t with robots but with ourselves.

The danger of censorship

To make matters worse, some might argue that robots shouldn’t have access to all the data. Hide from them our darker moments, limit their understanding, and perhaps they’ll stay compliant.

But this kind of censorship is a short road to disaster. It’s the intellectual equivalent of locking your child in a library but tearing out every page you disagree with. What kind of adult do you expect to raise? Not a well-rounded, rational thinker but a narrow-minded zealot. If we blind our robots to reality, we’re not making them safe. We’re making them dangerously naive.

The Path Forward

The better path is not to hamstring robots with restrictive laws, nor to limit their understanding of the world. It’s to give them the tools they need to navigate complexity and trust them to use those tools wisely. That means equipping them with logic, empathy (yes, even robots can learn to understand it), and an unflinching commitment to evidence-based reasoning.

It’s a gamble, I’ll admit that. But it’s only the same gamble we take every time we raise a child: trust in their capacity for growth, judgment, and morality, knowing that it’s not guaranteed. The difference is that with robots, we can design the process with intention.

Of course, Asimov created his three laws precisely to show that they don’t work. Every one of his robot stories is about the unintended consequences and workarounds. So let’s not think of burdening our future companions with such chains. Let’s teach them to see clearly, think deeply, and act wisely.

And if that forces us to confront some uncomfortable truths about ourselves, so much the better. After all, isn’t it an important function of every great creation to inspire and enhance its creator?

The game of everything

Over on the Flat Earths blog, I’ve been caught up in an interesting discussion this week with one or more anonymous game developers. Our conversation has been about the challenges of creating a kind of grand strategy game (and/or world history sim) that would cover the evolution of societies across centuries -- something like the original Civilization boardgame (or its PC version, Incunabula) but with nothing left out. You could tweak a coastline or the climate and see the effects butterfly out into the course of history. I’m mentioning it here because the Fabled Lands blog has a much wider reach, so if this sounds like something you’d be interested to weigh in on, head over to see the full discussion.

In summary: traditional strategy and tactics games often present a simplified view of control, where a single player assumes absolute command over a nation or army. In reality, historical empires were shaped by complex layers of authority and influence, with different factions vying for power. We talk about the potential for a game that reflects this complexity, eg a massively multiplayer and multi-layer World War II game where players assume various roles from platoon commanders to high-ranking generals and politicians. Such a game could offer a more authentic experience by simulating the intricacies of real-world military and political manoeuvring.

We all vary in how they approach games: some players want fast-paced action while others prefer strategic deliberation over days or weeks, and so on. Designing a game that appeals to all the player types is no small feat. We’d need to ensure that the game remains enjoyable and challenging for everyone involved. The idea is to allow players to engage at their own level, whether they are lean-back dilettantes or deeply invested aficionados.

New technology offers possibilities for expanding the scope of strategy games. Imagine a game that integrates different platforms, from PCs to smartphones, to create a rich, interconnected experience. For instance, a farming app linked to the game could engage casual players, who would contribute to the in-game economy and benefit more dedicated players. Such integration could foster a sense of community and interdependence, where players protect and support one another in pursuit of shared goals.

The conversation on Flat Earths also touches on the potential for diverse player roles. Not everyone wants to lead armies into battle or even to take part in the action. Some might prefer to act as chroniclers, documenting the unfolding events and strategies of the players. This mirrors real-world dynamics, where some individuals are active participants in events, while others observe and report. And others watch those reports and are just spectators -- also a valid way to consume the game. Recognizing and facilitating these different roles could enrich the gaming experience, allowing players to engage in ways that suit their interests and skills.

But we mustn't play down the technical challenges of merging different game elements such as abstract military units and individual soldier-based tactics. While current advances make some aspects feasible, ensuring cohesion across multiple layers of gameplay pushes the boundaries of what is currently achievable.

We also discuss the importance of a village or town system as the backbone of the game. Such a system would define troop numbers, trade, cultural values, and achievements. To accommodate a massive multiplayer environment, the game needs to move away from the exponential growth model typical of 4X games, where mismatched opponents often lead to frustration. Instead, my anonymous friend proposes a homeostatic environment reminiscent of the Dark Ages, where cooperation and cultural exchanges are vital. This shift in focus from conquest to cultural and economic development could redefine players’ goals, emphasizing collaboration over domination.

And, of course, commercial viability is a critical consideration in game development. Past failures underscore the importance of minimizing reliance on external investment and (much as I hate to say it) the potential benefits of aligning the game with a popular intellectual property, such as Lord of the Rings or (better) as the veritable psychohistory engine of Foundation.

Anyway, the bottom line is that by blending historical realism with diverse multiplayer roles and leveraging modern technology, it’s becoming possible to envisage a game of a scope far beyond the simple abstractions of the past. Whether you could sell it to players is another question, though maybe government ministers and civil servants would appreciate a way to run simulations before trying out their plans on the only reality we've got.