Speaker 1: The Thinking Machine by Jacques Foutreu, it was absolutely impossible.
Twenty five chess masters from the world at large FOE,
gathered in Boston for the annual Championships, unanimously declared it impossible.
And unanimity on any given point is an unusual mental
condition for chess masters. Not one would concede for an
instant that it was within the range of human achievement.
Some grew red in the face as they argued it.
Others smiled loftily and were silent. Still others dismissed the matter,
in a word, as wholly absurd. A casual remark by
the distinguished scientist and logician, Professor Augustus s. F X
van Dusan provoked the discussion. He had in the past
aroused bitter disputes by some chance. Remark, in fact, had
been once a sort of controversial center of the sciences.
It had been due to his modest announcement of a
startling and unorthodox hypothesis that he had been invited to
vacate the chair of philosophy in a great university. Later
that university had felt honoured when he accepted its degree
of LD. For a score of years educational and scientific
institutions of the world had amused themselves by crowding degrees
upon him. He had initials that stood for things he
couldn't pronounce, degrees from France, England, Russia, Germany, Italy, Sweden
and Spain. These were expressed recognition of the fact that
his was the foremost brain in the sciences. The imprint
of his crabbed personality lay heavily on half a dozen
of its branches. Finally, there came a time when argument
was respectfully silent in the face of one of his conclusions.
The remark which had rayed the chess masters of the
world into so formidable and unanimous a descent, was made
by Professor van Dusen in the presence of three other gentlemen.
Of note, one of these, doctor Charles Elbert, happened to
be a chess enthusiast. Chess is a shameless perversion of
the functions of the brain, was Professor van Duson's declaration,
in his perpetually irritated voice. It is a sheer waste
of effort, greater because it is possibly the most difficult
of all fixed abstract problems. Of course, logic will solve it.
Logic will solve any problem, not most of them, but
any problem. A thorough understanding of its rules would enable
anyone to defeature greatest chess players. It would be inevitable,
just as inevitable as that two and two make four.
Not sometimes, but all the time. I don't know chess
because I never do useless things. But I could take
a few hours of competent instruction and defeat a man
who has devoted his life to it. His mind is cramped,
bound down to the logic of chess. Mine is not mine,
employs logic in its widest scope. Doctor Elbert shook his
head vigorously. It is impossible, he asserted. Nothing is impossible,
snapped the scientist. The human mind can do anything. It
is all we have to lift us above the brute creation.
For Heaven's sake, leave us that. The aggressive tone, the
uncompromising egotism, brought a flush to Doctor Elbert's face. Professor
Van Duson affected many persons that way, particularly those fellows savants,
who themselves men of distinction had ideas of their own.
Do you know the purposes of chess? It's countless combinations?
Asked doctor Albert. No was the crabbed reply, I know
nothing whatever of the game beyond the general purpose, which
I understand to be to move certain pieces in certain
directions to stop an opponent from moving his king. Is
that correct, yes, said Doctor Albert slowly. But I never
heard it stated just that way before. Then, if that
is correct, I maintain that the true logician can defeat
the chess expert by the pure mechanical rules of logic.
I'll take a few hours some time acquaint myself with
the moves of the pieces and defeat you to convince you,
Professor van Dusen glared savagely into the eyes of doctor Albert.
Not me, said doctor Albert. You say any one you,
for instance, might defeat the greatest chess player. Would you
be willing to meet the greatest chess player after you
acquaint yourself with the game? Certainly, said the scientist. I
have frequently found it necessary to make a fool of
myself to convince people. I'll do it again. This, then,
was the acrimonious beginning of the discussion, which aroused chess
masters and brought open descent from eminent men who had
not dared for years to dispute any assertion by the
distinguished Professor van Dusen. It was arranged that at the
conclusion of the championships, Professor van Dusen should meet the winner.
This happened to be Tchaikowski, the Russian, who had been
championed for half a dozen years. After this expected result
of the tournament, Hillsbury, a noted American master, spent a
morning with profess Sir van Dussin in the latter's modest
apartments on Beacon Hill. He left there with a sadly
puzzled face. That afternoon, Professor van Dusen met the Russian champion.
The newspapers had set a great deal about the affair,
and hundreds were present to witness the game. There was
a little murmur of astonishment when Professor van Duson appeared.
He was slight, almost childlike in body, and his thin
shoulders seemed to droop beneath the weight of his enormous head.
He wore a number eight hat. His brow rose straight
and dome like, and a heavy shock of long yellow
hair gave him almost a grotesque appearance. The eyes were
narrow slits of blue, squinting eternally through thick spectacles. The
face was small, clean shaven, drawn and white. With the
pallor of the student, His lips made a perfectly straight line.
His hands were remarkable for their whiteness, their flexibility, and
for the length of the slender fingers. One glance showed
that physical development had never entered into the schedule of
the scientists fifty years of life. The Russian smiled as
he sat down at the chest table. He felt that
he was humoring a crank. The other masters were grouped nearby,
curiously expectant. Professor van Dusan began the game, opening with
a queen's gambit. At his fifth move, made without the
slightest hesitation, the smile left the Russian's face. At the
tenth the masters grew intensely eager. The Russian champion was
playing for honor now. Professor van Duson's fourteenth move was
King's castle to Queen's four check. He announced after a
long study of the board, the Russian protected his king
with a knight. Professor van Duson noted the play, then
leaned back in his chair with fingertips pressed together. His
eyes left the board and dreamily studied the ceiling. For
at least ten minutes. There was no sound, no movement.
Then mate, in fifteen moves, he said quietly. There was
a quick gasp of astonishment. It took the practiced eyes
of the masters several minutes to verify the announcement, but
the Russian champion saw and leaned back in his chair,
a little white and dazed. He was not astonished. He
was helplessly floundering in a maze of incomprehensible things. Suddenly
he arose and grasped the slender hand of his conqueror.
You have never played chess before, he asked. Never, mon dieu,
You are not a man. You are a brain, a machine,
a thinking machine. It's a child's game, said the scientist abruptly.
There was no note of exultation in his voice. It
was still the irritable, impersonal tone which was habitual. This
then was Professor Augustus s f X van Dusen pH
d L d frs M D et cetera, et cetera,
et cetera. And this is how he came to be
known to the world at large as the Thinking Machine.
The Russian's phrase had been applied to the scientist as
a title by a newspaper reporter hutcheson hatch. It had
stuck end of the thinking machine and