Now that so many people are talking, apparently without embarrassment, to little electronic devices in their living rooms, I feel better about my own minor eccentricity. Among many bad habits, all of which I blame on my parents, is my habit of talking to animals. My mother often said, in exasperation: “You might as well talk to the cat.” It was her definition of futility, but I took it literally. So, I did talk to the cat, and still do, and to any other cats I meet, if they are inclined to conversation.
All through my childhood I talked to my various pets – mice, hamsters, goldfish – and to every dog I ever met. Dogs are by far the most rewarding communicators. My father tried to cure me of this habit. “It’s anthropomorphism,” he said, which sent me running for the dictionary.
“Anthropomorphism: The ascription of human characteristics to what is not human.” It sounded perfectly reasonable to me, and my pet rat agreed. My parents assumed that I would grow out of it, but I haven’t. I talk to bees and birds and, when I was painting the porch I found myself apologizing to a spider I had disturbed. But that can be discounted as no more than a mild eccentricity.
What worries me more is that I have started talking to machines. I thank the automatic gas pump and the ATM when they performed their duties. My pocket voice recorder says “See you” when I shut it off, and it is hard not to respond politely. I argue with the computer all the time, although the wretched thing always wins, and I have been known to address encouraging words to the vacuum cleaner and the food processor.
This suggests that I can no longer distinguish between interlocutors who are intelligent, like cats, and those that are mere objects, which in turn suggests the onset of true madness. This is a slippery slope, and I wonder that soon I’ll be talking to Alexa or Siri or some other electronic character who doesn’t really exist. The line must be drawn somewhere.
Talking to machines, and having them talk back to us, is a phenomenon of the last century. My grandmother refused to use the telephone. She said it was unnatural to talk to a machine, and I think she had a point. But that attitude has gone the way of flowered hats and manual typewriters. Now I get the impression that people love their mobile devices much more than the people they call on them. Indeed, there are often only machines at the other end – answering machines, automated information systems, and more computers. Eventually, I suppose, the machines will just cut out the middleperson and start talking among themselves. This would leave us with more time to talk to the animals, who are more sympathetic. Even a goldfish has more personality than a computer.
That’s why I am in favor of anthropomorphism. It is the opposite of anthropocentrism – the belief that we human beings are Lords of Creation and we can treat other living creatures as we like. Anthropomorphism is a step in the right direction. If we talk less to machines and more to cats and spiders, we may eventually learn how to talk to each other.
Copyright: David Bouchier
