I'm bumping this 2017 post to the top of the queue because, 1) I think the concept of virtual reading proposed here may be of some use in thinking about and evaluating the written output of large language models, such as GPT-3, and 2) the concept of literary form implicit the section, "In search of a small-world net," is relevant to my arguments about the value of symbols as being, in part, a vehicle for moving about in mental space in a way that "outside" the "standard" landscape of mental space (see my post earlier today, Why Are Symbols So Useful to Us?).
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I've uploaded another working paper. Title above, abstract, table of contents, and introduction below. Note that it's a long way through the introduction, but there's some good stuff there.
Download at:
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Abstract: Virtual reading is proposed as a computational strategy for investigating the structure of literary texts. A computer ‘reads’ a text by moving a window N-words wide through the text from beginning to end and follows the trajectory that window traces through a high-dimensional semantic space computed for the language used in the text. That space is created by using contemporary corpus-based machine learning techniques. Virtual reading is compared and contrasted with a 40 year old proposal grounded in the symbolic computation systems of the mid-1970s. High-dimensional mathematical spaces are contrasted with the standard spatial imagery employed in literary criticism (inside and outside the text, etc.). The “manual” descriptive skills of experienced literary critics, however, are essential to virtual reading, both for purposes of calibration and adjustment of the model, and for motivating low-dimensional projection of results. Examples considered: Heart of Darkness, Much Ado About Nothing, Othello, The Winter’s Tale.
Contents
Introduction: Prospero Redux and Virtual Reading 2
In search of a small-world net: Computing an emblem in Heart of Darkness 8
Virtual reading as a path through a multidimensional semantic space 11
Reply to a traditional critic about computational criticism: Or, It’s time to escape the prison-house of critical language [#DH] 17
After the thrill is gone...A cognitive/computational understanding of the text, and how it motivates the description of literary form [Description!] 23
Appendix: Prospero Elaborated 30
Introduction: Prospero Redux and Virtual Reading
In a way, this working paper is a reflection on four decades of work in the study of language, mind, and literature. Not specifically my work, though, yes, certainly including my work. I say in a way, for it certainly doesn’t attempt to survey the relevant literature, which is huge, well beyond the scope of a single scholar. Rather I compare a project I had imagined back then (Prospero), mostly as a thought experiment, but also with some hope that it would in time be realized, with what has turned out to be a somewhat revised version of that project (Prospero Redux), a version which I believe to be doable, though I don’t alone posess the skills, much less the resources, to do it.
The rest of this working paper is devoted to Prospero Redux, the revised version. This introduction compares it with the 40 year-old Prospero. This comparison is a way of thinking about an issue that’s been on my mind for some time: Just what have we learned in the human sciences over the last half-century or so? As far as I can tell, there is no single theoretical model on which a large majority of thinkers agree in the way that all biologists agree on evolution. The details are much in dispute, but there is no dispute that world of living things is characterized by evolutionary dynamics. The human sciences have nothing comparable (though there is a move afoot to adopt evolution as a unifying principle for the social and behavioral sciences). If we don’t have even ONE such theoretical model, just what DO we know? And yet there HAS been a lot of interesting and important work over the last half-century. We must have learned something, no?
Let’s take a look.
Prospero, 1976
Work in machine translation started in the early 1950s [1]; George Miller published his classic article, “The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two” in 1956; Chomsky published Syntactic Structures in 1957; and we can date artificial intelligence (AI) to a 1956 workshop at Dartmouth [2]. That’s enough to characterize the beginnings of the so-called “Cognitive Revolution” in the human sciences. I encountered that revolution, if you will, during my undergraduate years at Johns Hopkins in the 1960s, where I also encountered semiotics and structuralism. By the early 1970s I was in graduate school in the English Department at The State University of New York at Buffalo, where I joined the research group of David Hays in the Linguistics Department. Hays was a Harvard-educated cognitive scientist who’d headed the mamachine translation program at the RAND Corporation in the 1950s.
At that time a number of reasearch groups were working on cognitive or semantic network models for natural language semantics. It was bleeding edge research at the time. I learned the model Hays and his students had developed and applied it to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 129 (which I touch on a bit later, pp. 21 ff.). At the same time I was preparing abstracts of the current literature in computational linguistics for The American Journal of Computational Linguistics. Hays edited the journal and had a generous sense of the relevant literature.
Thus when Hays was invited to review the field of computational linguistics for Computers and the Humanities it was natural for him to ask me to draft the article. I wrote up the standard kind of review material, including reports and articles coming out on the Defense Department’s speech understanding project, which was perhaps the single largest research effort in the field (I discuss this as well, pp. 20 ff.). But we aspired to more than just a literature review. We wanted a forward-looking vision, something that might induce humanists to look deeper into the cognitive sciences.
We ended the article with a thought experiment (p. 271):
Let us create a fantasy, a system with a semantics so rich that it can read all of Shakespeare and help in investigating the processes and structures that comprise poetic knowledge. We desire, in short, to reconstruct Shakespeare the poet in a computer. Call the system Prospero.
How would we go about building it? Prospero is certainly well beyond the state of the art. The computers we have are not large enough to do the job and their architecture makes them awkward for our purpose. But we are thinking about Prospero now, and inviting any who will to do the same, because the blueprints have to be made before the machine can be built. [...]
The general idea is to represent the requisite world knowledge – what the poet had in his head – and then investigate the structure of the paths which are taken through that world view as we move through the object text, resolving the meaning of the text into the structure of conceptual interrelationships which is the semantic network. Thus the Prospero project includes the making of a semantic network to represent Shakespeare’s version of the Elizabethan world view.
But a model of the Elizabethan world view was “only the background”. We would also have to model Shakespeare’s mind (p. 272):
A program, our model of Shakespeare’s poetic competence, must move through the cognitive model and produce fourteen lines of text. [...] The advantage of Prospero is that it takes the cognitive model as given – clearly and precisely – and the poetic act as a motion through the model. Instead of asking how the words are related to one another, we ask how the words are related to an organized collection of ideas, and the organization of the poem is determined, then, by the world view and poetics in unison. [3]
We declined to predict when such a marvel might have been possible, though I expected to see something within my lifetime. Not something that would rival the Star Trek computer, mind you, not something that could actually think in some robust sense of the word. But something.
What we got some 35 years later was an IBM computer system called Watson that defeated humans in playing Jeopardy [4]. Watson was a marvel, but was and is nowhere near to doing what Hays and I had imagined for Prospero. Nor do I see that old vision coming to life in the forseeable future.
Moreover, Watson is based on newer kind of technology that is quite different from that which Hays and I had reviewed in our article and which we were imagining for Prospero. Prospero came out of a research program, symbolic computing, that all but collapsed a decade later. It was replaced by technology that had a more stochastic character, which involved machine learning, and which, in some increasingly popular versions, was (somewhat distanctly) inspired by real nervous systems. It is this newer technology that runs Google’s online machine translation system, that runs Apple’s Siri, and that is behind much of the work in computational literary criticism.
Before turning to that, however, I want to say just a bit more about what we most likely had in mind – I say “most likely” because that was a LONG time ago and I don’t remember all that was whizzing through my head at the time. We were out to simulate the human mind, to produce a system that was, in at least some of its parts and processes, like the parts and processes of the mind. One could have Prospero read and even write texts while keeping records of what it does. One could then examine those records and thus learn how the mind works. Ambitious? Yes. But the computer simulation of cognitive tasks is quite common in the cognitive sciences, though not on THAT scale. In contrast, Watson, for example, was not intended as a simulation of the mind. It was a straight-up engineering activity. What matters for such systems, and for AI generally, is whether or not the system produces useful results. Whether or not it does so in a human way is, at best, a secondary consideration.
Why didn’t Prospero, or anything like it, happen? For one thing, such systems tended to be brittle. If you get something even a little bit wrong, the whole thing collapses. Then there’s combinatorial explosion; so many alternatives have to be considered on the way to a good one that the system just runs out of time – that is, it just keeps computing and computing and computing [...] without reaching a result. That’s closely related to what is called the “common sense” problem. No text is ever complete. Something must always be inferred in order to make smooth connections between the words in the text. Humans have vast reserves of such common sense knowledge; computing systems do not. How do they get it? Hand coding – which takes time and time and time. And when the system calls on the common sense knowledge that’s been hand-coded into it, what happens? Combinatorial explosion.
The enterprise of simulating a mind through symbolic computing simply collapsed. In the case of something like Prospero I would specially add that it now seems to me that, to tell us something really useful about the mind, such a system would have to simulate the human brain. Hays and I didn’t realize it at the time – we’d just barely begun to think about the brain – but that became obvious some years later in retrospect.