here is the rueful belief that interacting with a computer can be just as good as interaction with a person.  This is thought to be especially so in the area of games.  The belief is rueful because it is, in a most important respect, an illusion.  We have become so besotted with what computers can do that we are forgetting what they unequivocally cannot do. 

Try playing a game with a person, say chess.  What matters is not just the moves that the person makes each and every time.  But the ways in which the person behaved until the move is actually made.  A chess move can be made with lightening-like swiftness or a move can made after great reflection and hesitation.  From the standpoint of human observation the difference between these two alternatives is absolutely enormous. 

Indeed, if one is playing a first-rate chess player, there is no better sign that one is playing well than that, often enough, one’s opponent has to think about what her or his next move should be. 

There is could be no greater indication that one’s chess playing skills are at an amateur level at best than that after each move one’s part, one’s opponent makes a successful move in response without a moment’s hesitation.

The speed, then, with which an opponent responds to a chess move is not just a framework of time.  It can serve as a valuable piece of information.  The same holds for the facial expressions of one’s opponent.  If one is playing an expert chess player, then to see an unexpected furrowed forehead on the part of one’s opponent after one has made a move is to have some tremendously useful information about one’s own move: either one made a really, really stupid move or, by contrast, one made a really, really good one.  This information gleamed just from watching the facial expressions of one’s opponent.

Well, needless to say, facial expressions are a fundamental part of face-to-face social interaction.  The slightest variation can make all the difference in the world.  Speaking as a man: a woman’s look can be one of indifference or it can be that coy look that is surfeited with sexual appreciation.  But the difference between these two looks is nothing like the difference between a frown and a smile.  Indeed, the difference between a frown and smile is way too vast. 

Between good friends, the slight smile after an utterance on a friend’s part can be sign of jovial teasing on the part of the friend; whereas a slightly different look on the friend’s part can be one of utter puzzlement as to what one is going on.  Once more, the difference between these two looks falls considerably short of being as vast as the difference between a smile and a frown. 

A look of puzzlement is not at all a frown and a coy look saturated with sexual admiration is not a smile. 

Similar remarks hold for approval and disapproval.  Part of what it is to know a person well is to know the ways in which the individual’s facial expressions are indicative of either approval or disapproval.  Every child has basked in the approving look of her or his parents.  Every child has seen fit to modify her or his behavior owing to their disapproving look.

The moral of the story, of course, is that none of this can be learned from a computer.  Without a doubt, a considerable measure of dexterity that can be learnt from interacting with a computer.  Alas, dexterity does not even come close to exhausting the character of human interaction.  And to lose sight of this truth is to make a fundamental mistake.

If the only thing that a child is capable of is dexterity, then she or she will in fact be socially inept.  Although the child will know how to do lots of things very quickly, she or he will be a massive failure when it comes to modulating her behavior in response to the subtle reactions of those around her.  And so much of very meaningful social behavior is, in fact, quite subtle.  From excitement to utter boredom, the tell-tale sign is often none other than a subtle difference in facial expression. 

When people are riveted by what is being said their eyes, which is a comparatively miniscule part of the body, exhibit a kind of “lock” that is next to impossible to miss.  Every speaker knows when she has the attention of her audience in that way.  Likewise, every speaker knows when he does not have it.  A similar claim can be made with regard to deeply personal conversations, not least among these being romantic conversations. 

One thing is for sure: None of this will be learnt from a computer.  Nor, again, will a child learn from a computer the modulation of voice that indicates that depth of emotion that we find so profoundly affirming.  The words “I love you” or “That was excellent” owe everything to their delivery. 

Nor, again, will a child learn from a computer the majestic power of a pregnant pause that can animate us like nothing us can.  Sometimes one of the most beautiful moments that two human beings can experience between one another is that neither can find the words to express the depth of how much they mean to each other.  The very richness of the moment lies in their being at a loss for words.  A failure that is rich beyond words.  No computer can duplicate that!

None of this has much to do with dexterity.  But it has everything to do with being human.  And that is the point.  Computers cannot can close to simulating all of this without being specifically programmed to do so, where the programming is tied to knowing in advance what the next step be. 

The gift of humanity lies in, among other things, our free will.  What we can never know is just how what we say or do will make difference in the lives of another and how, in turn, their reactions will impact upon us.  It is not enough to know that a person will be polite or gracious, or that a person will be angry.  For a person can be these things in a multitude of ways.  And that is precisely the point.  Our humanity at its best lies in being in tune with that reality: there can be a multitude of ways. 

Technology has made some things obsolete.  The typewriter and the cassette tape are cases in point.  And virtual reality can, indeed, be quite instructive as a measure some aspects of human response behavior.  Just so, technology has never come close to even being a pale imitation of that which makes us human. 

If, however, we are so besotted with technology that we do not see this, then there is, alas, a respect in which technology has succeeded.  For part of our humanity lies not merely in the fact that we are human, but that we appreciate our humanity; and if we devaluate ourselves in supposing that dexterity is so definitive of who we are that the rest does not matter, then we have allowed ourselves to lose an aspect of our humanity without technology ever even coming close to replacing us.  And that is even worse.  Second Life should always be just that—a very distant second to the real thing.