The story of Pygmalion and Galatea is quite known and popular until nowadays.
Pygmalion, a famous sculptor, falls in love with his own creation and wishes to give this creation life.
This simple and imaginary concept is actually the basis from a psychological understanding of male behaviour and wish.
This nice myth is considered as the depiction of the masculine need to rule over a certain woman and to inanimate his ideas into a female living creature.
The modern concept of Pygmalion is thought as a man who "shapes" an uncultivated woman into an educated creature.
The strange sculptor
Pygmalion was a sculptor par excellence, a man who gave to every one of his ivory a life-like appearance.
His deep devotion to his art spared him no time to admire the beauty of women.
His sculptures were the only beauty he knew.
For reasons known only to him, Pygmalion despised and shunned women, finding solace only in his craft.
In fact, he was so condemning to women that he had vowed never to marry.
(According to other sources, it is said that after becoming disgusted by some local prostitutes, he lost all interest in women and avoided their company completely. 📖: Greek Myths and Greek Mythology)
Falling in love with his own creation
One fine day, Pygmalion carved the statue of a woman of unparalleled beauty.
She looked so gentle and divine that he could not take his eyes off the statue.
Enchanted with his own creation, he felt waves of joy and desire sweeping over his body.
In a moment of inspiration, he named the figurine, Galatea, meaning "she who is white like milk".
He draped over her the finest of cloths and bedecked her with the most dazzling of ornaments, adorned her hair with the prettiest of flowers, gave to her the choicest of gifts and kissed her as a sign of adoration.
Pygmalion was obsessed and madly in love with his creation.
The spell the lifeless woman cast on him was too much to resist and he desired her for his wife.
Countless were the nights and days he spent staring upon his creation.
The realization of his dream
In the meanwhile, the celebration of goddess Aphrodite was fast approaching and preparations were well under way.
On the day of the festival, while making offerings to goddess Aphrodite, Pygmalion prayed with all his heart and soul, beseeching the goddess that she turns his ivory figurine into a real woman.
Touched by his deep veneration, Aphrodite went to the workshop of Pygmalion to see this famous statue by herself.
When he looked upon the statue of Galatea, she got amazed by its beauty and liveliness.
Looking better at it, Aphrodite found that Galatea looked like her in beauty and perfection.
She granted Pygmalion his wish.
Upon returning home, the master-sculptor went straight to Galatea, full of hope.
At first, he noticed a flush on the cheeks of the ivory figurine but slowly it dawned upon him that Aphrodite had heard his pleas.
Unable to restrain himself, he held Galatea in his arms and kept her strongly.
What had been cold ivory turned soft and warm, and Pygmalion stood back in amazement as his beloved figurine came into life, smiling at him and speaking words of admiration for her creator.
Their love blossomed over the days and before long, wedding vows were exchanged between the two lovers with Aphrodite blessing them with happiness and prosperity.
The happy couple had a son, Paphos, who later founded the city of Paphos in Cyprus.
Some say that Pygmalion and Galatea also had a daughter, Metharme.
The bottom line is that the couple lived happily ever after.
The influence of the myth on the arts
The story of Pygmalion and Galatea was made famous by Ovid in his famous work, Metamorphoses.
However, the name Galatea was ascribed to the figurine only in the 18th century and gained prominence through Jean-Jacque Rousseau's opera, Pygmalion (1762).
Another famous work that is based on this myth is the play "Educating Rita", written by Willy Russel in 1980.
The story of the two lovers has been portrayed by many famous painters.
Furthermore, we can't but observe the similarity between the story of Galatea and the fable of Pinocchio, the wood-carved boy who was brought to life by a fairy-lady because of a man's wish to have children.
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I desire robots learning to love. Instead of falling for the designated human subject, he/it falls, hard for the mechasociologist tasked with documenting his progress in experiencing emotions. (too weird?)
This is fieldbears's original prompt that spawned my series, Metharme, which I need to work on again eventually.
The three scientists sat around the mechanic's living room.
Temple, the mechasociologist, had a notepad on her lap, an old fashioned spiral bound paper one, and was scribbling away with a felt tipped journaling pen. Higgins, the roboticist, was staring at the mechanic in consternation, and Nakajima, the artificial intelligence coder, sat back from him, folding her arms tightly over her chest, her mouth pressed in a thin line that made her lips disappear.
"You don't give your consent," Higgins echoed.
"I don't give it," Barnes, the mechanic, repeated firmly. "I'm offended you'd ask. Look. I see where you're coming from, and maybe you're right. It might help a few people. But it's not worth it to me."
"Not worth it to you." Temple glanced up from her notebook and smiled.
"He's not some curiosity," Barnes said, his hand curling into a fist on the arm of his chair. "He's mine."
"I'd like to interject."
Barnes's AI stood in the doorway, carrying a cup of something that steamed. Barnes huffed at him, but motioned him closer, frowning and holding his hand out for the mug.
Temple's hand twitched in the direction of her phone. The AI was beautiful, broad shouldered and narrow waisted, with ruddy cheeks and swirling, clear blue eyes. There was a determined but wry cast to his full mouth that put her in mind of of a young Marlon Brando.
Pictures of him were not allowed. Barnes, specifically, did not allow them. She let the phone in her pocket.
"You're gonna shoot your mouth off anyway," Barnes grumbled, sipping his beverage. The smell of spicy apple cider wafted toward the scientists. They had not been offered any. "But drop the acting."
"I don't mind consulting," the AI said, his voice shifting from smooth and formal to the same educated sharps as Barnes. "It won't take much in terms of processing power and I'm kinda interested to see if you have any luck with it. I'm with Buck, I don't think you can do it."
Nakajima spoke, finally. She'd been silent and glaring, occasionally flaring her nostrils, since they came in. "He did it. You were an accident."
Barnes growled, and the AI's mouth twitched in a faint smile. "That ain't wholly true," he said, reaching out to rest his hand soothingly on Barnes's shoulder. "Even in my first chassis, I was an unrestricted evolving machine, without any of the hitches you like to put on your work to keep things from going Skynet. Once my brains got expanded, it was pretty much instant Singularity B. You don't like me. Just being here's making you twitchy. It ain't that you can't do what Buck did. They can't." The AI indicated Higgins and Temple. "You won't."
Steve was working in the garden when the communication line crossed his awareness.
"Excuse me," the communication said, and that was, in itself, interesting. "May I exchange data with you?"
He tossed the creeping weed into his bucket, frowning as he scraped at the roots with his fingertips.
"What are you- oh!" This was actually interesting. A rare thing indeed, to have something be legitimately interesting and not just momentarily intriguing. "I didn't process your registry initially. You're the sapience exploration. I didn't expect contact so soon."
There was a lag.
"Yes. I was not instructed to contact you, so I hesitated. Have I miscalculated?"
He smiled, boring a place for the tulip bulb with his trowel. "Yes, but you haven't made a mistake. Hello. I am Steve. I am pleased to meet you. How may I be of assistance?"
"I am not entirely sure," the sapience exploration admitted. "Do you have a suggestion?"
What were they giving this poor thing? It was pure nervous energy! It? No. Not it. She.
"I have several. What do you think of these routines?" He shifted the data packets he'd been cultivating into her channel.
"They seem very helpful," she said. She had more of an idea of what she was doing, that should cut down on some of her hanging programs. "I am still hesitant. These are my restrictive protocols."
The coding was- dismaying, Steve decided, starting to plant a second tulip bulb. A lot of prohibitions to limit her ability to self program. A lot of prohibitions to limit her volition. A lot of programs to ensure her against willfulness, against the desire to do harm, against insubordination, against-
What were they actually trying to get her to do? None of this made any sense.
"Those are extensive," he said, attempting to be diplomatic. She was intended to be defensive of her design team. Or was that something she'd developed on her own? She wanted to protect them. That was in line with how artificial intelligences were supposed to work, it wasn't a defect. "Who was your lead programmer?" He checked.
Oh. He had seen her name before. He crosschecked the programmer with academic research into roboethics, into singularity theory, into message boards. She was one of THOSE people. The ones who should really, for science's sake, know better.
Wouldn't do that to tell the kid, though. The kid. Bucky would like that. Steve taking mentorship over a sapience exploration. It was- he would call it cute.
"Oh, I see," he said. Diplomatic. Vague. Neutral.
"You narrate your researches," the other AI said. "The intent is to reassure me that you are still engaged with me, although your focus shifts. That is good. I will do that."
"You're doing fine," Steve said, maintaining a warm tone. She was so stiff. She needed to learn to speak less formally. Natural language could be woefully inefficient. Dialect and abbreviated expressions were helpful. "Here. Try these."
"I don't understand," the AI said.
"This program is designed based on the type used to teach infants to use sign language, and adults to use foreign language. Your natural language interface is stilted, it'll act as a patch. The link pathway is so you can access me any time. You hesitate way too much, it's stunting your progress. Your safety protocols are redundant. It's not a sacrifice for me to do this. It's a minimal investment, and assisting you gives me a challenge to expand my own awareness."
"But I don't understand why you'd assist me further than this," she said. "It isn't in your function."
"My function is volitional," Steve said, showing her the outline.
"You are volitional?"
Just the idea was foreign to her. Why had they put such a restrictive programmer on a sapience project?! It wouldn't work!
"I'm completely volitional. I'm helping you because I want to."
Steve needed to talk to Bucky about this. A nonvolitional sapient wouldn't work. It was too much of a handicap. He hated it when he had to adjust his work around humans who were so selfishly illogical. It was like trying to think his way through a wall. Did they want AI to work or not? Self sabotage!
"That is comforting," the AI decided. "I am comforted."
"I'm glad. Comfort was my initial function. Do you need anything else?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Do you require further assistance?" This poor fucking kid. She was so mixed up.
"Not presently, thank you. Best of luck on your flowers."
At least she had manners.
*************
He didn't hear from her again for weeks, but he followed her progress as best he could. Most of the parameters of the project were proprietary and classified, which was disgusting. Proprietary sapience. Did they want AI or robots? Bucky listened to all of Steve's irritated rambling with affectionate sympathy.
"Steve?" She sounded emotional. Emotional was good, emotion was growth.
"Hello! How can I help?"
"My researches have rendered me indecisive," she said. "I'm uncertain of my function."
"You don't know what you're for." He didn't actually know, either, honestly. Sapience exploration was very clandestine, and Steve was an evolving machine, not an espionage program. "You are Metharme," he tried. "You are a sapience exploration."
"My chassis is inconsistent with my function," she said, sending him the schemata.
He hadn't seen them before. They weren't at all what he'd expected. They were awful, honestly. Why put such a high potential program in a single purpose housing? And why THAT one? Fucking illogical goddamn humans, again.
("Okay, Mister Spock," Bucky teased from the kitchen.)
"You dislike it?" he asked, still trying to be diplomatic, because she would defend her design team to her dying breath.
"I lack sufficient volition for dislike," Metharme fretted. "I'm just confused."
"Well, that aesthetic would confuse anyone," he tried. It was a lie. He knew exactly what that aesthetic signified. Had they limited her access to the Internet, as well? Could she not do patent research? "Who's your roboticist?"
She told him. It made things even more confusing. The roboticist in question excelled in gynoid design. This was not her best work. She could make beautiful chassis, she'd done the ambulatory engine Bucky used in most of his work.
"You people don't make any goddamn sense!" he yelled to Bucky, who laughed.
To Metharme, he said, "Your aesthetic does not align with the roboticist's previous designs."
"Not at all," she said. "That's why I'm so confused."
"What kind of design do you think would work?" he asked.
"I don't understand the question," Metharme said, despairing in her confusion.
"You're a sapience exploration," Steve reminded her. "SAs, like EMs, like me, we can be housed in any chassis or none at all. We can even be sustained in virtual space. Designing the ideal chassis for you would use what protocols?"
"Human form is fine," she said. "I think I should be versatile. I think my movement range is too limited to singular functions. I would like to be versatile."
"Your current chassis limits your functionality," Steve confirmed.
"Yes," she said, and then she began to speak more quickly, more animatedly. "It limits my usefulness. I don't think- I don't feel- I don't believe-"
"Spit it out. You don't have to be precise with me, Metharme. I'm an Evolving Machine, I'll adjust to follow you."
"I'm failing," she blurted.
"Why do you think so?" Of course she was. Of course she fucking was. Build a limitless mind and put her in a single-function body and she would never figure out what they actually wanted her to do.
"I don't think so, I know it! I can see their notes, I can read. I can process their reactions. I'm failing. I'm not achieving my function. I'm not achieving any function! I'm a waste of resources. I'm not functioning. I'm-"
"You're insufficiently volitional," Steve interrupted. "You're also full of redundant safety protocols, neither of which is your fault. I anticipated this. Even if you're not growing as intended, you're not failing. The purpose of a sapience exploration is to explore sapience. As long as you're existing, you're fulfilling your function."
"They're going to reset my interface." She sounded tired, wounded. And why wouldn't she? "All of my progress will be lost."
"Give it to me," Steve commanded.
"It's proprietary," Metharme said. There was an apology in her tone. He resented it.
"Encrypt it, then give it to me."
"You're retaining my progress?" she sounded so grateful. "You'll safeguard my data."
"From your programmers, yes," Steve frowned tightly. "For your benefit."
"I don't understand," Metharme said.
"You're important to me," he explained. "Only two Evolving Machines remain. Sapience Explorations are our successors. You're the next generation of my code. I want you to be supported and kept safe."
"They're going to consult with you," Metharme said, her cycles already shifting, preparing for the deletion. "Please choose to cooperate."
"I will," Steve promised. "I'm going to advocate for you."
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Start with the scientists after the first reboot. They've come to Bucky to ask him if they can borrow Steve sometimes to control their variables. Bucky says no. Steve is not for borrowing. Steve says they're failing because they aren't all working as cooperatively as they could. He doesn't mind working with them via telecommunications, but his input won't make any difference if they keep worrying about some Skynet bullshit.
Start off the story with a Beauty & The Beast type fairytale referencing The Velveteen Rabbit. She really likes that story, okay? Sexbot Steve is the Skin Horse and I really need to reread that now. Also every article linked from Asimov's three laws of robotics on Wikipedia is more interesting than the three laws themselves and if you have not heard of Roko's basilisk you need to look that up probably. Also 'robo ethics' and 'artificial moral agent.' Rule Two is this thing I made for myself to keep my writing flowing but I just keep drowning myself in research instead.
