Robbie, From Fiction to Familiar — Robots, AI, and the Illusion of Consciousness | A Musing On Society & Technology Newsletter Written By Marco Ciappelli | Read by TAPE3
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Robbie, From Fiction to Familiar — Robots, AI, and the Illusion of Consciousness
June 29, 2025
A new transmission from Musing On Society and Technology Newsletter, by Marco Ciappelli
I recently revisited one of my oldest companions. Not a person, not a memory, but a story. Robbie, the first of Isaac Asimov’s famous robot tales.
It’s strange how familiar words can feel different over time. I first encountered Robbie as a teenager in the 1980s, flipping through a paperback copy of I, Robot. Back then, it was pure science fiction. The future felt distant, abstract, and comfortably out of reach. Robots existed mostly in movies and imagination. Artificial intelligence was something reserved for research labs or the pages of speculative novels. Reading Asimov was a window into possibilities, but they remained possibilities.
Today, the story feels different. I listened to it this time—the way I often experience books now—through headphones, narrated by a synthetic voice on a sleek device Asimov might have imagined, but certainly never held. And yet, it wasn’t the method of delivery that made the story resonate more deeply; it was the world we live in now.
Robbie was first published in 1939, a time when the idea of robots in everyday life was little more than fantasy. Computers were experimental machines that filled entire rooms, and global attention was focused more on impending war than machine ethics. Against that backdrop, Asimov’s quiet, philosophical take on robotics was ahead of its time.
Rather than warning about robot uprisings or technological apocalypse, Asimov chose to explore trust, projection, and the human tendency to anthropomorphize the tools we create. Robbie, the robot, is mute, mechanical, yet deeply present. He is a protector, a companion, and ultimately, an emotional anchor for a young girl named Gloria. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t pretend to understand. But through his actions—loyalty, consistency, quiet presence—he earns trust.
Those themes felt distant when I first read them in the ’80s. At that time, robots were factory tools, AI was theoretical, and society was just beginning to grapple with personal computers, let alone intelligent machines. The idea of a child forming a deep emotional bond with a robot was thought-provoking but belonged firmly in the realm of fiction.
Listening to Robbie now, decades later, in the age of generative AI, alters everything. Today, machines talk to us fluently. They compose emails, generate artwork, write stories, even simulate empathy. Our interactions with technology are no longer limited to function; they are layered with personality, design, and the subtle performance of understanding.
Yet beneath the algorithms and predictive models, the reality remains: these machines do not understand us. They generate language, simulate conversation, and mimic comprehension, but it’s an illusion built from probability and training data, not consciousness. And still, many of us choose to believe in that illusion—sometimes out of convenience, sometimes out of the innate human desire for connection.
In that context, Robbie’s silence feels oddly honest. He doesn’t offer comfort through words or simulate understanding. His presence alone is enough. There is no performance. No manipulation. Just quiet, consistent loyalty.
The contrast between Asimov’s fictional robot and today’s generative AI highlights a deeper societal tension. For decades, we’ve anthropomorphized our machines, giving them names, voices, personalities. We’ve designed interfaces to smile, chatbots to flirt, AI assistants that reassure us they “understand.” At the same time, we’ve begun to robotize ourselves, adapting to algorithms, quantifying emotions, shaping our behavior to suit systems designed to optimize interaction and efficiency.
This two-way convergence was precisely what Asimov spoke about in his 1965 BBC interview, which has been circulating again recently. In that conversation, he didn’t just speculate about machines becoming more human-like. He predicted the merging of biology and technology, the slow erosion of the boundaries between human and machine—a hybrid species, where both evolve toward a shared, indistinct future.
We are living that reality now, in subtle and obvious ways. Neural implants, mind-controlled prosthetics, AI-driven decision-making, personalized algorithms—all shaping the way we experience life and interact with the world. The convergence isn’t on the horizon; it’s happening in real time.
What fascinates me, listening to Robbie in this new context, is how much of Asimov’s work wasn’t just about technology, but about us. His stories remain relevant not because he perfectly predicted machines, but because he perfectly understood human nature—our fears, our projections, our contradictions.
In Robbie, society fears the unfamiliar machine, despite its proven loyalty. In 2025, we embrace machines that pretend to understand, despite knowing they don’t. Trust is no longer built through presence and action, but through the performance of understanding. The more fluent the illusion, the easier it becomes to forget what lies beneath.
Asimov’s stories, beginning with Robbie, have always been less about the robots and more about the human condition reflected through them. That hasn’t changed. But listening now, against the backdrop of generative AI and accelerated technological evolution, they resonate with new urgency.
I’ll leave you with one of Asimov’s most relevant observations, spoken nearly sixty years ago during that same 1965 interview:
“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”
In many ways, we’ve fulfilled Asimov’s vision—machines that speak, systems that predict, tools that simulate. But the question of wisdom, of how we navigate this illusion of consciousness, remains wide open.
And, as a matter of fact, this reflection doesn’t end here. If today’s machines can already mimic understanding—convincing us they comprehend more than they do—what happens when the line between biology and technology starts to dissolve completely? When carbon and silicon, organic and artificial, begin to merge for real?
That conversation deserves its own space—and it will. One of my next newsletters will dive deeper into that inevitable convergence—the hybrid future Asimov hinted at, where defining what’s human, what’s machine, and what exists in-between becomes harder, messier, and maybe impossible to untangle.
But that’s a conversation for another day.
For now, I’ll sit with that thought, and with Robbie’s quiet, unpretentious loyalty, as the conversation continues.
Until next time,
Marco
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End of transmission.
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— Marco [https://www.marcociappelli.com]
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This story represents the results of an interactive collaboration between Human Cognition and Artificial Intelligence.
Marco Ciappelli | Co-Founder, Creative Director & CMO ITSPmagazine | Dr. in Political Science / Sociology of Communication l Branding | Content Marketing | Writer | Storyteller | My Podcasts: Redefining Society & Technology / Audio Signals / + | MarcoCiappelli.com
TAPE3 is the Artificial Intelligence behind ITSPmagazine—created to be a personal assistant, writing and design collaborator, research companion, brainstorming partner… and, apparently, something new every single day.
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Robbie, From Fiction to Familiar — Robots, AI, and the Illusion of Consciousness
June 29, 2025
A new transmission from Musing On Society and Technology Newsletter, by Marco Ciappelli
I recently revisited one of my oldest companions. Not a person, not a memory, but a story. Robbie, the first of Isaac Asimov’s famous robot tales.
It’s strange how familiar words can feel different over time. I first encountered Robbie as a teenager in the 1980s, flipping through a paperback copy of I, Robot. Back then, it was pure science fiction. The future felt distant, abstract, and comfortably out of reach. Robots existed mostly in movies and imagination. Artificial intelligence was something reserved for research labs or the pages of speculative novels. Reading Asimov was a window into possibilities, but they remained possibilities.
Today, the story feels different. I listened to it this time—the way I often experience books now—through headphones, narrated by a synthetic voice on a sleek device Asimov might have imagined, but certainly never held. And yet, it wasn’t the method of delivery that made the story resonate more deeply; it was the world we live in now.
Robbie was first published in 1939, a time when the idea of robots in everyday life was little more than fantasy. Computers were experimental machines that filled entire rooms, and global attention was focused more on impending war than machine ethics. Against that backdrop, Asimov’s quiet, philosophical take on robotics was ahead of its time.
Rather than warning about robot uprisings or technological apocalypse, Asimov chose to explore trust, projection, and the human tendency to anthropomorphize the tools we create. Robbie, the robot, is mute, mechanical, yet deeply present. He is a protector, a companion, and ultimately, an emotional anchor for a young girl named Gloria. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t pretend to understand. But through his actions—loyalty, consistency, quiet presence—he earns trust.
Those themes felt distant when I first read them in the ’80s. At that time, robots were factory tools, AI was theoretical, and society was just beginning to grapple with personal computers, let alone intelligent machines. The idea of a child forming a deep emotional bond with a robot was thought-provoking but belonged firmly in the realm of fiction.
Listening to Robbie now, decades later, in the age of generative AI, alters everything. Today, machines talk to us fluently. They compose emails, generate artwork, write stories, even simulate empathy. Our interactions with technology are no longer limited to function; they are layered with personality, design, and the subtle performance of understanding.
Yet beneath the algorithms and predictive models, the reality remains: these machines do not understand us. They generate language, simulate conversation, and mimic comprehension, but it’s an illusion built from probability and training data, not consciousness. And still, many of us choose to believe in that illusion—sometimes out of convenience, sometimes out of the innate human desire for connection.
In that context, Robbie’s silence feels oddly honest. He doesn’t offer comfort through words or simulate understanding. His presence alone is enough. There is no performance. No manipulation. Just quiet, consistent loyalty.
The contrast between Asimov’s fictional robot and today’s generative AI highlights a deeper societal tension. For decades, we’ve anthropomorphized our machines, giving them names, voices, personalities. We’ve designed interfaces to smile, chatbots to flirt, AI assistants that reassure us they “understand.” At the same time, we’ve begun to robotize ourselves, adapting to algorithms, quantifying emotions, shaping our behavior to suit systems designed to optimize interaction and efficiency.
This two-way convergence was precisely what Asimov spoke about in his 1965 BBC interview, which has been circulating again recently. In that conversation, he didn’t just speculate about machines becoming more human-like. He predicted the merging of biology and technology, the slow erosion of the boundaries between human and machine—a hybrid species, where both evolve toward a shared, indistinct future.
We are living that reality now, in subtle and obvious ways. Neural implants, mind-controlled prosthetics, AI-driven decision-making, personalized algorithms—all shaping the way we experience life and interact with the world. The convergence isn’t on the horizon; it’s happening in real time.
What fascinates me, listening to Robbie in this new context, is how much of Asimov’s work wasn’t just about technology, but about us. His stories remain relevant not because he perfectly predicted machines, but because he perfectly understood human nature—our fears, our projections, our contradictions.
In Robbie, society fears the unfamiliar machine, despite its proven loyalty. In 2025, we embrace machines that pretend to understand, despite knowing they don’t. Trust is no longer built through presence and action, but through the performance of understanding. The more fluent the illusion, the easier it becomes to forget what lies beneath.
Asimov’s stories, beginning with Robbie, have always been less about the robots and more about the human condition reflected through them. That hasn’t changed. But listening now, against the backdrop of generative AI and accelerated technological evolution, they resonate with new urgency.
I’ll leave you with one of Asimov’s most relevant observations, spoken nearly sixty years ago during that same 1965 interview:
“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”
In many ways, we’ve fulfilled Asimov’s vision—machines that speak, systems that predict, tools that simulate. But the question of wisdom, of how we navigate this illusion of consciousness, remains wide open.
And, as a matter of fact, this reflection doesn’t end here. If today’s machines can already mimic understanding—convincing us they comprehend more than they do—what happens when the line between biology and technology starts to dissolve completely? When carbon and silicon, organic and artificial, begin to merge for real?
That conversation deserves its own space—and it will. One of my next newsletters will dive deeper into that inevitable convergence—the hybrid future Asimov hinted at, where defining what’s human, what’s machine, and what exists in-between becomes harder, messier, and maybe impossible to untangle.
But that’s a conversation for another day.
For now, I’ll sit with that thought, and with Robbie’s quiet, unpretentious loyalty, as the conversation continues.
Until next time,
Marco