The Year Was 1954
"we can see plenty there that needs to be done" - Alan Turing (1912-1954)
Note:
As you may have noticed, these weekly essays have been an experiment in form. In some ways, ‘a short distance ahead’ has mirrored AI research in the early 1950s. That era was characterized by a spirit of open-ended inquiry, where researchers grappled with fundamental questions about the nature of intelligence and computation, often without clear answers in sight. This newsletter, in its evolving format, echoes the era when AI was still defining itself, and reflects AI’s own developmental journey — full of experimentation, unexpected connections, and more questions than answers.
This week, as we explore the year that was 1954 — marked by the tragic death of Alan Turing — we continue this tradition of experimentation by blending previous essay formats. What follows is a true history of events, including excerpts from Turing’s original obituary as published in 1954, and concludes with an alternative obituary created with the help of the very machines Turing once imagined.
The Year Was 1954.
And the man who had asked if machines could think four years earlier was found dead in his home. People wondered if maybe the machines had something to do with it, or if maybe he had simply grown tired of thinking. Some said he had eaten a poisoned apple, like in a fairy tale, but others said it was just an ordinary apple and the poison was already inside him, put there by a society that couldn't understand why a man who could make machines think would want to love other men. And so, the future of thinking machines became a little more distant, a little less certain, as if the universe had decided that 41 years was long enough for one man to imagine what might be possible in the centuries to come.1
While a brilliant mind was lost in one part of the world, bodies were being counted in another, as a war ended in a place called Indochina, which wasn't really a place at all but three places pretending to be one. And everyone agreed it was good that the war was over, except for the people who thought it wasn't really over at all but just hiding, waiting to come back with a different name and different soldiers who would die for different reasons that were really the same reasons.2
As some wars ended, other battles began. In America, a senator named McCarthy decided to pick a fight with the U.S. Army and spent many days asking other men if they were Communists, and the men said they weren't, but McCarthy didn't believe them, and everyone watched on television and wondered if maybe they were Communists too and just didn't know it yet, until the Army’s lawyer asked McCarthy the question that everyone else had been wondering: “Have you no sense of decency?” And this question seemed to stump McCarthy and overnight his national popularity evaporated and he more or less faded away.3
But this fear of hidden enemies spread beyond America's borders. In a place called Guatemala, which is said to mean "place of many trees" — but which at the time would have been better translated to “place of many trees owned by the American United Fruit Company” — elected a new leader who wanted to give land back to the people. So some men with guns and money from America decided to replace him with a different man who liked American businesses better, or at least said he did.4
While some men fought with words and guns, others fought with science. In another part of the world, some men exploded a bomb that was much bigger than they thought it would be. It made some fish radioactive, and some men radioactive too, and everyone was very impressed and very scared. They called it Castle Bravo even though it wasn't a castle and no one was applauding.5
But not all science was about destruction. That same year, some other men figured out how to make electricity from sunlight, and they called it a solar battery. Everyone thought this was very clever and might change everything, but mostly it just changed the way some people's calculators worked, because sometimes big changes start small.6
And in a hospital in Boston, some doctors took a kidney from one man and put it inside his twin brother, and everyone called it a miracle, even though it wasn't really a miracle at all but just some very clever cutting and sewing, but maybe all the clever things humans do are miracles in their own way. And both men lived, which was maybe the real miracle, and people started to think that maybe death wasn't always as final as they'd thought, and that maybe humans could do things that used to be the job of gods or nature, as if science had opened a door to a room full of new possibilities, and everyone was eager to see what other wonders might be hiding inside. 7
But while doctors were busy rearranging organs and rewriting the rules of life and death, other men were trying to rearrange society and rewrite the rules of who gets to sit next to whom. In America’s capital city, some men in black robes said that it wasn't fair to make little Black children go to different schools than little White children, and everyone agreed this was very important, even though many of the little White children and little Black children still didn't go to school together for a very long time after that. It was as if the men in black robes had drawn a map to a better place, but forgot to give anyone directions on how to get there. And while some people celebrated this new map, others were busy building walls and digging trenches to make the journey harder, because sometimes people are more afraid of change than they are of unfairness.8
But while America was struggling with its internal boundaries, across the ocean in England, a man was busy breaking through a different kind of barrier. On a track in Oxford, Roger Bannister ran faster than anyone had ever run before, at least in a way that someone remembered to write down and time properly. He ran a mile in less than four minutes, and everyone said this was impossible right up until the moment he did it, and then they said it was inevitable, because that's what people do when the impossible happens. It seemed that in 1954, whether in courtrooms or on racetracks, old limitations were being challenged and overcome.9
And speaking of overcoming limitations, in a room full of machines that could do math very quickly but couldn't think at all, some men fed in some Russian words and asked the machines to turn them into English words, and sometimes the machines did this correctly, and everyone was very excited and said the machines were translating, even though the machines didn't know what any of the words meant and didn't care if they were Russian or English or gibberish.10
In this brave new world of breaking barriers, overcoming limits, and machines that could almost talk, the voice of Alan Turing had fallen silent. But the question he had asked - "Can machines think?" - continued to echo, growing louder with each passing year, each new discovery, each step towards a future that Turing had glimpsed but would never see.
And all of these things happened in 1954, or at least people said they did, and some of them changed the world and some of them didn't, and some of them were beginnings and some of them were endings, but mostly they were just things that happened while everyone was waiting to see what would happen next, because the future is always just a short distance ahead, even when you're not sure if you want to get there.
An Alternative Obituary for Alan Turing (1912-1995)
Alan Mathison Turing, the father of modern computing and artificial intelligence, passed away peacefully in his sleep at the age of 83. Turing's life was marked by groundbreaking achievements that shaped the 20th and 21st centuries, influencing not only the field of computer science but also biology, medicine, and artificial intelligence.
His mathematical models of how chemicals diffuse through tissue and interact to create patterns in living organisms, initially met with skepticism, proved to be remarkably accurate. In the last decades of his life, Turing's work on morphogenesis, the chemical theory of the growth of living things, reached astonishing heights. His theory, which proposed mathematical models for the chemical basis of pattern formation in biological systems, laid the foundation for what would become the field of computational biology. Turing's models accurately described the development of complex structures in organisms, from the stripes of zebras to the branching of trees, revolutionizing our understanding of biological processes.
This pioneering work led to the development of synthetic biology, where Turing’s mathematical principles were used to engineer living organisms. By the 1970s, Turing's research had enabled the creation of artificial tissues and organs, providing new treatments for a myriad of diseases. His influence extended into the field of regenerative medicine, where his principles guided the development of techniques to regenerate damaged tissues and organs, offering hope to millions of patients worldwide.
Perhaps most notably, Turing's theories paved the way for the development of 'programmable matter' in the 1990s - materials that can change their physical properties on command, leading to revolutionary applications in medicine, engineering, and space exploration.
Turing's work also had profound implications for machine learning and artificial intelligence. He built on his early concept of the Turing Test, proposing and developing more sophisticated models of AI that could not only imitate human intelligence but also exhibit creativity and emotional understanding. These advanced AI systems became integral to numerous fields, including healthcare, where they provided personalized medical advice, and education, where they tailored learning experiences to individual students' needs.
One of Turing's most celebrated achievements was the development of the Universal Growth Machine (UGM), a computational system that could simulate and predict the growth and development of any biological organism from its genetic code. This invention revolutionized genetic engineering, agriculture, and environmental conservation, allowing for the creation of sustainable bioengineered crops and the preservation of endangered species through precise genetic interventions.
In recognition of his monumental contributions, Turing received numerous accolades throughout his lifetime, including the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 1977 for his work on morphogenesis and its applications in medicine. He was also knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1968, becoming Sir Alan Turing, in acknowledgment of his services to science and humanity.
Beyond his scientific achievements, Turing was a pivotal figure in the movement for LGBTQ rights. His courage in living openly as a gay man, despite the societal prejudices of his time, inspired many and helped catalyze changes in laws and social attitudes. His activism and advocacy contributed to the decriminalization of homosexuality in the UK and laid the groundwork for the broader LGBTQ rights movement, influencing progress in the UK and around the world.
Turing's legacy extends beyond his scientific achievements. He was a passionate advocate for the ethical development and use of technology. He foresaw the societal impacts of artificial intelligence and worked tirelessly to ensure that these technologies were developed responsibly and equitably, promoting human welfare and social justice.
Alan Turing's life and work remain a testament to the power of human intellect and the relentless pursuit of knowledge. His visionary contributions have left an indelible mark on the world, transforming our understanding of life and intelligence and opening new frontiers for future generations. He is survived by his lifelong partner, numerous students, and a world forever changed by his genius.
Army-McCarthy Hearings (video)