Chapter Eleven: Citizens! In which the Seventh Sense rescues us from an unexpected danger. 1. ] never needed much incentive to go see Pattie Maes. Belgian, usually dressed in some black fashionable getup, she was like a human shot of espresso. You ended every conversation wide awake, eyes open. When I first met her in the 1990s, she was in charge of much of the work on artificial intelligence at MIT’s Media Lab - Danny Hillis’ old home. Maes had arrived at MIT in 1993 and almost immediately turned to the problem of making machines that might think. One day, as we were discussing just how the strange miracle of computer thought might occur, she introduced me to a puzzle of her field that has stayed on my mind in the years since. It is called the “Disappearing AI Problem.” Back in the 1990s, as the Internet was emerging into popular consciousness, Maes and her team were tinkering with what was known as computer-aided prediction. This was an advance on the ping-pong conversations Joseph Weizenbaum had coerced from ELIZA in the 1960s, You: “I am bored.” ELIZA: “Why are you bored?” In Maes’ experiments a computer would ask, for instance, what movie stars you liked. “Robert Redford,” you'd type. And then the box would spit back some films you might enjoy. Cool Hand Luke. And, well, you had liked that film. This seemed like magic at the time, just the sort of data-meets-human question that showcased a machine learning and thinking. An honestly “artificial” intelligence. Maes hoped to design a computer that could predict what movies or music or books you or I might enjoy. (And, of course, buy.) A recommendation engine. We all know how sputtering our own suggestion motors can be. Think of that primitive analog exchange known as the “First Date”: Oh, you like Radiohead? Do you know SigurRos? Pause. Hate them. Can you really predict what albums or novels even your closest friend will enjoy? You might offer an occasional lucky suggestion. But to confidently bridge your knowled