TOM UTLEY: Try to imagine a future in which it will be impossible to tell a lie without being found out. It may sound like science fiction but it is closer to reality than you might think.
Imagine a world in which you will not be able to lie and aren’t caught.
It may sound science-fictional, but scientists are now able to spot lies with an artificial intelligence face scanner.
The technology, we’re told, reads minuscule movements in face muscles and nerves of which we’re not even aware. The technology could prove to be more accurate than any polygraph lie detectors currently in use, which fools long-standing canaries.
While the scanner is in its early stages, designers claim that their research could lead to smart cameras that can spot lies from several meters away. AI programs learn new information every time they receive it, so their accuracy will likely rise to near 100 percent.
Indeed, I won’t be a bit surprised if within my sons’ lifetimes, let alone those of my grandchildren, people will be able to download a smartphone app that will purport to tell them, without a shadow of doubt, if the person they are talking to is telling a whopper.
Infallible
As someone who is moderately honest, this seemed like an amazing innovation.
The technology will help to clear our court’s huge backlog quickly. For example, a camera pointed at a dock could instantly tell the jury whether the defendant is lying. The very moment he uttered the words ‘not guilty’, the AI would either condemn or acquit him.
I think it’s possible that the innocent wouldn’t be brought to court if police had an infallible lie detector for interrogating their suspect.
As Professor Dino Levy of Tel Aviv University points out, his team’s invention could also come in mighty handy at airports.
‘Are you travelling for the purposes of terrorism?’
‘Good heavens, no!’
‘Sorry, sir. Our camera proves that you are.’
The same would apply to online job interviews.
‘You say on your application form that your interests include 19th-century Russian literature and the history of science, you are a chess grandmaster, play the violin, love animals, captained your school rugby team and spent your gap year helping out in an African leper colony. Is any of this actually true?’
‘Every word of it, I assure you.’
Bzzzz. ‘Computer says no. Next, please.’
A brief diversion. I’m suddenly reminded of the playwright Tom Stoppard’s brilliant answer when he was interviewed for a job on a local newspaper. The editor asked him: ‘You say on your form that you’re interested in politics. So can you tell me the name of the Home Secretary?’
In the account that I’ve treasured since I first heard it decades ago, Stoppard replied: ‘I said I was interested in politics — not obsessed!’
How many marriages would survive, TOM UTLEY asks, if we couldn’t get away with the occasional white lie about how lovely our other halves look in that new frock, how delicious we thought tonight’s supper — or how we were unavoidably detained at the office before dropping into the pub for just the one?
Where was I, then? Ah, yes. When I read about the new lie-detector programme, the thought also occurred to me that if tiny movements in our face muscles could give us away, it surely wouldn’t be long before someone came up with similar technology to detect tell-tale fluctuations in a liar’s vocal cords.
Wouldn’t it be a joy, I reflected, if all telephones could be fitted with devices that could tell by the sound of a caller’s voice if he or she were telling the truth?
For a start, we’d be able to challenge workshy colleagues — we’ve all known them — who put on special croaky voices to ring the office on a Monday morning, claiming to be housebound with food poisoning or flu.
We may have our strong suspicions that they’re lying. But wouldn’t it be nice to be able to tell them, with absolute certainty, that they’re telling a pack of porkies and should report for duty immediately?
We’d know, too, if the garage mechanic really meant it when he assured us that the car would be fixed by the morning.
Suspicious
A technology like this could also help protect vulnerable individuals from scammers who constantly pester us from distant lands in an attempt to take our hard-earned money.
(‘Good morning, Mr Yootley. What’s your day like? I’m ringing from your bank to advise you that a suspicious payment of £1,256 has just been made from your account…’)
OK, you and I may have learned — some of us from bitter experience — that we should never trust anyone who calls out of the blue claiming to represent a reputable company. How reassuring would it be to have a safety function on our telephones that flashes red when someone tells us a lie.
As for mendacious politicians the world over, how grateful they must be that Professor Levy’s technology has yet to be perfected. Imagine the suffering that the world would have suffered if Tony Blair could look at a smart lens in his camera when he claimed Saddam had weapons-of-mass destruction ready to deploy within 45 minutes.
These were the initial thoughts I had when I read about this amazing scientific breakthrough. But the more I’ve thought about it since, the more uncomfortable I find it.
How many marriages would survive, I wonder, if we couldn’t get away with the occasional white lie about how lovely our other halves look in that new frock, how delicious we thought tonight’s supper — or how we were unavoidably detained at the office before dropping into the pub for just the one?
What kind of Christmas could we celebrate if we felt compelled express our feelings about the presents we received?
Whopper
In my opinion, even in the most happy of times, domestic harmony is not a hallmark of the season of goodwill. How much worse it would be if Auntie Ethel could tell for sure that we were lying, with a glance at her smartphone, when we told her the hideous vase she’d given us was just what we’d always wanted.
Even in politics, where truth matters more than anywhere else, isn’t it sometimes forgivable to announce that a Minister is leaving office by ‘mutual consent’ or to ‘spend more time with their family’, instead of coming out with the brutal truth that they’ve been sacked for being useless?
As for a dear friend of mine (let’s call him Joe Smith), who is always getting into trouble with the bookies, I fear he would have had his legs broken by now if a couple of heavies who came to his door had been equipped with Professor Levy’s technology.
‘Mr J. Smith?’ they asked him.
‘Um, yes,’ he said nervously.
‘It’s about the money you owe for your betting…’
Thinking quickly, my friend said: ‘Oh, you want Joe. He’s my brother. I’m Jim. I’m afraid Joe is embedded with our troops in Afghanistan, reporting on the war. You won’t be able to reach him for a long while.’
He had his faith believed by the heavies and they continued on their way.
Yes, I do. Most reprehensible. Telling a lie can sometimes be the better of both evils, but it happens every once in awhile. Indeed, I reckon this would be a much crueller world if we couldn’t get away with the occasional face-saving (or leg-saving) fiction.
Everyone could see when Pinocchio was lying. This was evident as the telltale nose that adorned his face. I can’t say I envy my poor grandchildren, growing up in a world where technology may have precisely the same effect.