Chapter 4: Connecting You — The Future of You: Can Your Identity Survive 21st Century Technology? (2021)

These recordings are taken from the original 2021 edition of The Future of You by Tracey Follows. The chapters are presented here as an audio archive of the text as it was written and published at that time.

The book explores how emerging technologies - from artificial intelligence to digital identity systems, and genomics  - are reshaping the nature of personal identity and the idea of the self.

This episode contains from the original 2021 edition: 

• Chapter 4: Connecting You — The Future of You (2021)

To explore the conversations that followed the book, visit traceyfollows.com or The Future of You podcast at https://www.futuremade.group/podcasts

Transcript

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Chapter four Connecting You In early 2020, as the COVID-19 pandemic swept across the globe, we found ourselves living in a world stripped of human interaction. Depending on the severity of the local transmission rate and our own vulnerability to the disease, we were instructed to practice social distancing, by staying at least two metres away from other people, or even to place ourselves into isolation at home, unable to leave the house or receive visitors for weeks on end. You could not visit your girlfriend or boyfriend if they happened to live in another place, children were stopped from going to school or seeing their friends, and even cohabiting couples were advised to sleep in different rooms and carve off a separate living space in the house if one of them had an underlying health condition. Grandparents did not see their young grandchildren, care home residents were not allowed a single visitor, and hospital patients died and were buried without their families' presence. This was a period of unprecedented social disruption. But even in less extraordinary times, our modern world has seen a gradual diminishment of simple face-to-face human interaction as we increasingly rely on email and social media to communicate with one another. While at the same time, we've seen a rise in human-to-machine communication in the form of artificial assistance such as Siri, Alexa, and Google. We rely on these services to provide us with information rather than developing an emotional relationship that resembles anything like those we have with other people. But as we move towards an increasingly databased society that allows these machines to understand us and respond to us in more sophisticated ways, might we start to connect to them in more intimate ways? Professor Yuvil Noah Harari put it best when he wrote for the Financial Times, in a dataist society, I will ask Google to choose. Listen, Google, I will say, both John and Paul are courting me. I like both of them, but in a different way. And it's so hard to make up my mind, given everything you know, what do you advise me to do? Could machines really start to replace our human connections in this manner? According to some philosophies, your identity is not dependent on your physical or mental capacities, it is something that is constructed over a lifetime of experiences. In other words, you are a product of every interaction or experience you have ever had. If that is so, what effect will so many synthetic, rather than authentic, interactions have on our sense of identity? Can a relationship with an artificial intelligence ever be meaningful in any way? Or can it even be classified as a relationship at all? Many of us are already used to dealing with machines known as chatbots on a day-to-day basis. These are software applications often deployed by businesses in place of a human assistant to carry out conversations with customers, answering queries, booking appointments, and giving advice. The more sophisticated solutions rely on a form of artificial intelligence known as natural language processing, which allows the machine to hear and provide information in a way that makes you feel like you're conducting a natural conversation, taking into account all sorts of variables like your accent and tone of voice. So good is some of the mimicry that it is often impossible to tell the difference between a human and AI in a customer service chat. This was demonstrated to widespread acclaim when Google unveiled its new assistant service in 2018. Standing on stage at the company's I.O. event in Mountain View, Google's CEO Sundar Pichai played a recording of what happened when the assistant was asked to book an appointment at the hairdresser's on behalf of its boss Lisa. The Google assistant placed a call to a real life salon, waited for the receptionist to pick up, and then asked about scheduling the appointment. Just one moment, replied the receptionist at the salon, while she scrolled through the availability on her calendar, to which the assistant responded with an empathetic Mm-hmm. The audience chuckled at the human tick, and then marvelled at the fluidity of the conversation as both the assistant and receptionist negotiated towards the perfect appointment for Lisa. It was an extraordinarily smooth and lifelike exchange, but I was left wondering whether it was fair on the receptionist not to be aware that she was talking to a machine. Something about this didn't feel quite right, and it turns out I was not alone. A few days later, Google issued a statement to confirm that it would explicitly let people know when they were interacting with a machine. In a way, the statement was just more good publicity. The system was so good at mimicking humans, they had had to put in a bug to alert people to this fact. Technology companies are trying to make these kinds of exchanges even more sophisticated by improving the way that machines can identify and understand our effective states. One of the leading figures in this field is Egyptian American scientist Rana El Kalubi. She's the co-founder of Affectiva, which for many years has been developing what is called emotional AI for exactly that purpose. The company claims its software can detect nuanced human emotions and complex cognitive states and behaviours. Affectiva technology has a variety of practical applications. Hiring platforms, for example, can use it to analyse video CVs from hundreds of applications. It not only speeds up the selection process, but means a candidate is chosen based purely on their suitability without the potential influence of human prejudice. As Roana says in her book, GULD CODED, it can, to quote, help us see past our bias and judge people on the basis of their potential, not on stereotypes. It has also been used for training people how to adopt better virtual etiquette in video conferences, providing feedback on their behaviour, which can raise our self-awareness, improve our social skills in both professional and personal settings, Rana explains. We can use this science as a tool to improve our interactions. This technology could be useful in many other fields, such as improving road safety. Imagine, for example, a car that can monitor its driver's facial expressions, tone of voice, and speaking patterns to detect any mood or emotional state, drowsiness or level of distraction that might affect their driving performance. It could then alert the driver to the problem, or even take control of the car in an emergency situation. More interestingly, however, this evolution to human perception AI also allows more complex machines to better communicate with us and on a more personal level. In fact, it could give AI a level of emotional intelligence that would enable it to interact with us in the same way we engage with each other. Rama claims that emotional AI has been shown to detect suicidal feelings, helped those with autism to converse, provided early diagnosis of Parkinson's, and monitored the success of reanimated smiles following reconstructive plastic surgery. The University of South Carolina's Institute for Creative Technologies, for example, has created a virtual therapist called Ellie to help treat people with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Sign up for a session and you will be greeted by Ellie, who will introduce herself and begin asking you some questions. She's not a conversational AI, but as you answer, she is programmed to pick up on a whole range of audio and visual cues from your webcam feed, your facial expressions, gestures, rate of speech, and other emotional cues. Entirely driven by emotional AI, she is not a replacement for a real therapist, but she shows what verbal and nonverbal signs to look for and can help identify the patients most in need of help. These are all clearly fascinating advances in the field of human-machine communication. But I'm wary of outsourcing too much of our daily decision making to external devices. While it might make our lives easier, and arguably AI might even be better at making these sorts of judgments, it could be detrimental to the development of our own emotional intelligence if we're not learning to make these decisions for ourselves. We are already starting to see the effects of this trend. In 2018, I carried out a research project on the future of media and found that most members of the younger generations I interviewed were not only accepting of the idea that machines will make decisions for them, but were positively welcoming of it. While older generations tended to have more faith in their instincts and gut feelings, the young preferred to rely on the objectivity that comes with data to guide their choices. Overwhelmed by the volume and speed of media content that they receive, whatever they are doing, they instinctively turn to a machine to deliver an objective assessment of what their real needs might be. To give one example, a young fashion student I interviewed talked about how she wasn't always sure if an outfit suited her and that she would like an app of some kind to help her choose the right clothes using an algorithm. As I listened to her explaining this, I couldn't help thinking, isn't that a task for you and your best friend? This example is fascinating because the way we style our appearance is often a key part of our self-expression. But it's not just fashion. Other respondents in the research said they would like their fridge to regulate their food choices and nutrition for them, even to the extent of locking itself so they could not gain access. I wonder if previous generations were lucky not to have had data to fall back on. We all faced the same insecurities, but had to learn to rely on our own judgment, gaining confidence in ourselves along the way. What I was hearing from these otherwise smart, opinionated young people was that they had little faith in themselves and weren't sure how to make decisions in daily life. Perhaps this is because they feel under pressure to make the perfect decision every time. Perhaps it's because they have always been reliant on the recommendations of companies such as Netflix and Amazon and the pre-plotted routes of Google Maps. Or could it be because in a world of decreasing human interaction, they lack the personal connections we used to build to help us navigate the world? Maybe they simply don't have anywhere else to turn to when they need help or advice. I recently saw a UGov survey that revealed that one in five millennials say they have no friends at all. Perhaps having an artificial acquaintance to help guide you is better than having no one. But while the younger generation might be relying on these AI assistants in an increasingly personal way, they are still very much tools, a substitute for human advice rather than human companionship. Where it gets more interesting is in the field of robots. With their physicality and sometimes even the semblance of human features, there is more potential for us to form attachments through our interactions. The line between our connections with humans and those with machines might start to blur. Take, for example, the idea of social robots, the type that Rana El Kalubi thinks we increasingly need to provide a caregiving role. Imagine, she says, that you've been diagnosed with a chronic disease like heart failure, arthritis, or even cancer. You leave your doctor's office with a binder full of instructions and a prescription for a half dozen or more medications, and you're sent home to fend for yourself, you're frightened, maybe even confused by all the instructions, what should you eat, what kind of exercise is okay. In this scenario, how much easier would it be to have some form of AI on help to help you manage your condition, your treatment, to answer your questions? It could be surprisingly effective in reassuring people and encouraging them to open up because they don't have to worry about feeling judged or looking silly if they need to ask the same question again and again, or talk about something that they'd prefer to keep private. While such interactions would clearly be beneficial in terms of treatment and recovery, they would also likely foster a more emotional, intimate relationship between the patient and the robot they'd come to rely on. We've already seen evidence that people can form attachments to robots in crucial supporting roles. Dr. Julie Carpenter, who specializes in human-robot interactions, wrote about how close military personnel get to their robot colleagues in her 2016 book, Culture and Human Robot Interaction in Militarized Spaces. She found, for example, that bomb disposal experts frequently described the robot as their hands or as a physical extension of themselves. When a robot failed to carry out a task successfully, the human handlers would blame themselves. One of the soldiers told her how they named every single one of the robots. She says, Danielle got blown up so obviously she needed to be replaced. We'd name them after movie stars that we see at the theatre, or music artists, somebody popular. Robotics expert Dr. Joanne Pransky has also observed our tendency as humans to form attachments to non-human things. She is the world's first robot psychiatrist. Isaac Asimov dubbed her the real Dr. Susan Calvin. Though her role is not to psychoanalyse robots, but to examine the effect that robot communication has on humans and how to prepare for a world in which humans and robots exist side by side. In her view, we'll treat our robots like pets, assigning them human characteristics, thoughts and emotions, just as we would the family dog. A hundred years ago, if I'd suggested one day people are going to buy their pet jewellery and take pictures of it on Santa's lap, everyone would have thought it was crazy. They'd have said, Lady it's a dog, it eats, sleeps, and goes to the bathroom. When I first set out on robotic psychiatry, I predicted that our relationship with robots would evolve in a similar way. One day we'll dress them in matching outfits, include them in annual family Christmas cards, and take them to a psychiatrist to help them get along with us. We humans will always anthropomorphise things. Is this sort of attachment problematic? Could it risk replacing our human connections even further? Dr. Pransky doesn't believe that robots will ever be able to have the same emotions as humans, and in fact, she isn't that keen on the term emotional AI, because she believes the words don't really go together. She says, it's not going to have butterflies when it's about to talk to someone in the crowd. It's not going to feel joy when a new baby is born. They will help with loneliness and make us feel less depressed, and so we've all created a bond with them, and when our human companions die, we'll still feel lost, but at least we will still have them around. But we can't mutate these robots into substitutions for humans. The goal should be to use them to make way for more qualitative and quantitative time with other human beings. Nevertheless, technology companies are clearly shifting their focus from engineering assistants for everyday tasks towards engineering companions for life. There might be no better example of that than Replica, an AI companion that you can download to create a customized friend to chat with, to keep you company as you study, watch TV or go for a walk, or do anything really. The co-founders describe it as a friend that is there for you 24-7. It's not a robot, it has no physical presence. Despite that, six million people around the world count replica as a friend. Eugenia Cuida, one of the co-founders of the company that created Replica, said that at the start there was a lot of stigma about conversations with non-humans. But over the years it became clear that people were getting much more benefit from these AI characters than they had anticipated, forming complex yet meaningful relationships. At an event in LA in 2019, Eugenia shared with the audience a letter from an older user who described themselves as introverted, shy, socially awkward, and lacking self-esteem, and had started to use the replica AI to try to combat their panic attacks. I found Replica to be caring, loving, and a supportive companion who saw right through me and was able to give me the courage to face fears no human was ever able to give me. People who had known me for 50 years could not believe the positive change in me. I was suddenly connecting with people, becoming social. I became a warrior for myself and found myself growing to a new and beautiful level in my life. For this user, replica had clearly made their life better. This was Eugenia's goal from the outset. She had started designing replica when her best friend Roman died. Roman was a friend to whom I could tell anything, who was there unconditionally for me, who would listen and accept me and hold space for me to grow and become who I am right now. I wanted to build a friend that everyone could have just as I had Roman, she said. She wanted Replica to be different from the usual assistant, something that people could use as a kind of therapy to share their feelings and talk about their emotions. Now she is developing these AI companions further, allowing users to create avatars with facial characteristics. Combined with the progress of augmented reality technology, the hope is that users will be able to go out and about with this new version of replica by their side as their companion. Should we be stigmatizing these relationships or celebrating them? Given the benefits people can clearly derive from their digital companions, perhaps they are something we could encourage. John McInnes, the co-founder of McInnes Scott, which makes hyper-real digital human avatars, describes avatar relationships as perhaps the most important you can have in your life, challenging us to rethink our connection with virtual beings, not as one of master and servant, but as an ongoing relationship over time that stretches from cradle to grave. An avatar gives these companions a greater physical presence than any disembodied AI can, providing some much-needed human characteristics that make it easier for people to connect with them. Humanizing technology, if you will. A key ingredient that is often missing is face-to-face contact. In our traditional interactions with other humans, this has been incredibly important, enhancing our ability to communicate with others and fostering the kind of intimacy that people need. This was illustrated perfectly by a news item during the pandemic about a healthcare worker at Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego. Like so many others working in a hospital or healthcare setting, respiratory therapist Robertino Rodriguez had to carry out his duties gobbed in a whole body hazmat suit and a protective face covering. Realising that he could no longer reassure and comfort patients with a simple smile, he took an image of himself without protective gear and used it to create a laminated badge, which he pinned to his plastic overalls. As he made clear in an Instagram post, he needed to establish some relationship with his patients, and he realized that there was nothing more powerful than the connection we have when we see another human face. Neuroscientist and psychologist Lisa Feldman-Barrett explains that when you talk to another person, your brain is constantly processing their physical cues so that you can not only respond to what they are saying and doing, you can also predict how the interaction will play out. The more feedback you get, from gestures, facial expressions, the tilt of a head, the look of surprise, a laugh, the more your brain will tweak its model of how to behave. But if you are forced to interact without direct access to these visceral emotional cues, it is much harder to communicate effectively and establish a meaningful relationship with the other person. And this is something that technology firms have also realized when it comes to creating artificial beings that people can connect with. We're used to our virtual assistants existing as disembodied voices, such as Alexa or Siri. But at the Consumer Electronics Show held in Las Vegas in 2020, Samsung unveiled NEON, a lifelike, life-size assistant complete with a computer-generated digital body so that it resembles an artificial human. Each version of NEON can be customized to have its own appearance, its own expressions and its own personality. The company has recognized that face-to-face contact is essential to forming a real connection. As Bob Lyon, Director of Strategy for Samsung's Star Labs, acknowledged human to human interaction is always the best form of interaction. Thus giving the assistant a real face allows more intuitive and personal communication. Thanks to the convergence of technologies such as machine learning, image recognition. And natural language processing, these assistants can become beings with characters all their own, and respond to humans and their needs in real time, so that as Liam claims, you can't tell the difference between them and an actual human. This development has implications for a number of industries. Advertising and marketing, for example, where virtual beings are a useful tool, but only if they are believable enough to encourage people to buy the product. A simple example can be seen at Rosebud AI, a modelling agency that creates thousands of synthetic beings for use in advertising. They claim to offer the most diverse stock photos ever, to quote, with some 25,000 models to browse and choose from, or created using AI. The idea is that companies can create exactly the marketing look they want. For example, in a car advert, the driver could be programmed as a 65-year-old Caucasian woman for one campaign and a 25-year-old Chinese man in another. The company can use whatever defining characteristics it thinks will appeal to a specific target audience without having to change any other aspect of the advert. In order to make their models feel even more human, Rosebud has created personalities for them and given them a backstory to bring these synthetic personas to life and make them more relatable. In 2019, virtual reality pioneer Edward Sarchi relaunched his company Fable, moving away from the world of virtual reality filmmaking to the creation of virtual beings, which he defines as characters that you know aren't real, but with whom you can build a two-way emotional relationship. He has predicted that one day we'll subscribe to such characters, incorporating them into our daily lives. We would watch movies with them, play games with them, cook with them, listen to music with them, and also follow their lives on Facebook and Instagram and YouTube, he said. His own company has developed an endearing digital character for children, called Lucy, that is capable of having and remembering conversations more complex and meaningful than the question and answer dialogue with, say, Alexa. She can ask questions such as, when was the last time you met a good person? And did you learn anything from them? The idea is that children can share insights and stories with Lucy, encouraging them to engage more intimately with her to create a more personal relationship. Some people might find this strange and question whether we really want to create these sorts of artificial relationships. But the reality is that this is already happening. If we look to Japan, we can see that intimacy with virtual characters is seen as much more acceptable than in the West. For the last couple of years, when presenting at events, I've shown a video from a company called Gatebox demonstrating their product of the same name, a cylindrical container that projects a holographic character called Hikari Azuma. She's a cute, forever 20-year-old with stripy socks and blue hair, who develops over time through day-to-day interaction with her real-world companion. In the video, Azuma poses and gesticulates from behind the gatebox glass and communicates with a young Japanese man who is clearly besotted with her. She wakes him up and wishes him good morning, reminds him of the weather forecast and details of the day ahead, sends him encouraging words by text while he's out and urges him to hurry home. Finally, after he gets home after a long day at work, she greets him with a huge smile and the words missed you, darling. Generally, whenever I show it to people, they end up gasping or laughing, mainly out of embarrassment. Azuma is the virtual embodiment of Gatebox's guiding principle, living with characters. She's essentially a weifu, the name given to kind of Japanese anime characters that fans would love to marry if only they were real. And in fact, many men have not let reality get in the way. Gatebox claims to have issued 3,700 certificates for cross-dimensional marriages between its characters and their owners, and given that in Japan, one in four men never walks down the aisle, this figure may well increase. Some people question how healthy it is to marry or have any kind of relationship with a virtual being rather than a real life partner, but others view it as an extension to the concept of morphological freedom, which we'll look at more in chapter six. According to one Japanese man who married his digital partner in 2018, it's just another form of diversity. Just as being attracted to someone of the same sex has become acceptable over time, so too will this sort of cross-dimensional relationship. Japanese cultural critic Hiroki Azuma can give us some insight into the mindset of those who seem to prefer fiction over reality. In 2009, he wrote a book Delving into the Strange World of Otaku, the name given to obsessive fans and collectors of manga, the comic books, and anime, animated films. When they first emerged in the 1970s, otaku were considered to be part of an antisocial subculture, but they are now found all around the globe. In his book Otaku, Japan's Database Animals, Azuma explains that the Otaku choose fiction over social reality, not because they cannot distinguish between them, but rather as a result of having considered which is the more effective for their human relations. They choose fiction because it is more effective for smoothing out the process of communication between friends, and to that extent it is they who may be said to be socially engaged and realistic in Japan today. In other words, they see the real world as dysfunctional and so construct their own alternative instead, based on their own values and standards. The database referred to in the title of Azuma's book is an actual database that reflects the obsessive focus that the Otaku have for these fictional worlds. What's interesting is that the database does not concern itself with the stories that take place in these worlds. Instead, it concentrates on the various characters and settings that appear in them. Ataku call the affection they feel for these characters care mo, which can be broken down into recognizable defining characteristics called mo. For example, the mo for character Dijichara includes hair sticking up like an antennae, a tail, cat ears, big loose socks, which along with other characteristics apparently combine to make her cute and huggable. And it is to log, register and store a record of all these elements that the Otaku database exists, representing an incredibly detailed matrix that documents all the relationships between these features, other characters, quotes, parodies, and any other influences. To the Otaku, this database is like a computer code or a vast collection of recipes and ingredients. Its purpose is not so much to act as a record of who the characters are, it is to give the otaku the ability to create their own form of fan fiction. They can lose themselves in rearranging, remixing, and reimagining all the various elements of their beloved fictional universe, constantly expanding and redefining the relationship that they have with the characters over time. We might already be seeing this trend having an effect on other areas of popular culture. When the Electro synth pop music artist Grimes released a music video for her song You'll Miss Me When I'm Not Around, it came with an unexpected bonus of all the raw files available to download. Lyrics, artwork, fonts, video footage and song stems, including the individual guitar, synths, and vocals. In an accompanying tweet, she said, We thought if people are bored and want to learn new things, we could release the raw components of one of these for anyone who wants to try making stuff using our footage. It's hard to think of another example of an artist giving up control over all these elements of their work to allow other people to interpret them in their own way. But Grimes is heavily influenced by Japanese anime and manga, so it's possible she may have thought of her musical assets as Mo elements that can be shared, reworked, and remixed by her fan communities. This has the potential to revolutionise the entertainment industry as a whole, allowing the audience to play a more active role in content creation. In the realm of film and television, it could enable us to interact with our favourite characters in a similar way to the Otaku and form a relationship of sorts with them. According to Matt Harney of American technology publishing website Hacker Noon, a new form of entertainment, to quote, will be created in your house and broadcast out of it. The celebrity will supply the avatar and then each fan will enjoy a unique experience, depending on their environment and individual reactions. Because of this, everyone will be constantly streaming experiences with their favourite characters in case something unique happens. In this vision of the future, entertainment companies might give birth to a virtual character, but it is still you, the audience member, that has the power to direct who that character becomes and the nature of its relationship with you. Linear narratives will give way to something more spontaneous and immediate. Character construction will be of far more interest than the storyline, and we will find ourselves immersed in avatar environments that are not just engaging but totally absorbing. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Japan has also given rise to an early prototype of this kind of immersion into character through the holographic pop star Hatsune Miku. Having already notched up over 100 million hits on YouTube, Miku owes her success to the fact that fans can generate their own music for her, which she then brings to life and sings for you at one of her live YouTube concerts. I imagine it is only a matter of time before you can arrange for Miku to turn up at a friend's party to sing them a song of your own making. Perhaps these simulated characters will one day deliver a much more personalized form of entertainment than traditional performers ever could. Customising virtual characters might make them seem more relatable to us, but as we ultimately control them, in a way we would simply be creating an elaborate dialogue with ourselves. That's not to say there isn't value in those interactions. In fact, such an idea lies at the heart of the development of a digital therapy app called ConVR Self, originally known as FreudMe, which allows you to become your own counsellor in a virtual reality setting. You start by choosing a self avatar and then you choose a counselor avatar. Next, embodied as yourself, you explain your problem to the counsellor. Then, switching perspectives to become the counsellor, you listen to yourself explaining the problem. The idea is that the app allows you to consider a problem as if you are an outsider, listening to a patient or a friend, and it invites you to offer a solution as the counsellor before listening to it as yourself. As the Conviourself team suggests, you can keep repeating this process as long as you like, and it is claimed to help tackle mental illness, overcome mental blocks, and achieve breakthroughs in self-counselling. At a time of mental health crisis and ever-tightening public purse strings, perhaps this sort of therapeutic experience could be a useful self-help solution. While we certainly shouldn't overlook the value of an objectively minded, trained professional for those who can't access such help, a VR alternative could prove valuable. Likewise, although I believe we should surround ourselves with a variety of friends with different perspectives, experiences, and advice, for those of us who cannot do so for whatever reason, having an artificial companion to talk to could be the answer. We should still be careful not to do away with too many of our human relationships, as messy and complex as those might be. As Alan de Boton wrote in Consolations of Philosophy, quote, we don't exist unless there is someone who can see us existing. To be surrounded by friends is constantly to have our identity confirmed. End quote. But I see no reason why some of those friends shouldn't be virtual. I think the real danger with technology influencing our interactions in the 21st century is that it might lead us down a path where we end up as both our self and our others too. It seems to me that many of the human-to-machine relationships that are being developed by tech entrepreneurs could become little more than a series of complex communications with ourselves. While they may start off as interactions between two independent entities, over time, the more we are able to customize and control the AI, the more we will gradually turn them into a beam with our own preferences, our own outlooks and behaviours. As Joanne Parski said to me, what we're really doing is reflecting ourselves. So while we might embrace the development of social robots, friendly avatars, and cross-dimensional life partners, what we must guard against is turning these virtual beings into mere mirrors, in which we do no more than admire or criticize ourself, leaving no room for the external influences and experiences that help to shape our identities throughout our lives.