Man and Machine—O LORD, Save: V. Who Is Man—Intellect or Will? (Column 698)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

This is the concluding column of the series, and I decided to add it even though it doesn’t really deal with AI, not even indirectly. I wish to discuss here what the unique characteristic of a human being is, and what grants a person their special moral standing (how they differ from animals and inanimate objects). It is, of course, hard to present decisive arguments on this matter, but I wish to compare two possibilities: intellect versus will. The point of this column is mainly to connect this issue to the trajectory of the present series on AI, and therefore I will quote quite a bit and add only a little of my own. I think this perspective is interesting and adds meaning to the series as a whole.

A general description of the different possibilities

We can begin this discussion with Onkelos (Genesis 2:7), who translates “and man became a living soul” as “and there was in man a speaking spirit.” Many have grounded on his words the view that what distinguishes man is speech—though his words are usually cited in the context of extolling the power of speech (and the obligation to beware forbidden speech), and less in philosophical contexts about the meaning of being human. This conclusion is puzzling, for even if it is indeed the case that only humans speak (and even that is not unambiguous), it is still unclear why speech grants us a different standing compared to all other creatures.

Amichai, in a comment to the previous column, repeated his claim that it’s all a matter of feeling:

I’m glad you’re finally discussing AI seriously! As for the question of what sets man above the machine, I think the answer is really simple—human beings (and other mammals) have emotions. There’s no need to philosophize much beyond that.

I answered him:

First of all, I haven’t dealt with that question at all until now. That’s the topic of the next column [i.e., this one].

As for your claim, to me it’s vanity of vanities, even if you repeat it thousands of times, and my response is twofold: (1) It’s not plausible to me that only humans have emotions. Descartes viewed animals as machines, but that is highly implausible in my view. You yourself write that other mammals have them (why only mammals?). (2) Even if emotion did distinguish us, why would that serve as the basis for a unique moral standing? In my eyes, the existence of emotions is a defect, not an advantage. You could say that awareness of our emotions is the essential difference, but then we are speaking about awareness, not about emotions. I’ll deal with this in the next column.

So emotion is not our essential characteristic either (thankfully).

Well then, if it’s not speech and not emotions, what is it? Others, like Maimonides, ascribe it to intellect—that is, to man’s being a thinking creature. Clearly, humans are the most advanced creature in the realm of thought as in speech, and yet it is hard to see this as an essential difference. Here AI comes in, which seemingly “thinks” like us, and even better than us in many domains.

However, in light of what we have seen, one could still say that there is something in man that a machine lacks. One possibility is that there are problems a human can solve and a machine cannot. But, as noted, that is not at all clear; and even if it is so, why would that difference grant a unique standing? AI certainly does not fall short of children or not-so-sophisticated people, and it is likely superior to them in all areas of “thinking.” So why do they have the moral standing of human beings while AI does not?

Another way to distinguish humans from AI is that humans are self-aware and aware that they think. But even that trait does not seem a sufficient basis to grant a unique moral standing. First, it is likely that animals also possess some level of consciousness. Beyond that, suppose a dog were fully aware of what it experiences—would that make it a rights-holder like a human? That doesn’t sound plausible to me. We could add the mental dimension as a whole, not just awareness. Throughout the series we saw that AI machines don’t really think; they merely push electrical currents. Interpretation, meaning, and thus the thinking and understanding of the outputs reside only with the user and the programmer. In contrast, a human being, beyond the mechanics of calculation, is endowed with cognitive faculties and activities, such as thought and understanding. The electrical currents in our brain merely carry them out (or perhaps generate them?). And what about animals? It may be that the mental dimension appears in them to some degree as well, and therefore one could argue that this too is a shaky ground for human uniqueness.

All this leads to a very different possibility, namely that the uniqueness of the human lies in his will—and I mean, of course, free will (otherwise, it’s not will but instinct, which every living creature has, and in some sense even inanimate objects). This line goes in a different direction than all the options described thus far. Within the approach that ties human uniqueness to will, we are spared the need to compare to AI machines and likely to any other creature. To sharpen the matter I’ll note that the question of free will gives us a binary criterion: either you are subject to the laws of nature and their determinism, or you are not. There are no degrees of free will. This does not, of course, mean that every step we take is free and born of choice. Certainly not. In most cases we do not truly choose; we perform a mechanical calculation (even if unconsciously). Beyond that, even in cases where we truly choose and not merely compute mechanically, various influences certainly bear on our choice. It is not made in a vacuum. Still, libertarianism holds that there are situations in which, after all the influences, the person chooses what to do. That is the meaning of free will. The determinist maintains that there are no such situations—that is, in his view our decisions are always the product of purely mechanical calculation. In this sense, there is a sharp, clear dispute between two dichotomous positions.

Having understood this, it seems that machines and animals do not have free will (though we cannot categorically assert this), and therefore the question of whether to view them as human beings does not arise at all. True, there are determinists who dispute the claim that we have free will; I have dealt with that more than once and will not enter it again here. There are animal researchers who assume consciousness and will (free in some sense) also in animals. In this column I will assume that humans have free will—and only they. This, of course, leads to the conclusion that will is the natural candidate to express human uniqueness.

On this view, the intellect is merely an auxiliary tool that helps us realize our desires and values. Our free will chooses the values we wish to realize, and the intellect serves us to select the best ways to do so. Therefore, even if we assume that our thinking is entirely mechanical—i.e., subordinated to the problems posed by the will and choosing among them via a mechanical computation that compares between them—there would still be an essential difference between humans and AI and every other creature: humans have free will. We alone can, in certain cases, depart from the determinism of nature. Hence, if we must choose something that sets us apart, it is reasonable to choose our goals and the faculty that produces them (will), rather than the intellect, which is merely a tool that serves as a means to realize them, and, as noted, may not even be unique to us.

Now I will compare R. Kook’s approach in his book For the Perplexed of the Generation (Le-Nevukhei Ha-Dor) with the book that preceded it by about 700 years and inspired it, Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed. We will see that this issue underlies the difference between them. Afterwards, I’ll comment on the relation between intellect and will and a bit about the mechanical imitations that can be made of both.

Maimonides on the intellect

As is known, Maimonides sees the intellect as the essence of man and what distinguishes him from all other creatures. In his view, human perfection and man’s highest purpose are the development of the intellect and the attainment of truth, especially knowledge of God. This conception is expressed in many places in his writings. At the beginning of the Guide of the Perplexed, Maimonides explains that man is defined by his intellect—that is, man is distinguished from other beings by possessing intellect. There he explains that Adam’s sin was preferring imagination and the senses over intellect, i.e., moving from knowledge of truth to conceptions of good and evil dependent on desires and belonging to social conventions. In column 177 I discussed the meaning of Maimonides’ words and distinguished there between social conventions and morality. Indeed, in many places Maimonides pairs morality with intellectual perfection, though it is quite clear that in his view morality is merely a tool to reach intellectual perfection and is not an end in itself.

Beyond the fact that intellect is man’s distinction from other beings, Maimonides also claims that human perfection is intellectual perfection. Thus, for example, he writes in Guide III:27 that divine providence relates to a person according to the level of his intellect. In other words, the more a person knows, the greater particular providence he attains. Also, in Laws of the Foundations of the Torah ch. 4 he emphasizes the importance of contemplation and investigation in understanding the world as the way to knowledge of God.

Furthermore, Maimonides holds that cleaving to God is intellectual—in contrast to views that see the service of God primarily as an emotional or ritual matter (see also Nefesh Ha-Chaim, beginning of Gate 4). In Maimonides’ view, true cleaving to God is through understanding His knowledge and governance (see, e.g., Guide III:51). Prophecy, too, according to Maimonides, is conditioned on perfection of intellect and character (Guide II:36). The commandments, in his opinion, are mainly intended to develop intellect and morality; they serve as an educational tool that directs the person to philosophical insights and knowledge of God (Guide III:26).

The most detailed and lucid summary is found in the concluding chapter of the Guide (III:54), whose purpose is to give an overview of the conclusions of the entire work. Here are selected passages:

After what we have presented to you, I say: The ancient and later philosophers have explained that the perfections found in man are of four kinds. The first, and the least among them, for which the people of the world spend their days, is the perfection of possessions… The philosophers clarified that whoever sets his effort and toil on this kind of perfection toils for a complete illusion…

The second kind depends on the human body more than the first: the perfection of the body’s form and configuration… This, too, is not to be made an ultimate end, for it is bodily perfection, belonging to man insofar as he is an animal… The third is perfection of character traits… Most commandments are only to bring a person to this kind of perfection. This perfection, too, is only a preparation for something else and not an end in itself, for the traits exist between a person and others… The fourth is the true human perfection: when a person attains intellectual virtues—i.e., grasps intelligibles and learns from them true opinions concerning divinity. This is the final end, which truly perfects the human being; it is his alone, and for it he merits eternal persistence, and by it man is man…

He repeats this also in his Introduction to the Mishnah:

And when they found that the end of all these matters is the existence of man, they were compelled to inquire likewise why man exists and what the intent of his creation was… They found that man’s end is one act alone, for which he was created; and his other acts are for maintaining his existence so that this one act may be completed in him. And that act is to form in his soul the intelligible secrets and to know the truths as they are. Reason dictates that it is false that eating, drinking, cohabiting, or building a wall be the end of man, for these are incidental occurrences that add nothing to his inner power; moreover, he shares them with most creatures. Wisdom is what adds to his inner power and moves him from a level of disgrace to a level of honor… And a person before he understands and knows is considered like an animal; he is not distinguished from other living beings except by speech…

Thus, Maimonides places the intellect at the top of the pyramid and sees it as the essence of human uniqueness; man’s role and the image of God in him are expressed in realizing this uniqueness—that is, in refining the intellect, developing the power of thought, and acquiring scientific and philosophical knowledge. This is the essence of human perfection according to Maimonides.

R. A. I. Kook: For the Perplexed of the Generation

There is an early work of R. A. I. Kook entitled For the Perplexed of the Generation. From the title it is already quite clear that he was influenced by Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed, as well as by R. N. Krochmal, who wrote Guide for the Perplexed of the Time. Their apparent goal was to create an updated version of the Guide and to complete and adapt it to what they thought their generation required. For this reason it is interesting to examine what R. Kook found proper to emphasize in his book, and how that differs from Maimonides. And so indeed R. Kook himself writes in ch. 2 there:

[…] From the time of the early sages until our generation, opinions have multiplied, and new forms of knowledge have sometimes encroached upon the realm of faith, so that for those who do not delve deeply, new perplexities arise for which the earlier methods do not suffice, for in that time the causes that bring about these new forms of perplexity were not yet known.

Therefore, it is the duty of the true sages of our generation to follow in the footsteps of our early masters, to care for the perplexed, to broaden knowledge of the state of the sciences in line with the paths of the new inquiries, and to show how all truths must be reflected according to the Torah. And without doubt, all who labor in this with a pure heart and sound mind will succeed in their endeavor, and the spirit of the Lord, who chose the Torah to be an everlasting light, will teach them understanding for every matter, to set it upon its proper foundation and truth.

And the labor in this is great… not only must we understand new matters—how to influence the people of our generation, especially the youth who have turned to the sciences—so that they not remain perplexed, by teaching them the deep roots of the Torah in their purity… we also need great labor to instill and recall all the words of wisdom regarding the settlement of the truth of faith in hearts that have thus far been said by our early masters—such as Rav Saadia Gaon, Maimonides, the Kuzari, and the like. And because sometimes in their words there are matters that cannot be said in accordance with the state of scientific inquiry in our days, the shallow may think that once some inessential particulars have been set aside, one can no longer rely upon the essential matters rooted in truth and enduring forever.

Therefore, all methods of instruction for the purification of opinions and their alignment with the demands clarified by the methods of research of our generations must be brought into a new system, so that our generation may know how to emerge from every perplexity and be whole in faith in the perfect Torah of the Lord, while giving its due to all the ways of the new sciences in their particulars.

In other words, his main concern is to adapt Maimonides’ teachings to the perplexities of his time.

In a class I gave many years ago on the book, I noted that at least at its beginning there is a very clear theme that differentiates it from the Guide. Whereas Maimonides places the intellect at the center, R. Kook, quite explicitly, places will at the center. This emerges already in ch. 1 there:

Man was created in the image of God—this is the foundation of the Torah. The essence of the image is the complete freedom that we find in man; therefore he possesses free choice. Without free choice there would be no place for the Torah, as Maimonides writes in Laws of Repentance. Thus, free choice is the foundation of the Torah in practice. And the knowledge that man is made in the image of God comes to teach that the perfection of complete freedom must be found in the truly perfect Essence, blessed be His name—this is the theoretical foundation of the entire Torah upon which all actions rest.

And whoever truly has a human heart, and understands the splendor of freedom, and sees with the eye of his intellect how the entire system of human perfection proceeds only so that man may arrive at his complete freedom, will have no doubt that this supreme aspect of perfection cannot possibly be absent from the Necessary Existent, due to the necessity of perfect perfection.

And this is the depth of truth in the Torah and its lessons—that everything is ascribed to the will of God. And he who walks in the way of the Lord “elicits” will from God; not like the philosophers, who find necessary laws in reality as a whole and wish to ascribe necessity to God, thereby diminishing the radiance and splendor of the world.

That is, the focus is not divine wisdom and intellect, but the divine will. Therefore, in man as well it is not intellect but will and free choice that express his uniqueness and perfection.

And in ch. 3 he continues on this path and even explains the need for it:

In our generation, when opinions have become exceedingly entangled and philosophy in general has declined in the eyes of many, the way to heal perplexed hearts does not come solely from clarifications of abstract proofs and exalted matters of wisdom; rather, we must make primary that which endures forever and which no person of human nature can deny—namely, uprightness and justice. Uprightness and justice are the depth and foundation of wisdom, and only through them can we litigate with every person, for there is no one who is not obligated to give uprightness and justice their due.

Therefore, as a gateway to entering observance of the Torah and fear of God, we must explain all the obligations of the Torah—both the duties of the limbs and the duties of the heart—according to the law of pursuing natural justice and uprightness. And contemplation of the reasons for the commandments, especially their national dimension, will greatly aid this explanation.

When a person is perfected in observance of the Torah according to the recognition of the demand for natural uprightness, he will ascend from level to level until he also grasps the purity of fear of God and His love. But, in order to give place to the demand for justice and uprightness—by which we can merit, through it, to bring all our people to complete repentance to the Torah of the Lord and to perfect observance of God’s covenant with us—we must clear the path of this natural demand from all stumbling blocks that may be found in how natural uprightness is envisioned as consistent with the ways of the Torah. This is by explaining well those concepts that seem to contradict the laws of natural morality due to an incomplete understanding of the Torah, just as our early masters endeavored to align the demands of philosophy with the Torah wherever possible, in matters such as corporeality and passibility with respect to the Most High.

Therefore, expanding the reasons for the Torah and commandments, and aligning and broadening the paths of natural morality according to the way of the Torah, are the principal labors we must undertake in our generation in writing books that bring about the repair of the generation.

We must remember that R. Kook lived in a modernist era that sought to repair the world. Abstract wisdom needed to be expressed in practical life and bring about greater justice and uprightness. Abstract intellect and science were to guide us in questions of justice, uprightness, and morality—this is the essence of modernity. It is no wonder that many thinkers of that period related even to law as a scientific field (“the science of law”). From here R. Kook likely drew the idea that the focus should shift from intellect and wisdom in their abstract sense to values, morality, and will—from the is to the ought, in David Hume’s terms (interesting to compare with the Brisker approach that purports to focus on the “what” while ignoring the “why”). Abstract wisdom that does not advance us with respect to values and social repair is no longer relevant.

Critique: “The Generation” for our generation

We thus learn that R. Kook understood that a change had occurred in his generation that required adaptations of the Guide, and because of the need to bring intelligibles down into the practical realm and translate them into justice, morality, and uprightness, he understood that the intellectual center of gravity ought to move from intellect to will. R. Kook enacted a similar shift in his well-known essay “The Generation” (Ha-Dor)—a programmatic essay in which he lays out a revolutionary vision that sees the greatness of the generation and explains its flaws with a positive, optimistic eye. This is another perspective on the old thesis of “decline of the generations.” Many deal with adapting “The Generation” to our time, which has advanced further along that path. This genre is often dubbed “Ha-Dor for our generation.”

From R. Kook’s time until ours further changes have occurred. Precisely because of modernist optimism that viewed intellect as the be-all and end-all and pinned on it and on science hopes that they would solve all our problems and guide us on questions of values, justice, and morality, a severe collapse ensued. In the wake of the world wars and the inability to advance in these domains through intellect, many despaired of intellect (which characterized modernity) and thus postmodernism was born.

Following evolution—an integral part of modernity and the new science—a prevalent view arose that man lies on an evolutionary continuum and possesses nothing uniquely human over animals apart from quantitative differences. This, too, bolstered postmodernism. In the present generation there is another stage: the shift to lifeless machines, and comparisons begin to be drawn between them and humans. It is no wonder that the move from intellect to will, and from facts and science to narrative, seems to many far clearer and more called for in the postmodern era. Yet, in my judgment, it now turns out that following R. Kook’s path is actually mistaken and even dangerous.

Continuing along his path would highlight will at the expense of intellect—not only because of the need to bring wisdom down to practice, but also because wisdom no longer distinguishes us, if such a thing exists at all. Even scientifically, it is no longer correct to see intellect as uniquely human, not only vis-à-vis animals but also vis-à-vis machines. R. Shagar adopted a similar approach in his response to postmodernity, for he too called to embrace the (mistaken) identification between narratives and values on the one hand and subjectivity and relativism on the other, and he often used it as a substitute for modernist dogmatism.

All this is certainly an accurate description of the spirit of the age, and the responses I described call to embrace the zeitgeist. But this response is wrong and harmful. It essentially adopts, implicitly, all these new winds and capitulates to them. If we compromise by placing will at the center of human value and service in place of thought and intellect, we are giving up the view of intellect and thinking as something uniquely human, and giving up the view of intellect as an important means of reaching truth (indeed, giving up truth itself). If we embrace the narrative-postmodern discourse, then we give up viewing values as binding and objective (and uniquely human, unlike innate instincts that are shared by all animals), and we turn disputes and arguments into a deaf, contentless conversation. There is nothing to fight for in subjective hallucinations (although, in these progressive years, people have even succeeded in turning the sacred vacuum into a value worth fighting for). We build for ourselves a comfortable way to live peacefully in a world of these aberrant ideas, but in so doing we throw out the baby with the bathwater.

As noted, I strongly reject despair of the intellect, and the identification between human beings and machines and animals, and certainly the identification between values and narratives on the one hand and subjectivity and relativism on the other. Surrendering to this evil wind brings enormous harm to our conception of man, to morality, and first of all to our relation to truth. But beyond the consequences and ideologies, in this series I showed that these identifications are simply mistaken. In my view, the correct way to confront these new winds is to insist on the significance of intellect (and not flee to will). We must present arguments and show that intellect is indeed unique to us, and not capitulate to these superficial identifications. Sometimes it feels like standing in the path of a cyclone. The feeling is that there is no chance to fight the winds of the time, but I think we have no choice. We must sound these voices again and again, and in the end I hope that they will indeed take root in fertile ground.

I do not mean to deny that free will is an element unique to us. On the contrary, I have written more than once (mainly in my book The Sciences of Freedom) against determinism and in favor of libertarianism. I also certainly see it as one of our essential, important functions, but I refuse to remove intellect from the picture. I also agree that there are various imitations of our thinking, especially in the age of AI machines, and thus the standing of will as our distinguishing feature is indeed sharpened. We saw that free will cannot be imitated (though see caveats below). Even so, we must not cede the understanding that intellect and thought, as well as language, are also unique to us and only to us, and do not exist in machines. And certainly we must insist that values are not subjective; and of course machines have no values, and they do not choose, weigh in their minds, and “decide”—and likely the same holds for animals. The resemblance is superficial, and we must not be led astray by it. Beware of imitations!

Imitation of thought and of will

Thus far we have seen that there are good imitations of our thinking, which raises the question of how identical they are to the original. We also saw that animals possess thought at some level. By contrast, will appears to be an entirely different matter. We also noted above that this is a binary matter: either you have free will or you do not. It would therefore seem that there can be no imitation of will. The imitation done by machines is mechanical, and thus with respect to thinking one may claim that it is wholly mechanical and thus imitable. Even if it is not mechanical, I explained that it is still possible that the mechanical imitation would arrive at the same results. But regarding will, it is hard to believe that imitation is possible at all. A mechanical imitation might arrive at the same choices that we do, but it will clearly not be free. The freedom we have in choice cannot be imitated by a mechanical mechanism. I will recall that in column 175 I discussed the similarity between deliberation done by the intellect and free choice with respect to values. The freedom in the context of intellect was dubbed in this series “creativity,” but this too, like free will, is a kind of non-mechanical freedom. Even so, we could not rule out the possibility that such deliberation is merely another way to reach the same results. In free choice within the moral domain—that is, within will—there is something that seems different: there, even if there is an imitation, it is like water without the baby. The essence is missing.

From another angle one can put it like this: In thinking, the main thing is the result, and if the imitation arrives at the same results, there is room to conclude that there is nothing essentially different in us. In both cases we reached the correct answer, and that is the goal of thinking. By contrast, in will and our free choice, the main thing is the very act of choosing, not the result. Not for nothing did Kant ground his moral view in our autonomy—that is, a person is not judged only by his actions, by the bottom line, but mainly by his choice of that bottom line. If he did not choose, there is no moral meaning to his actions and stances. If thinking is merely a means to arrive at the right answer, choosing is a value unto itself; its significance lies in its very existence, irrespective of its outcomes (see on this my series of columns 126–131 on freedom and liberty). Put differently: moral deliberation cannot be imitated because imitation is not even defined with respect to it. There is no “correct” answer there to which one can compare the mechanical product. We arrive at moral determinations from our choices. How then shall we determine whether some machine imitates us well or not? In the realm of thinking, we check the outcome—truth or error; but in the moral realm, each person chooses differently, and thus we lack a metric to determine whether the machine is like us or not (this is likely what Yair meant in a comment to the previous column).

Surprisingly, however, it turns out that at least in a certain sense there are imitations also of our free will and not only of thinking—or at least many see it that way. If so, all our doubts seemingly return also regarding will versus its imitations. I will conclude the series with a comment on this matter.

Imitation of randomness

In many cases we need a computer to generate a random number sequence. This is useful in many situations, such as lotteries, simulations, and the like. The problem is that we lack a truly random source in nature. A coin toss or die roll, considered random events, are not random in any sense. They are deterministic events whose outcomes are unequivocally dictated by the circumstances. We see them as random only because of the sensitive dependence on initial conditions and the dispersion of results in the long run (the butterfly effect, chaos. I discussed this in detail in columns 322–327). So what is random in nature? Apart from quantum theory according to the prevalent interpretations—nothing. How then can we generate random numbers? There are various methods for this, and what they all have in common is that there is no true randomness there. It is similar to a coin or die in that it is very hard to predict the outcome in advance, but this is not because of randomness but because of sensitivity to initial conditions. See here for a description of the phenomenon and its uses.

If so, a computer random-number generator produces a mechanical imitation of randomness. When you look at the sequence of numbers it generates, it appears entirely random. Seemingly, this implies that free will can also be imitated, contrary to my assumption above.

True, I have distinguished more than once between randomness and choice (see, for example, column 645), but that distinction concerns the sources of the phenomena. I explained that randomness is an action without a cause and without a purpose, whereas free choice is an action without a cause but for a purpose. Phenomenologically, however, the two phenomena appear very similar, and it is no wonder that many identify them (mistakenly). This implies that one can indeed see a random generator as an imitation of free choice (see more on this in ch. 7 of my book The Sciences of Freedom).

Here I must return to my earlier remark. An imitation of randomness can be examined via correlations among the different numbers in the computer-generated random sequence. It can look random, and we have metrics to test that. By contrast, when we come to examine an imitation of choice, we lack a metric to determine whether it is an imitation or not, since there is no correct answer to which we can compare it. The random character of the choices will not suffice here, since at the basis of choice lies a process of deliberation—and that is the crux of the matter. How can deliberation be imitated? How shall we know whether the machine is weighing in its mind or merely producing random outputs? The root of the difficulty is that the distinction between randomness and choice does not lie in phenomenology—that is, in the product—but in the way we arrive at it (is it a lottery or a choice; is there a purpose or not). That cannot be imitated.

Finally, even without this difference, would anyone imagine inferring from the existence of such imitations that a random generator has free choice, or that the computer truly operates randomly? I assume not. Phenomenological similarity does not necessarily testify to essential similarity. If so, the same applies to imitations of thought. There, too, the thesis that proposes to identify the imitation (“the machine’s ‘thinking’”) with the original (human thinking) is absurd—even if we manage to achieve a perfect imitation (i.e., a machine that can do everything we can do).

Bottom line: there is no real advantage to the approach that sees human uniqueness in will over the one that sees it in intellect. In both, one may perhaps speak of imitation (though we saw that with respect to choice, not really), but even if that is so, it is still incorrect to identify the imitation with the original.