When Elon Musk talks about robotics, he does little to hide the ambition behind his dreams.
Tesla’s Optimus is being pitched as an all-purpose humanoid robot that can do heavy lifting on the factory floor and free us from drudgery at home. Tesla aims to have 1 million of these robots over the next 10 years.
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Whether we first encountered ChatGPT, Gemini, or Copilot, many of us felt the same shock of surprise. Here was a bot that seemed to understand us in ways we didn’t expect. As a result, Musk’s dream of a robot companion now feels like it’s getting closer, if not closer.
Imagine flipping through a catalog of robots the same way we search for home appliances. If you think a personal robot is still too expensive, you might hire one part-time. Maybe a dance instructor who also doubles as a therapist. Families can also work together to purchase a robot for an elderly relative. Some people may buy it for themselves.
The future Musk envisions is not just mechanical, but emotional.
Why humanoid shape is important
The idea of robots that look like us may seem creepy and threatening. But there are also practical explanations for the motivation to create robots that look like us.
Dishwashers are basically robots, but you have to load them yourself. Humanoid robots with hands and fingers can also clear tables, load dishwashers, and feed pets. In other words, engineers create humanoid robots because the world is designed for human bodies.
But the humanoid form also comes with emotional baggage. A machine with a face and limbs suggests more than function. It is a promise of intelligence, empathy, or camaraderie. Optimus taps into that deep cultural imagery. It’s part practical engineering, part theater, and part invitation to believe that we’re getting closer to creating machines that can coexist with us.
There are moments when personal robots are welcomed wholeheartedly. Anyone who has ever been sick or cared for someone who is sick can imagine the appeal of a helper who preserves dignity and independence. Unlike humans, robots are not born to judge. But there are also risks in outsourcing much of our social world to machines.
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If robots were always there to clean up our clutter, whether it be practical or emotional, we might lose some of the tolerance and empathy that comes from living among other people.
This is where design issues become important. In the most dystopian version of life, powered by generative AI and powered by chatty, dexterous robots, we are holed up indoors, confined to our homes, and cared for by machines that endlessly “understand” and silently adore us. Convenience is maximized, but something else is lost.
If sociability is really important, and if it’s worth going through a bit of inconvenience to practice being human with other humans rather than just dealing with chatbots, then the challenge becomes real. How do we design a future that brings us closer together rather than gently pulling us apart?
One option is to rethink where the conversation is. Rather than embedding an all-purpose, chatty assistant into every corner of our lives, we can distribute AI across devices and limit what devices say. For example, a washing machine might talk about doing laundry, or a navigation system might talk about routes. But the kind of free chatter that shapes identities, values, and relationships is still something people engage in with other people.
On a collective level, these kinds of design choices have the potential to reshape workplaces and shared spaces, returning them to environments that foster human conversation. Of course, that’s only possible if people are encouraged to come to work in person and put away their phones.
The real design challenge is not how to make machines pay more attention to us, but how to successfully coax us closer to each other.
It is therefore worth asking what kind of domestic future we are quietly building. Will the robots we invite indoors help us connect, or will they simply be with us?
good bots, bad bots
A good bot could help socially anxious children navigate school. It may spur lonely teens into local activities. Or you might say to a grumpy old man, “Crime club starts at the library in an hour. Let’s go pick up a newspaper on the way.”
Bad bots leave us where we are. That is, you become more and more comfortable with the machine, but less comfortable with each other.
Musk’s humanoid dreams may yet become a reality. The question is: Will machines like Optimus help us build stronger communities, or will they quietly erode the relationships we need most?
This edited article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
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