The humanization of AI, and the commodification of community.
I saw for the first time, a video that described ChatGPT and other open AI, as “finally giving people a god that talks back,” and I felt this ever-present itch in my brain finally being scratched. As AI is trained with every new prompt or form of proof of human life, so too is the user, into believing that they (and other humans) do not hold the answers, when it is our answers that regurgitate back. AI does not know more than you. It cannot better answer what you should name your pet or make for dinner. It does not come up with innovative ideas, and it certainly is not this all-knowing, omnipresent “god” who “understands you better than anyone.”
In Philip. K. Dick’s 1968 novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? humanity is most defined by its empathy, and the androids in it are, at first, most distinguishable by their lack thereof. In this post-apocalyptic world, artificiality becomes the norm in an effort to make humans feel fulfilled. We could argue that, in no universe, will that ever be a successful approach. The norm of artificiality begins deteriorating humans’ sense of identity and morality; the two primary differences between them and the robots. Readers thus observe the protagonist struggle with blurring this line, as he comes across “nuanced” androids, in a world full of distant, unhappy humans. Artificial animals are used in place of domestic animals, as most real ones became extinct, and whilst they certainly look the part, there is little genuine fulfilment in taking care of one; yet another empty, artificial substitute made, yet another example of an unkept promise to satiate the human hunger for companionship—yet another consumer left starving. The few real animals left are recognized as important because they represent this recall back to a “true” state of humanity, yet they’re valued as a commodity and display of one’s status. This is still valued despite their world collapsing, as consumerism is truly the only driving force for anything left, and with this, a coping mechanism. In an attempt to relieve his isolation, the main character tries to form relationships with the androids, who ultimately exploit him for their own survival, and are unable to reciprocate any real feelings back. And with this, the cycle continues: the world becomes a little more dehumanized by the day, temporary solace is found within material possessions, and when they finally lift their heads to look around again, the scarcity of connection is overwhelming.
The cycle is repeated once more, and what little life is left has all of its meaning deprived.
Do you see it? ChatGPT is not “funny” or has its own little personality—it has mirrored you and the countless other real people similar to you. We live amongst the most beautiful creatures, and organisms, and natural life forms, who are being deprived of their shelter and ecosystems to sustain the business that feeds generative AI; we do not need to create false videos of them. No, ChatGPT cannot give you a list of ways to be “more whimsical,” that goes against the very nature of it. Although it feels like a sneeze that never comes, you do not need to buy anything to prove your whimsy either—we are watching intrinsic feelings becoming commodified in real time. Also, ChatGPT is not your friend who just “gets” you. You are not a distinct person to it; you are this man-made algorithm, and collection of patterns that it simplifies to better use you. And as you run out of chats for the night, and silently close the tab, the subsequent moments of silence will feel devastatingly lonely, and you will crave consuming something more. The AI chatbot will lay idle, knowing no such reality, waiting for the next time it can exploit you.
I hate writing something out and worrying that the cadence comes across as generated, despite the concept of writing predating me entirely. I hate seeing people react to “beautiful” moments online before realizing it’s AI, as if beautiful moments don’t happen on public transportation every day. I hate generated “art” being collectively accepted as such, as if art wasn’t the first creation—as if our atoms are not sculpted masterfully. In a world already so individualistic, why must we only turn to machines for a sense of community? Why do we feel more comfortable doing that than with someone—anyone—sentient?
My hunch is that the very thing that makes us crave human connection and relationships is the same thing that often deters us from them: emotion. With AI, one is able to share exactly how they are feeling without having to be embarrassed by the act of letting someone in, or worry about being perceived differently, for AI cannot feel. With that however, it creates this void within the person that can now ONLY be “filled” by AI, as the urge to continually over-share everything that has been pent up becomes addicting and codependent, but cannot easily be transferred to a real person. This makes it more interactive than a journal, but far less deep than a friend—”the god who answers back.”
As we settle for being understood on a surface level, for the sake of this false “god” to answer any question we have, we look to our real relationships as transactions. How much you can get out of someone, how far someone is able to take you before you can grab the next branch and swing off of them. This was the reason technology was pushed in the first place; for an ease of life, to get you more ahead, to get you there faster. We are muddling what each sector should mean to us. As humans become colder and more distant, and technology becomes more “personable,” the two in this ever-long dance into a positive feedback loop.
But AI cannot recreate the silence that fell over the classroom as my English teacher recited the Hamlet soliloquy for the first time; just as his teacher once did, and the teacher before that—it cannot recreate the soliloquy itself. It cannot recreate the urge to linger in the doorway a little longer, and it cannot recreate the conversations after you do. It cannot recreate the buzzing sensation from holding a stare a few beats more than normal.
AI cannot recreate the moment I have when I sit with my friends, as our voices beginning to overlap into a debate, with the addition of jokes or laughing fits.It is summer, and I am warm, though cool to the touch, as dusk settles upon us, and I’ll sit back and watch them trying to both soak up and remain in as much of the moment as possible.
If I could bottle up that moment and wear it as perfume, I would, and AI will never feel enough to tell you about any of this.