When Intelligence is Artificial

Artificial intelligence: The term reminds me of slackers in grad school who managed to surf their way through on the waves of the work of others—especially in group projects. Otherwise, I envision images of rooms of plastic flowers or packages of almost-real food. That intelligence which is artificial can be enriching or surprising seems unlikely. Honestly, I don’t know where AI begins or whether it ends.

I understand that AI is meant to ease the burden of humankind, which it does in many cases. But I can’t help thinking of all the infuriating ways AI replacements for humans have infiltrated our communication. Did we need more barriers to honest human contact? Have we simplified our lives away from being human? No wonder people rumble with low-level anger most of the time. I spent an hour on my laptop making hotel reservations the other day. If I had behaved and done exactly as I was expected to do, the process would’ve been effortless. That’s the evil of AI. People have to behave like robots for the experience to be positive. (The key word in that sentence is behave.) I make an effort not to behave like robots, hence the problem. I think individuals need to act like individuals or they lose identity and self-confidence. I want customer service people to perform as humans with flexibility and good humor. I want to be able to ask questions an algorithm hasn’t anticipated. I enjoy a few moments of contact with another person. AI smiles are emojis.

What’s missing in AI? Real empathy—the essence of human interaction, the hallmark of maturity, the saving grace of humanity. When we communicate with one another, we strengthen bonds that keep us sane. An AI counselor may say all the “right” things in the “right” tones with the “right” body language, and having AI backup for doctors is brilliant because no one person can recall the totality of information on demand, but application often requires subtlety. The thought of AI films or art or literature or music depresses me. What’s the function of art but to express humanity or soul in varying ways so that it touches different people? No two performances on Broadway are identical. The audience is part of the experience. The billions of books in the world represent billions of points of view, often on the same subjects—differences that lead to creativity and invention. And, as a reader, I’m part of the message communicated. No two people read the same book.

I’m allergic to sameness…conformity. I always have been. I like myself that way. I have no inclination to communicate with a robot beyond spelling and encyclopedic information gathering. As an academic, I railed against one-answer problems. So many were wrong—especially if viewed from unusual points of view. “Don’t look at it that way!” one teacher reprimanded me. Corporations took over the production of textbooks so a scanner could grade quizzes. Simpler and faster, sure. Better mind exercise? No. Life is designed to be complicated for a reason. People raised on vapid simplicity are repulsed by hard decisions. They’re trained to behave according to the dictates of whomever or whatever seems dominant. See the problem?