Dear God,
Don't look now, but you've got some competition.
While on my daily constitutional last week, I took in a podcast about the dubious rise of AI (fittingly titled A.I.’s Original Sin), when the following literally stopped me in my tracks.
Cade Metz (guest): The most interesting thing we’ve found, is that in late 2021, as OpenAI, the startup in San Francisco that built ChatGPT, as they were pulling together the fundamental technology that would power that chatbot, they ran out of data, essentially.
They had used just about all the respectable English language text on the internet to build this system. And just let that sink in for a bit.
Michael Barbaro (host): They basically, like a Pac-Man on a old game, just consumed almost all the English words on the internet, which is kind of unfathomable.
Wait … WHAT? The AI bots already ate all the English language data on the Internet? And they finished three years ago?
God, this absolutely freaked me out.
In an attempt to scale that amount of copy, I conjured Zubal Books, which encompasses more than 350,000 square feet in a complex that contains some three million books. It is one of the most remarkable establishments I have ever encountered, and includes books, periodicals, journals and printed matter of all sorts in these weird old buildings, one of which dates back to the 1890s. There’s also a gorgeous mid-century penthouse and thousands of vintage fruit crates (collected decades ago by the Zubal family) that house all those books.
After touring Zubal’s back in 2012, I deemed it “the eighth wonder of the world” for a now-defunct publication. It earned that designation on account of being so much more than a warehouse for old books. The business as a whole says something about all of us on account of where it is, how it works, the family that runs it, and how a person has to see it to believe it. I also happened to be in that venerable establishment again this past week, which is why it’s been on my mind.
The other night as I lay tangled in my blankets thinking about this letter, I said to my dearly beloved, “Imagine how many words are housed in Zubal.” The question and its incomprehensible answer hung in the air above our heads.
Now I realize that insatiable AI monster would consider such a volume to be, well, a little snack.
God, I’ve avoided the phrase, “as you know,” in this letter because frankly, with the way things are going around ol’ planet Earth, I’m not sure you do know. But that AI monster? He’s consumed my every puzzle post, all of our political coverage, droves of obscure archived material, every white paper, and every ad. (I hope he had better luck than I did understanding those Dolce&Gabbana Denim Jean Stiletto Booties.)
When it comes to omniscience, our AI friend really does know. He knows all of it.
Is it silly to imagine people deifying whatever this voracious AI data monster becomes? There was a time when I would have answered my own question: Yes, Erin, that is utterly ridiculous. Now God, I’m not so sure.
There’s this show on Netflix, 3 Body Problem. It depicts (among other things) an omniscient alien entity with a sect of humans followers who refer to it as “Our Lord” and treat it as such. As the scenes featuring said Lord’s adherents unfurled on my television screen, the disturbing device became more and more believable.
Then we have the myriad real world examples. Just look how we humans revere money. Just look how we humans revere all that glitters. Just look how we humans are so easily fooled, and how susceptible we are to superstition. Now, how will we humans respond before an entity that can instantaneously access and apply all of our knowledge?
The skeptic in me persists. It’s just a machine with no relevance other than that which we give it.
Therein lies the problem. It’s seems inevitable that somewhere along the line, someone will tell that machine it must to create content that sells more shoes/cars/lipstick. When the machine maxes out, our someone will tell the machine it needs to identify more closely to the human experience in order to sell even more shoes/cars/lipstick. Eventually, it will dawn on someone that the machine must be instilled with desire (greed?), however artificial, in order to fulfill this directive.
I’m pretty sure the machine will figure out how to emulate us humans. After all, it’s already downloaded all the source material, from good to bad.
Desire. Greed. Love. Hate. Anger. How will our voracious AI monster manipulate its human subjects when it possesses all of that?
God, do you see where I’m going with this? I’m not sure I do; I just know I feel very, very small.
Love, Erin
ps: God, the world is apparently moving a bit faster than this letter. Our darling “someone” has already given the monster a seat at Big Kids’ table. It’s even counting my money in ways I’ve yet to imagine.
pps: From the quote near the top of this missive, our AI friend has hoovered up all the “respectable” English text on the ol’ Internet. Hm. I wonder who defined that parameter. I wonder what it excludes.
ppps: We do have one thing the monster does not have; we even named a magazine after it.
I have been pondering this one since yesterday, Erin. Lots of big ideas in this letter to the big guy/gal/nonbinary. Here's one: Is omniscience the same thing as godliness? I don't think so. While I am not a believer, there just has to be more to it than that! This AI stuff is really doing a number on all of us.
prior to reading here i had read a news article about an Alabama law aimed at controlling content in public libraries utilizing old obscenity statutes. think of the smut in AI. or better yet, don't, and the possibilities for puritan charlatans. (well, maybe just a little smut. "Outlier Smut")