IT is a popular topic of discussion over drinks and dinner. The debate centers on whether AI will take away jobs. So far, AI hasn’t had a fair shot at writing newspaper opinion columns, but I’m convinced there are aspects of my role that AI simply can’t replicate.
Except for now, it seems AI is making claims that it can. Recently, it was revealed that at least six respected publications had to retract articles they published, as they turned out to be fragments of fiction generated by AI and later submitted by someone under the name Margaux Blanchard. One such piece was a Wired article titled “Love in Love in Love Fold,” which humorously featured Minecraft as a wedding venue. This piece quoted a so-called “digital celebrity,” Jessica Foo, who appears to exist only in name. Another publication called Dispatch received a pitch from “Blanchard” about an imaginary neighbor’s town called Gravemont, which also does not exist.
In social conversations about topics like ChatGPT, I struggle against an overwhelming sense of frustration. I dislike ChatGPT deeply. This feeling qualifies as hatred for me, because it provokes a visceral response that’s just shy of real anger. I don’t find it just annoying or confusing—I genuinely despise it.
Thus, I’ve been digging into the reasons behind my aversion. There are valid points in favor of the AI era. For instance, a friend in the scientific field explained how AI accelerates the process of developing and testing hypotheses. Routine tasks become less time-consuming with AI’s assistance.
Nonetheless, there are numerous factors causing my trepidation. The environmental impact of using ChatGPT is well-documented, but for me, it’s not the most pressing concern. It troubles me that people are actively choosing technologies that threaten to make much of their work obsolete. For example, AI can distill complex information through Google searches, which is often too straightforward. Moreover, those leading the AI revolution often evoke the worst stereotypes of the typical tech bro.
This reactionary mindset is what I find particularly tragic. Trusting ChatGPT could weaken people’s mental capabilities. I firmly believe that creative imagination is like a muscle; it thrives on exercise. Recently, I assisted a 7-year-old with her creative writing assignment. When she needed to describe the forest, I asked her to imagine it and share what she saw. “We don’t need to do that,” she replied. “You can ask AI to do it.”
She indirectly suggested that we let ChatGPT help rewrite the article. Call me a Luddite if you must, but my reaction was one of dismay! Some challenges should be embraced! It’s beneficial for your brain to tackle them! I’ve read about people using ChatGPT for selecting dishes from a restaurant menu. Choosing what to eat is one of life’s small pleasures—why outsource that to a machine?
However, what troubles me most isn’t that. The gravest issue is how ChatGPT infiltrates people’s personal lives. There’s a barrage of suggestions on using it for workout plans, coding solutions, and document summarization. That’s fine, but hearing about its use for writing birthday cards, best man speeches, or farewell texts makes a part of my soul wither. As someone who writes for a living, I can’t accept this. These moments of expression need to be heartfelt and authentic, not perfectly crafted by algorithms.
My deep-seated dislike for ChatGPT stems from how willingly people transform meaningful interactions into mere transactions. For instance, whether it’s an email or a post, much of the value in receiving a message lies in knowing someone invested their time and thought into crafting it.
I fully recognize that 15 years down the line, I might look back on this article with amusement, adapting to AI-optimized workdays and AI-assisted tasks. I may find I was naive to worry at all! “I love you” could be easily programmed to mimic genuine affection! I also understand that my aversion to ChatGPT might render me less employable in the future, as I might lack the skills to harness AI effectively. That’s okay; I can retreat to the woods and live a less-than-ideal life. Yet, I will be unhappy in a tangible way, clinging to the ability to think independently.
Source: www.theguardian.com
