I went to lunch this past week with a person I’ve known for more than 40 years. A successful man, who leads a multiple-staff wealth management office, he, like myself, began of his life without technology being a constant. And artificial intelligence? That is the last thing I’m thinking about.
We went to lunch with another friend in his electric car. It moves quickly, and when he takes his foot off a particular pedal, the car stops—no brakes. There is no dashboard, no gauges, no button to push—just a screen.
As he stepped on this particular pedal again, the car drove out of the parking lot. On the screen, we saw other cars passing by, indicating it would not go until they were gone. When it was “safe,” the car moved quickly to the other lane. Computer car at its finest.
Thinking out loud, I acknowledge that this is the world we now “seem” to live in—one in which our thinking is being replaced by technology. I do not need to look both ways for other cars; my vehicle does it for me.
AI has crept in, leapt in, pours in. In many instances, it’s taken over our need to think. It will write papers, do research, have a conversation with you about a problem you’re facing. It’s a useful tool in some ways. It saves time, it can reduce the stress of us driving, and can even help dial in to a health regimen plan you’re interested in trying.
It’s easy. But I must admit, there is something troubling me about this new tool: We have lost, or are losing, that art of who we are that struggled. The mere fact that we struggle, grapple with something, is what allows us growth. Think about it, we go to the gym to get fit or become stronger, but if we stop going and stop using our muscles regularly, they weaken. What then of our brains?
Is giving up the small things, like driving a car, weakening us? Is our culture losing some kind of strength when we turn over so much of our lives to technology? Has the cell become so much of our life that we cannot be disconnected from it? Has my laptop become my friend? It seems to have all the answers—”just Google it,” right?
This technology allows me to be alone and not need another person in my life to grapple with. Have we come to believe there is only one answer for each problem out there and that the answer will be given to us by simply asking our devices? Then what do we do when someone proposes a different answer, especially one that does not agree with my own? Maybe there are answers that each of us have that help us get through life, that we learn as we get older—answers that mom and dad taught us, or a teacher, or a pastor. Sure, they could be wrong, but in not hearing others, we risk not strengthening our own thoughts and convictions.
AI will not solve the need for us to struggle with issues, whether they be spiritual, cultural, or social. As humans, we seeks answers. Some of those answers are easy. But others are hard to digest, hard to research, hard to ponder, and hard to stomach. In having a dialogue with others, other humans that is, we find depth in those answers.
The one part of all this information overload that is being overlooked is the basic need to be in a relationship and feel. Our emotions are deeply tied to all that is going on in the world, all that we take in, all that we digest. The issues of how we emote, how we see life from a different perspectives, how we realize our own feelings when talking to another human, how we engage in the world around us is based on the fundamental privilege of being able to feel. I feel the air when I go out in the morning;
I feel my love for Nancy. And that, whether we want it to or not, that emotional setup, how we think and feel about life? That’s just not going to be answered by AI—although it will absolutely try.
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