8 hours ago
6
Moan all you like about technology, there’s no denying it’s made friendship easier. In an ideal world you would spend quality time together, have deep meaningful chats on the phone and swap well thought out, insightful texts. But when you’re busy, tired, or just not in the mood, what a relief that you can send a meme, or a quick video, and know that fully counts as keeping in touch. Result.
My terrifying, omniscient algorithm served me an Instagram reel last week of an incredibly realistic 3D hole a street artist had painted on the sidewalk in New York. As people tried to pass by, they glanced down, saw the hole and panicked, feeling that they were falling, so dropping to the ground, even though of course the pavement was flat and solid. It was funny and, I thought, clever, so I pinged it to a friend, who I was sure would agree. Instead, he told me, in extremely certain terms, that there was no 3D hole, no street artist, and no passersby – because the clip was AI. Heck, New York might not even exist – at this point I can’t be sure of anything.
I felt like I was wearing a tinfoil hat. I can’t believe I hadn’t questioned any of it for a second. Talk about naive, foolish and out of touch. Feeling ashamed, I healthily distracted myself by turning my attention to my so-called friend. Should he have (metaphorically) urinated on my bonfire like that? Perhaps it would have been nicer to leave me in my blissful ignorance. Obviously it will be a cold day in hell before I forward a video to him again – next time I’ll send him a lengthy voice note, and he only has himself to blame.
What is the etiquette when it comes to breaking the news that somebody should not have believed their eyes? This might not seem like an important issue but we do need to work it out, because AI isn’t going anywhere. (I always say please and thank you to Alexa, which I hope she’ll remember when she’s in charge.) We must decide on a collective strategy.
Informing someone that a video they’ve been charmed, entertained or excited by isn’t real is, on the surface, simply telling them the truth. The problem is that they didn’t ask, and were happier not knowing. It’s not only spoiling their fun, extinguishing a brief moment of joy in this increasingly bleak existence, it’s messing with their whole concept of belief, of faith. Maybe it’s the equivalent of an atheist pointing out plot holes in the Bible to somebody deeply religious. Probably best leave them to it.
But AI has the potential to be dangerous (not you Alexa, love you). If we don’t learn to question it, the chances of us being scammed by its ever more sophisticated use in the wrong hands is high. Could it be that alerting someone to AI is a kindness? A necessary evil? Insurance? They’ll feel like a doofus for a minute, but if that stops them being tricked in the future, it could be worth it.
In an essay, written by an AI expert and investor, that recently went viral, Matt Shumer compared the way tech muggles currently think about AI to how we all reckoned that virus far away in China was nothing for us to worry about in February 2020. You might possibly remember how that turned out. “I think we’re in the ‘this seems overblown’ phase of something much, much bigger than Covid,” wrote Shumer.
So we don’t need to fret about our policy on this after all then, because AI will win regardless. Either it’s coming for our dignity – fooling us at first with amusing little videos, before moving on to emptying our bank accounts – or it’s coming for our livelihoods – replacing us and doing our jobs quicker and better. Or both. It’s not if, it’s when.
Suddenly, watching footage of a kitten and a baby raccoon who are best friends, wear matching outfits, and have mastered an intricate dance routine, à la the band playing as the Titanic sinks, doesn’t seem so bad.
