I’m terrified of Artificial Intelligence
I’m terrified of artificial intelligence. Yesterday, during my lunch break, I got into a rabbit hole of articles, essays and research on the topic, and it more or less ruined my day. The specific part that concerns me is what is called the technological singularity, a point in time where technology is self-improving at such a rate that it surpasses human intelligence. I was vaguely aware of the concept before yesterday, but two things deeply caught my attention. I first discovered how soon this is expected to happen. I had previously assumed this was a far off concept, the stuff of sci-fi novels. But this couldn’t be further from true. Although predictions greatly vary, there are many experts who predict the singularity to occur during this century (one A.I. researcher saying as early as 2020). In addition to learning of the inevitability of the singularity in my lifetime , I also began to understand the magnitude of the intelligence discrepancy between humans and AI. The current ratio of ape to human intelligence is roughly the difference which experts predict there to be between between human and artificial intelligence.
Intelligence is something I think about a lot. It is lauded as a centrally crucial trait, something brought up in the first few sentences of describing a person. However, in the grand scheme of life, the range of human intelligence is ultimately pretty small. Those on the lowest strata of human intelligence are fully capable of communicating with those on highest strata. Ever our headiest and most complex ideas have ways of being dumbed down and streamlined in order to be explained to the masses. The intelligence barrier between the dumbest and smartest human is exponentially closer than the intelligence between the smartest ape and dumbest human.
These smartest apes, their species’ cream of the crop, are only able to minutely and barely grasp human awareness and problem-solving skills. This is not an issue of theory or philosophy. We don’t mock the apes for still believing the earth is the center of the universe. Their intelligence completely predates having any understanding or awareness of anything we concern ourselves with. For there to suddenly exist a ~thing~ which exceeds our intelligence in a similar way is the basis of a fundamental existential crises. Suddenly, the best humanity has to offer (Einstein, Aristotle) would only be able to barely, barely scratch the surface of AI. Once again, this isn’t an issue of theory or practice. They wouldn’t look down on us because we still believe in the Theory of Relativity or don’t yet have a cure for cancer. Their intellect would be so advanced, so superior, that our entire way of experiencing and looking at the world would be too primitive to even consider. Just walking down the street, an AI would comprehend and make sense of the world around them in ways we can’t even fathom. This is deeply troubling.
Looking back at power dynamics throughout world history, intelligence has never been a primary reason for control. It can be a factor, but just one, sitting alongside luck, resources and military prowess (to name a few). A random Israelite slave was not necessarily any less intelligent than his Egyptian master, which is why the Israelites were eventually able to escape. In fact, all history and storytelling say that through courage, planning, ingenuity and other similar traits, any group can overcome an oppressor. This would not be the case after the singularity. The chasm of intelligence would be so great, so insurmountable, that humans would never be able to regain control.
It’s a bad habit, but I tend to deify those whose intelligence has become lore. Before I familiarize myself with their work, I allow myself to become deeply intimidated. I think of them as more than human. But each time I delve into their work, I’m relieved to discover that they are as trapped in their humanity as everyone else. Often called the smartest writer of his generation, David Foster Wallace’s legend has become more and more exaggerated in the years since his passing. Despite his writing prowess, his love for fast food often bordered on addiction, and he used television as a crutch for his loneliness. These are traits dominated much more by emotions than logic. Or Albert Einstein, whose surname has become a synonym for genius, had bouts of procrastination and heartbreak. The smartest rat in the cage is still, ultimately, a rat in a cage. It can navigate its environment more efficiently and intelligently than its peers, but it can never transcend its cage. On one hand, this is comforting; we’re all the same species and the gaps in talent and intelligent are perhaps not as large as they can sometimes seem. But I’m not exactly looking forward to becoming a rat.
