Is Sam Altman the most important thinker in the world right now? The “father of ChatGPT” is on a global sales mission. As CEO of the chatbot’s maker, OpenAI, he is not just marketing a product. He is an artificial intelligence (AI) evangelist. While not blind to the risks of unregulated AI, he believes those trying to put the brakes on the new technology are losing sight of how we can “dramatically increase . . . the amount of output that one person can have”.
What makes Altman fascinating is the mix of idealism and instrumentalism.
Giving us a glimpse of the brave new world under AI, he foresees humans living off a cryptocurrency-based universal basic income, leaving technology to do the heavy-lifting for society. Being plugged into AI in such circumstances could be seen as payment for surrendering our autonomy. “Maybe it’s possible that the most important component of wealth in the future is access to these systems – in which case, you can think about redistributing that itself,” he told the Guardian.
At a deeper level, he argues AI is unstoppable and suggests that knee-jerk reactions against the technology are a kind of moral failing. “It is a failure of human imagination and human arrogance to assume that we will never build things smarter than ourselves,” he writes on his blog.
Expanding on the point at a public interview with the Economic Times in India earlier this month, Altman said: “I grew up implicitly thinking that intelligence was this, like really special human thing and kind of somewhat magical. And I now think that it’s sort of a fundamental property of matter . . . I think, like, the history of scientific discovery is that humans are less and less at the centre.”
Is there a word we’re losing sight of here? Namely “artificial”. Altman is right – computers are better at doing some “thinking tasks” than humans. But are there certain forms of thinking that only humans can do? Take moral reasoning, for example, or practical wisdom – what Greek philosophers called phronesis. Or here’s another one: wonder.
Having a sense of awe may seem a rather trivial thing. But it could allow us to identify something we have that AI may never obtain, while also helping us to measure the true value of superintelligence. Here I’m inspired by two of the most memorable philosophical books of the year – dare I say, perfect summer reads – which explore the topic of wonder from different perspectives.
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In Awe: The Transformative Power of Everyday Wonder, Dacher Keltner, a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley, examines the science behind the emotion that is typically associated with “once-in-a-lifetime experiences”, like visiting the Grand Canyon, witnessing the birth of a child, or attending a memorable rock concert. However, Keltner argues that wonder can be found in routine activities, and he has research to back up the idea that “the more we practise awe, the richer it gets”.
In Three Roads Back, a study of bereavement and resilience, literary biographer Robert D Richardson examines that very painful but profound source of wonder: death. Examining how writers Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and William James each dealt with grief in their own lives, Richardson – who poignantly died before the book’s publication – channels collective awe at being alive.
Wonder appears to stem from two human instincts: an awareness of mortality and a sense of being connected to the wider world. My own theory is that the latter gives us a deep appreciation of the real over the artificial. I am in awe, for example, at scientific discovery that tells us about the nature of the universe. In contrast, progress in gadgetry leaves me cold.
The closest I’ve ever come to awe in a computer programme was when the arcade game Dragon’s Lair arrived at the Stillorgan Bowl in the 1980s. And then it was only in a “this is kinda’ cool” way, not the sort of spiritual high you’d get from standing on a mountaintop. Similarly, I’ve spent endless hours staring at my smartphone: I’ve been entertained, distracted and informed by many things but I can’t recall once experiencing awe.
I don’t think I’m alone in having this bias. When astronauts view Earth from space they talk about the “overview effect”, a transcendent feeling of connection to humanity and the universe as a whole. Have you ever heard a computer programmer speak with wonder about an algorithm? There is something about digital technology that promises to bring us closer together but ultimately keeps us apart.
What does this mean for our future? AI has history on its side. Because it’s convenient, people are willing to trade the real for the artificial. That goes for artificial food, artificial friendship (via Facebook, etc), even artificial politics (see Twitter). There is no doubt AI will displace human thinking in many areas.
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However, if humans are hard-wired to wonder then we may have an inbuilt defence against artificiality taking over entirely. Keltner asks: what is the “unifying purpose” of awe? “Here’s my answer. Awe integrates us into the systems of life – communities, collectives, the natural environment, and forms of culture, such as music, art, religion, and our mind’s efforts to make sense of all its webs of ideas.”
So understood, wonder is a way of moving back towards reality. It can give you a better perspective of your place in the whole.
Altman is not necessarily at odds with this conclusion – he is just spelling out the challenge for humanity. “Even if humans aren’t special in terms of intelligence we are incredibly important . . . and I really deeply hope we preserve all of that,” he says.
Preserving what makes us important may start with wonder.
So if you’re feeling overwhelmed by artificiality you can fight back – and summer is the perfect time to start practising. Simply put down the phone and enjoy the “overview effect” that a walk in the park, or a holiday break in the wild, can bring. Awe awaits around every turn.
Ask a sage:
What do you wish for?
Rachel Carson, biologist and author of Silent Spring, replies: “If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from our sources of strength.”
Unthinkable returns in September
