Just when we have begun to doubt how true the rumor that man is an intelligent creature is, it turns out that most of the intelligence running around the environment is artificial. For several weeks now, everyone has been humming the letter AI, which sometimes sounds like a wild cry of encouragement and sometimes like an ancient Jewish howl of pain. And for good reason. All the people I've spoken to on the matter are debating whether we are facing news or catastrophe, whether there is an urgent need for regulation or whether it would be a shame to try at all.
There is no dispute about one thing: artificial intelligence, and its endless uses, is not some kind of future prediction, nor is it coming. It is already here, and it will change our lives beyond recognition. There is quite a bit of talk about the AI revolution in terms of the print revolution. In other words, not another technological breakthrough, but an event that... In short, the AI conversation brings with it a symphony of boundless superlatives and fears.
Since the dawn of history, mankind has managed to convince itself that it is the crown of creation, and therefore also the legitimate sovereign of the universe. And all thanks to some generous jesta that gave us what is denied to other beings - wisdom. All. Something between the ears. Quite a few Jewish sages insisted that the whole famous story with the "image of God" is actually a poetic way of talking about this unique trait. About the fact that people, or at least those among them who agree with our opinion, are wise to Allah. You'll know if that's not going to change very soon.
Here, last week I was shopping at the supermarket. In recent years, I have started using self-service checkouts. Mainly because the line is shorter on the way to them, but also because I like machines talking politely to me. Who recently said something like, "Please place the product on the surface?" So here I am, standing there, facing the electronic monster, scanning barcodes of emptier and less empty carbs. Then came these products, which do not have a barcode on them. "Put the fruits on top of the weight," the Golem told me.
And I, who has been doing this for some time, started searching on the screen for the word "pear" and next to it the image that will never resemble the pears sold in some supermarket. But the machine surprised me.
Something in the device already knew I had taken pears. His array of cameras, sensors, and damn intelligence picked up what I had taken, and so, with the arrogance of an idol doctor, the screen told me something like: "Pears. Sure pears. You don't have to say. I know more about you than you can even guess," and so it was later with the cabbage. And the bananas and beets. I admit that for the apple variety, it was not completely closed. So he gambled on the more expensive. A fool is not. But when we got to parsley and coriander I decided that so far, I wasn't even going to try. If it turns out that this device can distinguish between coriander and parsley, it makes an unbearably high number of men redundant.
The experience was intriguing, but also disturbing. I asked myself why they didn't update us at the entrance to the supermarket? And why aren't we allowed to choose at what pace we want our technological revolution? And mostly I wondered: what will be the next step - the device will also knock on the watermelon and send me contemptuously to change to a good one?
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"Look, Google's shares are hurting, because the whole story of search engines is going to change drastically. What happens is that every day, even every hour, new AI-based tools are emerging. And they are more and more elaborate. It saves us a lot of manpower, streamlines writing tasks. And we already know how to say that the profession of the future is to know how to give correct instructions to the system. Already, the highest salaries are given to those who know how to give precise instructions for AI. More than that you want? We no longer say, 'He's not the sharpest pencil.' The updated version of the cliché is, 'He's not the AI with the most extensive database'... Do you get it?"
Inbal Freund, who is a friend and computer gunner, tells me this. But I was mainly interested in the question of truth. For some time now, most of us have been convinced that the most powerful "proof" in the world is a picture. What hasn't been said about her - that you can't argue with a picture and that it's worth a thousand words. And if a picture is conclusive proof, then the only evidence stronger than it is the video or recording. That's what we learned from thrillers and police series, that's what we read in the newspapers, and that's what made us place cameras in every hole and under every fresh tree.
But in the world of artificial intelligence, there is no picture, video or recording that cannot be fabricated. As such, a video or photo is nothing and nothing. And what would that do, I ask, to fundamental concepts like "proof" and "truth"?
Inbal replies that indeed today I can ask the AI for something like: "A picture of an astronaut monkey in space eating an apple (from what species?) Or shawarma (bluffa?)" - and I will get a picture exactly according to my requirements, except that it will not depict anything real. And so very soon a photo or video will cease to be something in the world. We hereby return to a world somewhat similar to the days of the Bible and the Mishnah, where all there is is is personal credibility. Two witnesses arrive and swear they saw the moon in full or the thief in action.
The question is whether the world is built for this upheaval, for the pace at which revolution takes place not once a century but once a year. And do we realize that the children we are raising are already there? Mentally and mentally.
And what about the supermarket? I ask Inbal. Do you realize that the device recognized the fruit I chose? Forget it, she says. Do you realize that without feeling like you're doing their job? You make the sale. You pack. You are replacing an employee to whom until yesterday the business paid a salary. Actually, the supermarket was supposed to pay you.
And voila, I told her, lately he's been mostly raising prices.
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For as long as I can remember, every morning I have been reciting the sweet blessing "that allows those who dwell between it to distinguish between day and night." We all know two things: the bereaved is a rooster, and the intelligence given to him is not exactly an intelligence bomb. Still welcome. And so, somehow, every time I hear the word "Bina" - I think of a rooster.
I mention this, because we recently returned from a country vacation where we coveted the idea of staying on a farm. The pictures were lovely. A kind pastoral beamed to us from the local website and scattered thoughts of a healthy and beautiful life in our minds, along with righteous words such as meadow, self-breeding and goat's milk.
What's wrong, you might ask, with pictures of Eve? Well, the problem is that these pictures come in Mayotte. They're quiet, dammit, and their silence is an evil lie. In practice, what to do, a farm is a noisy and fussy place. It does differentiate between day and night, but there are also other winged animals on the farm, because of which we didn't turn a blind eye all that damn night.
The peacock, for example, is a chicken I would outlaw. This one, may his name be forgiven, who has never been able to internalize the head-to-tail advantage, knows neither day nor night. Neither intelligence nor shoes. And with all due respect to feathers, he manages to produce a voice that has led me and the crooked alike to wish all our enemies and haters that they will always have a neighbor with a peacock in the yard.
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