Provocation | Human, All Too Human

In 2020, OpenAI unleashed GPT-3 upon the world. What for a time was hidden knowledge, whispered among the initiated, burst suddenly into the public domain. Then came the next model, and the next, then competitors, and the leap from words to images, to sound, to moving pictures, and suddenly, artificial intelligence was everywhere. It ignited fear, sparked anxiety, offered huge opportunity and perhaps most dangerously, presented hope. At the very least, it made one truth undeniable: we are stepping into uncharted territory, major change is coming, upheaval, chaos. What will become of work, of livelihood? How will the economy shape itself in this new age? Is this a revolution of the tools, the factory, or the market itself? Are these new and better paintbrushes, cameras, features in the video-editing software, or is it the birth of a completely new artistic field? What of journalism? Democracy requires a well-informed public, what of that? What about copyright? Is there a difference between inspiration, plagiarism, and forgery? Was there ever? Are we still to inquire about privacy, or has that battle been lost? And the models grow stronger and better, or at least are presented as growing stronger and better, but… are they?

Artificial intelligence in its current form is only the newest front in a war already centuries old. The humanist project challenged, threatened, besieged from every direction. At the gates are robots and cyborgs, octopuses and dolphins, fetuses and aliens, elementary particles and parallel universes. The question of what it means to be human now echoes in friendly gatherings and family dinners, in parliamentary committees and the local café. Boundaries stretch and tear – conservative movements opposing abortion, animal rights activists, tech entrepreneurs, neuroscientists. And we receive timely reminders that religious fundamentalists and murderous terrorists also claim their say about the nature of humanity, reminding us clearly that this struggle may be philosophical, spiritual, religious, but not abstract, and can cut deeply into live tissue.

This exact question, what is human and what does it mean to be human, beats at the heart of speculative creativity and science fiction. Authors, film-makers, game designers, artists, poets, all playing on the edge, examining the boundaries, exploring the frontiers. What is the demarcation line between man and machine, beast and monster; between natural and artificial, cultured and wild; between the living and the dead, the dead-yet-alive, the undead; what differentiates human from trans-, post- and superhuman, non-human, foreign, alien, demonic and divine.

The debates rage on, in science fiction literature, in university philosophy departments, on the pages of poetry magazines; on TikTok and in courtrooms; on podcasts by Joe Rogan, Chris Hayes, Kara Swisher and Scott Galloway; at international conferences, on Morning Joe and The View, and during the commercial breaks. It is hard to grasp even the fundamentals, let alone keep track of the news. It is harder still to join the conversation. But it is non-optional. This is a mandatory course. It is necessary. It is urgent. We must learn and teach, participate and share. We must continually ask, ponder, define, imagine and reimagine what it means to be human. It is a Sisyphean task, but it is our burden to carry. If not us, who then? ChatGPT?

This is why we devote our time and efforts to these questions. We wrestle with them. Linger with them. Imagine what kind of answers could be and where do they lead, because to quote science fiction luminary Stanislav Lem, “There are no answers, only choices.” (Solaris).