My Moral Ambiguity About AI

I’m still processing my feelings about AI after confessing in my last post that I love using chatbots to help me think, but I’m relieved I’ll probably be dead when the shit hits the fan over them.

Naturally, I chose to examine my moral quagmire with ChatGPT and Perplexity.

I also included my IRL chatbot—otherwise known as my husband—in my moral reckoning. Every time we have these conversations, Rodney returns to one point:

“I can hold two distinct ideas in my brain at the same time.”

Translation: he considers AI an extremely useful tool but isn’t blind to its alarming long-term ramifications. He appreciates its efficiency for formatting a complex spreadsheet but balks at the idea of handing over too many personal details. This is usually the point at which I say: Too late!

Is that an ambiguous answer? Or just an easy one requiring little introspection?

One thing that is not ambiguous is that this subject is flat-out complicated.

Every major new technology has disrupted the status quo and divided people into camps for and against. A lot of words have been spilled about AI by writers in particular. This should surprise no one. They do, after all, have the keys to the printing press.

But this time around, it occurs to me that a much larger question is being put to all of us:

What happens to our moral certainty when self-interest rears its ugly head?

Right now, in my humble opinion, self-interest is winning. On almost every front, and not just over AI.

That includes my own.

I’ll start with others, because it’s always easier to deflect.

The environmental movement is particularly low-hanging fruit. How many people do you know who loudly clamour for action on climate change but will not give up driving the SUV they love?

Or what about my fellow Canadians who sheepishly confess to ordering from Amazon while posting “Buy Canadian” memes all over social media? Let’s face it: ordering online is quicker than roaming through a big-box store in search of a back scratcher. Yup. I confess. I ordered one. But then I don’t share the memes.

And then there are the navel-gazing stories mainstream journalists are currently writing about AI.

Back in the day, when technology seemed to be disrupting a different industry every week, it felt as though a zillion articles appeared explaining why the people affected simply had to adapt. Learn new skills. Reinvent themselves. Blah blah blah.

Now that AI threatens journalism itself, though, nothing less than the future of democracy is at stake.

To be fair, there is truth in that. A functioning press matters enormously to democracy. But I can’t help noticing how much more apocalyptic technological disruption can look when it arrives at your own front door.

The ambiguity over AI becomes even clearer depending on whom you ask.

Ask an aging writer like me how I feel, and the answer may well be: It’s wonderful! AI is extending my writing life.

Ask a writer—or any creative person—just beginning a career, and the answer may be: It’s a nightmare! AI is taking away my future.

Ask the parent whose child has turned a chatbot into their BFF, and the answer may be: Finally, a friend for my lonely son or daughter! But then comes the other thought: what if the child doesn’t develop emotional intelligence? And whom, exactly, can that parent turn to for parenting advice?

Moral quagmires are never straightforward, and neither is this one. The benefits of AI can be every bit as real as the dangers.

There is no tidy conclusion here. Nor is there an easy solution.

Maybe there is, however, a teachable moment bigger than AI.

I can’t change the big picture. And I can’t stop the tsunami of AI washing over us. I can only adjust the image of the person looking back at me in the mirror.

Since embracing AI, I have had to answer uncomfortable questions about my own moral certainty. Anyone following this blog knows that it is often after conversations with my millennial son, Jay, that I sheepishly admit to using some app or piece of technology that may not be improving the greater good but sure as hell is helping me.

AI has forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth about myself:

I have become the SUV driver who won’t give up her gas-guzzling vehicle because it works for me.

That’s not easy to sit with.

Which brings me back to Rodney and his ability to hold two thoughts at the same time. When I actually let him finish a sentence—another failing of mine—he usually adds a coda:

“If people are going to complain about AI, what do they suggest is the solution?”

Usually, dead silence.

I don’t have a solution either. But maybe there’s one thing we could use more of: 

Empathy.

Holding two thoughts at once might allow me to acknowledge what AI is doing for me while also understanding—and truly feeling—the pain or hardship of someone whose lived experience is entirely different. For one of us, AI may be a game changer. For another, a career ender.

AI can help me examine that other point of view. It can explain it, challenge me with it, and force me to think about it.

But ChatGPT cannot feel it. That part is still up to me.

And maybe understanding another person’s fears is the most human contribution we can make to this morally ambiguous mess over artificial intelligence.