Those who know me know that I am anti-AI the same way that an old man is anti-young people on his lawn. I am a grumpy, fist-waving octogenarian trapped in a 29-year-old body.
I understand people like me don’t have a good track record. I would probably be that dude who really thought computers would crash in Y2K or preferred the analog clacking of the typewriter over that newfangled computer nonsense. But sometimes Stone Age doomsday prophets like myself get things right.
For the record, I don’t snobbishly avoid generative AI in the name of being better than computer-dependent thinkers.
I like to see myself more as chicken little (specifically from the 2005 Disney tour de force Chicken Little). The acorn is more than an acorn this time, I promise. The sky really is falling, but people seem to welcome the firmamental collapse.
I will not say that there are no good ways to use AI. Rather, the downsides are not worth the upsides. To be clear, my problems with AI are manifold: it makes us dumber, obfuscates reality, is a useful tool for totalitarianism, horrible for the environment, takes away our humanity, and ravages minds (among other things). If you want to argue about any of the above, the comments are alway open.
Ever since AI became ubiquitous without our consent, I’ve been searching for an apt metaphor (preferably biblical) that captures what it means to use AI long-term.
The low hanging fruit is that AI is the forbidden fruit. It can make you wise. It can make you like God. It will open your eyes. It seems to have a lot of upsides. But there are downsides as well. For instance, the whole “you shall surely die” thing and the fiery sword-wielding cherubim enforcing the border on the way back to Eden.
I like the forbidden fruit metaphor. It has its strengths—and like any metaphor—it has its weaknesses. But the metaphor is lacking something. Namely, AI’s widespread adoption is less about being deceived and more about being lazy. AI’s most touted advantages include more free time, less thinking, less working, less learning, and more time to doom scroll.
Then it struck me. AI isn’t the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. AI is Jacob’s bowl of beans. AI is Esau’s coveted red soup. That delicious lentil chili that just hits different after you’ve been hunting all day. Birthright? What birthright? Give me that red stuff.
We are trading our birthright for AI slop.
We are trading art for the uncanny valley. We are trading our soul for 0s and 1s. We are trading writing and critical thinking and poetry for instant answers lacking wisdom or the journey required to get there.
We’re hungry and we want to eat now. We’re hungry for answers, for information, for validation, for shortcuts. We’re tired of being in the fields of thinking for ourselves and seeking our soul food the hard way. We want instant gratification. And we’re willing to trade our humanness in order to get it.
Esau was hungry. The stew looked good. The birthright wasn’t serving him in the moment. The transaction was an easy choice. Unfortunately, there’s lots of powerful Jacobs out there cooking up our favorite slop. Do what Esau didn’t. Think long-term.
What are you trading away in order to have your eyes and mind filled this instant? What are you losing in order to gain an inorganic equivalent of something you used to be able to create yourself? Is your time so valuable that you need to have a machine think for you… write for you… dream for you? Do you really look cooler as an AI-generated cartoon?
The problem is, when you enjoy the red stuff enough to trade everything for it, eventually it’s all you have. Either you control your appetite, or you lose everything for instant gratification.
Don’t let them take your birthright.
Don’t consume the slop.
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