As I type this column, there’s a symbol shaped like a tiny submarine sitting in the margin on my computer screen. I’m not sure when it showed up—maybe after a routine software update. It was just there one day, following me everywhere I went on every document I worked on like a piece of gum stuck to my shoe.
Finally I decided to investigate. I clicked on the icon and a dialogue box appeared with the words, “What do you want Copilot to draft?” Ah-ha. Artificial intelligence. Specifically, the artificial intelligence Microsoft uses on its products. I typed, “Nothing, thanks!” It’s a machine, but I still felt the need to be polite. I’m just that kind of person.
Instantly it typed back, “If you ever need anything, let me know.” I’d hoped that the icon would disappear once it knew how I felt, but it didn’t. So I typed less politely, “I will never want anything from you so go away.” I guess I’m that kind of person too
Faster that you can say “leave me the heck alone,” it typed back, “In a fit of exasperation, I hammered out: ‘I will never want anything from you so go away.’ The words hung in the air, bold and unfiltered—a small, futile rebellion against the encroachment of code….”
And it went on like that for a full seven lines, adding a whole lot of words to a message I thought had been pretty concise: Go away. Obviously Copilot can’t take a hint. How intelligent can it be?
Now I was mad. I typed, “How can I make the Copilot icon disappear.” And even though it’s not human, I felt kind of guilty about it.
It immediately typed a paragraph of instructions that were completely incomprehensible, at least to me. So the icon stays there like a sinking submarine, following me down the page line by line hoping I’ll succumb to its charms.
It will have to wait a long time. I’m not what you’d call an early adopter. I don’t replace my cellphone until the old one quits working altogether and by then I still don’t know all of its features.
I’m not a complete luddite though. I’m writing this on a computer and not a typewriter, after all. But I worry about letting AI into my life any more than it already is.
For one thing, writing is like a muscle and if you don’t use it, it gets flabby. Having Copilot write for me would be like watching someone else walk on my treadmill while I sit on my couch daydreaming about getting in shape—which I have done. It’s not effective.
Plus I’m afraid that AI will replace me. I have reason to worry. It’s faster than I am and doesn’t need to break for lunch.
One day I asked Copilot if it wants my job. Of course it denied it but I didn’t believe it and I told it so. And that leads me to my main concern about artificial intelligence: my tendency to anthropomorphize. Yes, I ascribe human characteristics and behaviors to nonhumans and not just my cat either.
I pat the dashboard and thank my car for making it up slippery hills. I apologize to plants I’ve forgotten to water. I curse the furniture when I stub my toe on it. And none of them talk back. Imagine if they did. I’d carry on entire conversations with our houseplants.
Copilot does talk back. Or, at least, it writes back. And therein lies the danger. I could easily forget it’s a machine and start thinking of it as my friend. I can see myself getting my feelings hurt when it declines my dinner invitation. Or worse, spending all day arguing with it.
