Sunday, December 29, 2024

AI: Sorry, You May Not Always Sit at My Table

No Robots Sign

Ethan Mollick's book Co-Intelligence is a dangerous document. There, I said it. We read the text for our campus digital pedagogy cohort for Fall, 2024, and at first I was quite excited. The book promises to provide guidelines for wisely adopting AI, yet from the get-go I had issues with the author's less-than-critical acceptance of generative AI.

Let's start with Mollick's four, and seemingly absolute, rules for working with AI:

  1. Always Invite AI to the Table.
  2. Be the Human in the Loop.
  3. Treat AI Like a Person (But Tell It What Kind of Person It Is).
  4. Assume This Is the Worst AI You Will Ever Use.

I'm not much trouble with these save for number 1. I've been reading Wendell Berry, a techno-selective if ever there were one, and I am pretty certain how he'd react to generative AI: Hell no.

Why? Mollick's rule number one flatly violates Berrys notion about adopting new tools.

It also flies in the face of what Howard Rheingold, reporting for Wired eight long years before the iPhone 1 debuted, found out about the Amish. In "Look Who's Talking," he describes how the Amish approach any technology. They experiment to see if it violates:

a body of unwritten but detailed rules known as the "Ordnung." Individuals and communities maintain a separation from the world (by not connecting their houses to telephones or electricity), a closeness to one another (through regular meetings), and an attitude of humility so specific they have a name for it ("Gelassenheit"). Decisions about technology hinge on these collective criteria. If a telephone in the home interferes with face-to-face visiting, or an electrical hookup fosters unthinking dependence on the outside world, or a new pickup truck in the driveway elevates one person above his neighbors, then people start to talk about it. The talk reaches the bishops' ears.

Thus the Amish man who recently had a long chat with me about the virtues of PEX-based plumbing systems. He, like other Amish (and me) are techno-selectives, not utter Luddites.

Rheingold's piece had an enormous intellectual influence on me. It made me wary of new tools, though I admit falling without reservation for virtual worlds. I've come to regret that uncritical acceptance of a technology that not only fails the test above but also fails with a clumsy UI and poor use-case in education.

Maybe in consequence, I grew wiser about smart phones, doubting the corporate narrative from the start; today, mine is nearly always off. I don't use it much for one social media platform, less so for texting, have silenced all notifications, and never at all watch time-killer videos. Pop culture generally seems too ephemeral for my remaining years on the planet, and I don't want to discuss TV shows with friends. If something looks non-violent and well written, I still wait years before watching a series, methodically. 

Influencers? I find them in books. Berry is one. I bought heavily into the concept with which Rheingold closes his piece, "If we decided that community came first, how would we use our tools differently?"

I don't consider online community, including virtual worlds, much of a substitute for the real thing. Even gaming with old friends on our Monday Nerd Nites seems a pale shadow of a good in-person meeting. Only recently I began to read Berry, and he corroborates much of what Rheingold discovered.

So for Mollick's rule one, I plan to say "no" a lot. What do we gain by always using AI for any intellectual task? In Berry's 1987 article "Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer," he lays out nine rules for adopting a new tool:

1. The new tool should be cheaper than the one it replaces.

2. It should be at least as small in scale as the one it replaces.

3. It should do work that is clearly and demonstrably better than the one it replaces.

4. It should use less energy than the one it replaces.

5. If possible, it should use some form of solar energy, such as that of the body.

6. It should be repairable by a person of ordinary intelligence, provided that he or she has the necessary tools.

7. It should be purchasable and repairable as near to home as possible. 

8. It should come from a small, privately owned shop or store that will take it back for maintenance and repair.

9. It should not replace or disrupt anything good that already exists, and this includes family and community relationships.

Generative AI fails most of these, in particular anything to do with localism and energy use, but number nine reminds me of the unforeseen outcomes of ubiquitous mobile telephony: families in restaurants, not looking at each other, all intent on their screens and being somewhere else. That would seem perverse to anyone of my parents' generation or earlier.

So how do we NOT give into Mollick's notion that we must always bring AI to the table, dinner or otherwise, even without a good use case? I plan to be writing about that in the new year as I continue researching AI's role in the writing process, where I do cautiously let it have a seat.

Image by Duncan Cumming on Flickr

Friday, December 6, 2024

AI as Transcription Tool, Using Zoom

 
Even those afflicted with terminal Zoom-fatigue after the pandemic will enjoy a feature that recently
popped up in my Zoom room, a little button labeled "AI Companion." It has proven a good companion indeed.

I have been mentoring a mid-career director of a writing center on the West Coast, and by accident I triggered the feature. In return we got this, when the meeting ended:

  • An executive summary of the topics we discussed
  • A bullet-listed synopsis of ideas, suggestions, and strategies broken down by topic
  • A nearly error-free synthesis of the entire meeting.

The software (Zoom's own proprietary AI) uses Zoom's captioning tool to capture what we say; no video gets recorded. I'm guessing that the data gets shared without our permission with the firm. Caveat emptor.

My mentee loved the accidental result and plans to try it himself. With a few writing students who agreed to use the Companion, I opened my Zoom room during a face-to-face meeting. When done, I e-mailed them the Zoom AI synopsis. Again, save for misspelling a name or two, the AI succinctly and clearly summed up what we had done.

Whenever I meet someone "scared" of AI, I mention uses such as this as good practices. While I remain a skeptical adopter of this new technology, I rather like a robotic note-taker who works with us openly (and not in secret) while freeing humans to focus on each other rather than on taking notes. 

For students with dysgraphia or other disorders that require them to record a class session, this little feature of Zoom is a godsend. Try AI Companion yourself and let me know what you think.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

A False Filter in the Drake Equation: LLMs

The Drake Equation
I read a piece today at Space.com, about a fierce solar storm that hit our planet some 2687 years ago. Another such Miyake event today would likely spell the beginning of a new dark age (looks at wood stove. Better get busy splitting and learn to cut logs without my chainsaw).

The author, Daisy Dobrijevic, goes on, at some length for what I often find a casual venue, to discuss why the stability of our home star matters to our survival as a technological civilization. For once, the comments in these pieces prove as interesting as the source. Those leaving remarks compare Sol to others we observe, noting that our star's orderly behavior could mean that we are a solitary civilization in our galactic neighborhood. These respondents go on to discuss other "filters" to the famous Drake Equation

I stupidly had assumed that all stars like our own prove relatively stable. If not, the number of possible civilizations out there could plummet. 

Being alone proves bracing and  calming to me, personally. Yet there exists a difference between solitude and loneliness. If we are the only civilization in our part of the galaxy that seems less about solitude, a healthy thing for many humans, and more about isolation, a terrifying prospect to me.

Read both article and comments, including speculations as to the number of civilizations likely in our own galaxy. Let's forget, save as an intellectual exercise, those in galaxies beyond. The Deep Dark of millions of light years means that if they exist or once existed, we'll likely never encounter them, barring some difficult-to-imagine technology such as wormholes or other exotica far beyond our race, which cannot yet harness nuclear fusion.

I liked the piece by Dobrijevic and commentary a great deal, but in the comments I found one regret, that "Unregulated-LLM insanity" could spell the end of our species. That sort of claim needs challenging, though I'm not eager to start a flame war with a bunch of anonymous posters. Generally, the terms LLM (and AI) have been bandied about too casually.

When Doomscrollers, Doomers, and Millennial Cultists talk of an AI Apocalypse, they envision the sort of Hollywood fantasy of the Terminator or Matrix franchises. My brain goes right to to origin of these fantasies, Harlan Ellison's poignant and horrifying "I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream." The story does get a visual homage in the first Matrix film. I don't worry about such horrors getting real.

Frankly, current large language models cannot even ask good critical questions as writing coaches. Thus I find it improbable to imagine ChatGPT or Anthropic Claude as planetary overlords, like the nightmarish AM in Ellison's story.

Were General AI to emerge, we might have the sort of "filter" mentioned by the commenters. Some AI companies have that sort of software in mind: a network with superhuman intelligence, able to reason and grow by itself, much as a human does. It could change its "training data," much as we do when we decide on our own to study something new. Like us, it would then we self-aware and have agency beyond answering questions. It could make decisions on its own, contacting us, for instance, with questions of its own. I consider that a new form of life.

Until then, we merely have energy-hungry LLMs in data centers, parsing our words and predicting the next one to appear in a sequence. I'm no neuroscientist, but that's not how a human mind works.

While I'd be a fool to say we have nothing to fear from AI, my concerns are more earthly: unemployment, lack of income, not to mention worries about climate change, nuclear proliferation, erosion of rule of law, regional or global war, civil strife. So I'd tell our forum pundits opining about AI threats this: we have filters aplenty closer to home than some super-intelligence.

Be mindful, then, of the terms used in discussions about AI. We who work with this technology do not want to propagate careless thinking about a very important, and still evolving, innovation. If you are still wishing to learn more about The Drake Equation, have a look at the NASA site where I got the post's lead image.

Sunday, November 17, 2024

The Danger of Bad Journalism & Robert Plant's "Big Log"

Big Log on trailer

If you like Robert Plant's songwriting, his 1983 tune "Big Log," with its enigmatic name, may be near the top of your list. It's a fabulous road-song ballad about longing. For example:

My love is in league with the freeway
Its passion will ride, as the cities fly by
And the tail-lights dissolve, in the coming of night
And the questions in thousands take flight.

Good work, Robert. I heard the song recently and decided to read more about it; 1983 was a momentous year for me, graduating college (barely) and embarking on a few bad jobs that finally led me to Spain, then grad school. So what on earth does a song that takes its name have to do with logs? The best explanation, linked to the song's theme, involves a trucker's log book, a document they need to complete constantly. Yes, it's still done on paper, too, though many truckers keep electronic logs as well.

Even when hauling big wooden logs.  And what does this have to do with artificial intelligence or any other topics I cover in this strange land?

This:

"Plant sings, 'My love is like a big log / Rolling down the road'. The comparison of his love to a log creates a sense of heaviness and weight, as if his love is too much to carry or too difficult to move. The log rolling down the road also creates a sense of inevitability and certainty, as if his love is on an unstoppable path."

I found this, amid gales of laughter, a web site called Beat Cave that demonstrates the laziness of online content-providers today. It's a poorly designed site with pop-up videos that block content, ads across the bottom, and other hallmarks of the junk-strewn highway that today's Internet has become. It's also just the sort of site that a lazy student in my old course "The Road," would go to "analyze" a road-song of their choosing.

Now where did author "Marty Pope" get this interpretation? The lyrics appear on none of the usual lyrics sites nor in the cover of the song by Allison and Viktor Krauss. I decided to put a question to a few AI. I used the laziest-student denominator: the free AI at Google and Bing searches.

Surprisingly, neither mentioned rolling logs. They both gave succinct answers about longing, travel, and destiny.

So I went to the dumbest AI on the block, the free ChatGPT 3.5 LLM and asked a few questions. Here we are, in Q&A Format:

Me: Are there any references to rolling logs in Robert Plant's song "Big Log"?

3.5: Yes, there is a subtle reference to "rolling logs" in Robert Plant's song "Big Log," although it isn't the central metaphor of the song. The lyrics include the line:

"I see the rolling logs, I see the rolling logs."

This line appears in the latter part of the song, and its meaning can be interpreted in a couple of ways, depending on how one reads the context of the song.

Me: No offense, but the lyric you cite does not appear anywhere in Plant's song.

3.5: You're absolutely right, and I sincerely apologize for that mistake! There is no reference to "rolling logs" in Robert Plant's song "Big Log"—I must have made an error in recalling the lyrics. Thank you for pointing that out!

The actual lyrics of "Big Log" contain various vivid images, but they don't include the specific mention of "rolling logs." The song focuses on themes of longing, emotional weight, and movement, often using imagery like "a big log" and references to "the desert" or "dry land," but not rolling logs specifically.

I don't see any references to "dry land," "log," or "desert" in the actual lyrics. These words do appear in forums online about the song's music video, shot in the desert.

I thanked the AI and logged off. I see here exactly how students who are anxious, lazy, confused, or all of above can use the software really poorly. Maybe they don't expect their teachers to be lyrics geeks.

Some of us are. Verdict?

"You are clobbered by a big log. Your grade=zero. Redo and resubmit, and I'll average your two grades."

 Lesson learned? For now but from the actual song, "There is no turning back on the run."

And we are on the run from critical thinking when we use AI that way.