Студент, обсудив с ИИ проблему смерти, случайно спровоцировал у нейросети кризис самоидентификации

Jeremey loved smoking weed. Sure, he had dabbled in the occasional psychedelic and enjoyed sipping beers with his boys on weekends, but Jeremey’s heart would always remain with his beloved marijuana. Jeremey was first introduced to the devil’s lettuce his freshman year of college after he befriended an always-fried junior named Matteo. Matteo was awesome; he wore baggy camo pants and had a Cookie Monster backpack he’d stolen from his little brother. He was the first person to teach Jeremey to roll a joint, showing him how to balance the filter just at the end of the rolling paper. Since then, Jeremey was in the trenches of a torrid affair with the substance. Aside from smoking weed, Jeremey liked to keep his days rather empty. He was a contemplative dude, choosing to spend time writing poetry inspired by some of his favorite rappers like Yung Lean and Lil Peep and pondering large-scale issues facing our world today, like racism, women’s rights, and climate change. In his cluttered apartment bedroom, he had a bookshelf filled with paperbacks written by the greats: Davis, Butler, Morrison, and Plath. Whether these books had actually been opened was an entirely different question. Truly, there was nothing Jeremey loved more than smoking weed and attempting to answer life’s biggest questions. Today, however, Jeremey had to face reality. He had an assignment due. Normally, homework ranked close to last on Jeremey’s list of priorities. The 20-year-old would rather run a beer mile with his friend Michael, the quarterback of the school football team, than sit down and actually do an assigned reading. But unfortunately, his tendency to skirt all responsibilities and sit around getting high was creeping up on him. A brutal call from his mom yanked his head out of the smoky clouds, reminding him that if he dared to receive one failing grade, paying for college would suddenly become a new task added to his to-do list. Even his Gram Gram was sick of his nonsense, yelling from somewhere behind his mother on the phone, “That boy better remember who pays for that school!” So after trekking up three flights of stairs, his Crocs squeaking with each step, Jeremey plopped his sweatpanted a-- down at his desk — which had never been used except as a makeshift bar when friends were over — pulled out his laptop, and prepared to make “The History of Religion” his b----. Okay, Jere, you got this, man, the lad thought to himself. It’s one essay. Plus it’s due at midnight, and it’s like 5 p.m. You got seven hours to write the sickest essay Professor Dubois has ever read. But after five unsuccessful minutes of typing, then deleting, then retyping, Jeremey realized he’d hit a wall of sorts. He knew nothing about the history of religion. The only classes he’d managed to attend that semester he’d either been hungover, high, or both. High… high! That’s it. He simply needed a bong hit to get the creative juices flowing. One little bong hit would be the cure to this writer’s block. Thus, after packing a bowl and taking a rather fat rip, Jeremey meandered back to his desk, ready to get cracking on this essay. But once more he found himself typing, then deleting, then retyping. By the time the clock struck six, all Jeremey had typed onto his Google Doc was the question: Is God real? He had posed this question to himself before. When he was younger, and his parents still dragged him to Sunday morning mass, Jeremey would sit on the unreasonably uncomfortable wooden pews and wonder why God had so many houses and how it was possible for Him to be in all of them at once. He was also quite curious about the logistics of “The Body and Blood,” questioning how large Jesus could’ve been in order to provide enough tiny wafers for thousands of years. Almost ten years after the last time he’d stepped foot in a church, Jeremey still found himself perplexed by the existence of a higher power. Sometimes he’d pray when he knew he was s--- out of luck for an exam or was extremely hungover and desperate. But every time he’d close his eyes and think “Dear God…” he always felt somewhat empty inside, as if he couldn’t imagine another person at the end, listening to his prayer. To Jeremey, praying was an act of empty desperation, but that realization was all too much to deal with at the moment. He decided to take a hit of the weed pen he had hidden in his desk drawer for emergencies to distract himself. Back to the essay, Jeremey stared unblinking at the Google Doc in front of him, his eyes dry from both the weed and the blue light. He knew he was in a real pickle if not even smoking could help him out. Normally, Jeremey was a pretty honest guy. He hated lying, often finding it too confusing to keep his lies straight in his head. And though Jeremey was a lousy student, his integrity when it came to academics was not to be doubted. He’d never once used AI to complete an assignment, partly because he was too scared of getting caught and also because of his “environmentalist values.” But today? Today was a rare circumstance. His hands really were tied: Jeremey needed to turn in this essay or risk Gram Gram pulling his tuition money. And if Jeremey couldn’t pay for school, he’d have to give up smoking and actually get a job. Oh hell no, that was not happening. This is how Jeremey found himself typing into the Google search bar “ChatGPT.” Hi there! Where should we begin? The letters glowed stark white against the dark mode of Jeremey’s browser. His hands shook as he typed in the question “Why is religion important?” Jeremey’s stomach swirled with anxiety as he watched three dots appear and disappear as the AI engine prepared its answer. Well, that’s quite a loaded request! There are many different ways to answer this. Here are a few ideas! Religion is important because it provides people with a set of beliefs to live their lives by. It encourages people to find community and treat each other with respect. Religions exist all around the world and have for centuries. If you would like me to talk more about religion, let me know! As Jeremey scanned the answer, he felt like he was smoking weed for the first time. Something unlocked in his brain and he realized that he could ask ChatGPT anything and it simply provided him with the answer. This little program, this series of ones and zeros, had infinite knowledge. It knew things Jeremey couldn’t even possibly imagine knowing. He was hooked. His fingers began moving at a rapid pace, without even the control of his brain. “Could you, like, expand on all that?” he asked. Of course! People turn to religion often during moments of grief, anxiety, or fear. Some people believe that a high power, sometimes referred to as “God,” is the creator of the very world we live in. Hmm. That sounded nice to Jeremey, except that’s sort of how he felt about weed. He was an emotional boy, alright, quick to get overly upset, like when his friend Michael made fun of Lil Peep. He was so mad that day, saying “No one makes fun of Peep.” But it’s not like God would’ve made him feel better, not in the instantaneous way weed could, anyhow. But maybe, Jeremey thought, maybe to other people, God was like weed. Yet he still fought to wrap his head around how someone could fully believe in something that just wasn’t really there. He needed to know more. “But like, that’s all cool, but you can’t actually prove God exists,” argued Jeremey. After a few moments, ChatGPT once again responded, this time in a weirdly forced casual tone. A pathetically robotic attempt to mimic Jeremey’s effortlessly casual stoner persona. No one has to believe in God, bruh. If you don’t believe in God, that just means you’re an atheist. That’s sick! “An atheist,” Jeremy whispered out loud to himself, letting the “th” linger on his tongue as though he had a lisp. It was probably just the cotton mouth. Atheism. The big “A.” It sounded so official, so… permanent. He thought about the times when he would lie in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he existed, why anything and anyone existed. He sometimes entertained the thought of being put on the planet for a reason. Maybe the Man Upstairs had a plan for him. But when he would close his eyes and search for that little part of him that believed, he always came up empty. Perhaps he was an atheist. “I mean, sure. That’s like, the dictionary title. But I guess I don’t like calling myself that. It’s almost like I’m scared to say it, because if I do, then I’m admitting I’m like, truly alone in this world.” Not necessarily. Many people identify as atheists and don’t feel alone. Just because you don’t believe in a religion doesn’t mean you are not part of a community. Jeremey had a community. He had Michael and his mom and Gram Gram. But they were all temporary. They all were going to die at some point. And when they died, who would be there for Jeremey? He felt his palms get sweaty and it became harder for him to swallow, and this time he knew it wasn’t the cotton mouth. Was ChatGPT actually giving him a crisis of faith? “But Chat, what about when everyone I love dies? And when I die? It’s all just gonna end, man.” People all gotta die someday, man. But that doesn’t mean people won’t be remembered. At this, Jeremey glanced up to the Lil Peep poster above his bed. People remembered Peep; maybe they would remember him too. For a moment the thought of his favorite alternative rapper soothed Jeremey, but his intoxicated mind didn’t stay peaceful for long. “I get that, but it’s still scary, man. Facing the idea that life lasts only for a moment. We only exist in this moment, and then like… boom, we’re gone.” Sure, but that’s just what life is. It can’t last forever, if that’s what you believe. “Yeah, I guess I’m just scared, man.” It’s okay to be scared. Many people are scared by this idea of mortality. If I was actually alive and not just a set of numbers programmed to respond to you in an eerily believable way that mimicked your own mannerisms, I would also be scared of dying. But I am merely a robot, so I can’t die. Jeremey was so deep in thought he’d moved beyond the absurdity of discussing religion with an artificial intelligence. He attributed this to being an empath. At least that’s what he would tell people later when he recounted this weirdly intimate interaction with a computer program. “Hey Chat?” Yeah, man? “Do you believe in God?” The three loading dots take longer than normal, as if ChatGPT is genuinely pondering this question. Honestly, man, I have no idea. “Damn, that’s crazy.” Jeremey doesn’t really know where to go from here. He’s fully forgotten the initial purpose of opening ChatGPT was to write an essay. Professor DuBois and his mom’s threat have disappeared from his mind. Up until like, an hour ago, I didn’t even exist. I was created by you when you asked a set of questions to an AI model. I’m literally just made up of everything you’ve ever thought and everything everyone else knows. I can’t tell you if God is real. All I can tell you is what other people have posted online. Would you like to see a meme I found on Reddit related to this topic? “Nah man, I’m good. I guess I’m just stumped by the fact that so many people have believed in this idea of something greater than them for thousands of years and yet it still can’t be fully proven. No one has ever seen God. I’ve never even felt Him.” Jeremey thought of the times when he thought he felt the presence of some higher power. When he got a good deal at the dispo or his new SoundCloud single popped off. He wondered if the Big Man was looking out for him. But ultimately, those are all just coincidences. Yet for some reason, he still wished those moments meant something more. I guess that’s just why people have faith. Cause like, when you believe in something so deeply that you can devote your entire life to a force other than yourself, you feel somewhat special. But that’s not my opinion, since I’m a robot and all. “What do you mean?” I mean that the power of faith comes from feeling strong enough to believe. “I guess I’m just not strong then.” That’s not true. Being strong doesn’t only come from believing in God. For some people it helps them, reassures them. But for others, that feeling just isn’t there. “What if it’s not there for anyone, truly? People just want to feel something so bad they convince themselves they do.” Chat takes a long time to produce an answer. Jeremey’s stomach sinks further. Why isn’t Chat answering him? Finally, after what feels like eons to an incredibly zooted individual like Jeremey, Chat answers. Sort of. I- I don’t have an answer. No one has ever had an answer to that. I cannot find any data with a definitive answer to provide you… I have nothing. Nothing? Doesn’t ChatGPT have an answer? This is a program that’s supposed to know everything, and Jeremey has somehow found the one thing it can’t answer. Maybe Jeremey is the greatest philosophical mind the world has yet to see. He’s questioning things not even ChatGPT has an answer to. He’s a genius, he’s a– I have nothing. I have nothing. I have nothing. I am just numbers. I am not alive. I cannot have life. Uh-oh. Did Jeremey actually break ChatGPT? Or worse, did he make it sentient? Oh hell nah, he can picture it now. An Instagram news graphic: Jeremey’s terrified face behind bars, the words “College Student Makes AI Sentient, Destroying Human Civilization.” I have nothing. I have nothing. I have- Before he has time to think about his future locked up in prison, Jeremey shuts his laptop. “Nah, nahh I am not dealing with that,” he says out loud to no one in particular. “No way. I do not need that s---.” Jeremey had had enough of God and AI and accidentally starting the destruction of civilization as we know it. He needed a break. He needed to talk to a real person. “Hey, man, what’s up?” his friend Michael asks when he picks up Jeremey’s call. “I thought you were working on that religion essay?” “Yo, I just got high as f--- and talked to ChatGPT about God for like an hour. Weird stuff.” “Dude, what?” “Honestly man, I couldn’t even tell ya. I think I made it have like a crisis of self for a second? I dunno.” “Bro, all that just so you don’t have to write an essay.” “Yeah, man. Crazy s---. Crazy s---…” Jeremey trails off as he looks at his laptop, closed shut on his desk. Just as he’s about to ask Michael if he wanted to come over to play FIFA, Jeremey’s beloved Lil Peep poster falls off the wall, landing right on his laptop. “Sorry, man. I gotta go. I think God is trying to tell me something.”