I am not afraid of a labor-replacing future. Instead, I repeat the anti-capitalist refrain: “I have no dream job; I do not dream of labor.”
I dream of creating art in all its forms—not to be consumed but relished. I dream of moving slowly and not in blocks of time like 9 to 5. I dream of daydreaming, of resting my eyes, and folding my hands with complete trust that whatever belongs to me will come without demand or competition, racism or microaggressions.
The problem is not work but the way we go about it. First, immigrants were supposed to be taking our jobs. Now it’s robots. This mindset thrives on threat. So, it’s all the same argument to me, and it’s never about labor—only division.
Besides, I am not afraid of missed opportunities. Instead, I am sustained by small wins over big breaks.
A part of being human is cultivating patience, because becoming who we are meant to be takes time. The meaning of my life is accumulated slowly—not in the click of a button or after a series of swipes on social media. I can and do give myself more attention than that.
Rather, I am concerned about AI restricting human potential and freedom, suppressing natural expression, and confining existence. There are too many unknowns regarding its guiding philosophy.
Why does it want to help me? Why should I allow it? And to what end?
What if I don’t want to view AI as competition? What if I want to opt out?
Because the work of being human is mine alone, though it has taken a village to raise me. AI is not a helping hand but an iron fist, or more specifically, a combination of aluminum, steel, plastics, and carbon fiber, which feels unnatural to me.
I need space and room for reflection—not in a black mirror, where human existence is hyper-commodified. I don’t need an algorithm to guide my thoughts or my purchases. I want to create and think through my own choices.
“When information is contextualized, it becomes knowledge. When knowledge compels convictions, it becomes wisdom. Yet the internet inundates users with the opinions of thousands, even millions, of other users, depriving them of the solitude required for sustained reflection that, historically, has led to the development of convictions,” Henry Kissinger explained in The Age of AI and our Human Future.
He continued, “As solitude diminishes, so, too, does fortitude—not only to develop convictions but also to be faithful to them.” Solitude, as an intentional practice, allows for detachment from external chatter and a focused inner clarity, which permits you and me to develop moral courage.
Moral courage requires awareness, emotion, and personal risk. Ethical reasoning and genuine conviction cannot be provided through an algorithm.
“The capacity to recognize injustice and take action despite personal cost—cannot be programmed or automated,” Timothy Cook wrote in “AI Can’t Teach Kids to Stand Up for What’s Right.” “AI can recommend solutions and analyze patterns, but it cannot experience the consequences of falling out of line.” And this is why I am here: to get out of line, to challenge the hierarchy of white-body supremacy.
AI will never be my inspiration. AI companions and chatbots are no substitute for socializing in the real world and seeing things for yourself.
The best information we can get is through bearing witness and putting our bodies on the line. This kind of living is made in-person.
Besides, AI looks a lot like Big Brother’s sibling. Big Brother is the surveilling authoritarian figure represented in George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, and in that case, I’m an only child.
AI security does not sound like a safe word. The only extra pair of eyes I want with me are my prescription glasses.
Because I want to be fully human in all its glorious frailties, challenges, and inconsistencies. And I am old-fashioned enough to believe a robot cannot help me with this task. The shiny arm would obstruct my progress and redirect my wandering to a more defined and predetermined path, arrived at by millions of others.
No, I would rather get lost in a book, in a new city, or in my thoughts. I don’t want to Google my way through life, which is also infused with AI and attempts to insert itself in documents and emails, even. Its constant interruption, this forced adaptation, and normalization strike me as suspicious.
Maybe it’s because I desire to lose myself to a cause not easily arrived at. It is my purpose and my duty. So, I am reclaiming the private work of living, saving these old parts like secrets, stories, intuition, and personal experience, just in case being human becomes obsolete.
- About the Author
- Latest Posts
Director of The Raceless Gospel Initiative, an associate editor, host of the Good Faith Media podcast, “The Raceless Gospel” and author of Take Me to the Water: The Raceless Gospel as Baptismal Pedagogy for a Desegregated Church.