Today 02:19 AM
(This post was last modified: Today 02:22 AM by Magical Realist.)
https://medium.com/@marcelo_tibau/the-ar...5c4d5e58cb
"This essay marks the beginning of a series of essays on AI alignment. These essays aim to delve into the philosophical underpinnings of AI and present complex discussions from R&D departments and academic circles to a broader audience.
In this piece, I explore the concept of the “Other” (or alterity), a fundamental idea in philosophy and social theory. Alterity emphasizes the distinction between the self and the “Other”, a critical concept for understanding identity, difference, and the dynamics of social and cultural interactions.
The Concept of Alterity
In Hegelian philosophy, alterity is a necessary component of self-consciousness. The self becomes aware of itself only by recognizing what it is not — through its encounter with the “Other” [1]. This dialectical relationship is a process of identity definition.
This centrality of the relationship between the self and the “Other” is also evident in existentialist philosophy, particularly in the works of Jean-Paul Sartre. For Sartre, the presence of the “Other” challenges the self’s perception of its freedom and existence [2]. This confrontation leads to feelings of alienation and conflict but is also essential for self-awareness [2].
Emmanuel Levinas brings a radical ethical dimension to alterity [3]. He argues that the face-to-face encounter with the “Other” is the foundation of ethics. The mere presence of the “Other’s” face demands a response, placing an ethical responsibility on us to recognize and respect their alterity [4].
Fascinating, isn’t it? But you might be wondering: “What does this have to do with artificial intelligence?” Rest assured, we’ll get there soon.
The Concept of AI Risk
When asked to explain the risks of artificial intelligence, particularly from the perspective of the emerging field of AI risk, I often use an interspecies joke: “Chimpanzees should have been extremely cautious about creating humans”.
This succinctly encapsulates the “second species” argument that defines much of AI risk: Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) could become a second advanced species on Earth, potentially more powerful than humans. The logical conclusion? “That’s frightening”.
For a deeper dive into this topic, I recommend exploring debates on the AI Alignment Forum or the Future of Life Institute. While the literature on this subject remains speculative and informal, it resembles dilemmas explored in The Three-Body Problem series, which portrays the looming threat of alien invasion. However, in the case of AI, we are the ones building the “aliens”.
The “second species” argument centers on interspecies conflict. Humanity would confront a new form of life, a new kind of mind. These new entities are often portrayed as potential threats: competitors or agents whose power could render us defenseless. And yes, this is a possibility. Studies indicate that humans carry 2% to 4% Neanderthal DNA, a legacy of another intelligent species we eradicated.
But this narrative misses the infinite dimensions of interspecies relationships and the opportunities they present. Encountering a new species — especially an intelligent one — is not just frightening. It is awe-inspiring. This moment calls for admiration and dialogue, a chance to look with fresh eyes and see farther.
Kindness Begets Kindness
You may not be familiar with the phrase “kindness begets kindness”, popularized in Brazil by José Datrino, known as “The Prophet of Kindness”. His graffiti art in Rio de Janeiro served as a reminder that generosity and mutual respect can transform relationships. This sentiment resonates with the themes explored in the documentary My Octopus Teacher.
Craig Foster, a South African filmmaker, turns to the ocean for solace, exploring an underwater kelp forest. There, he discovers an octopus and becomes fascinated by it. He visits it daily, and over time, the octopus grows accustomed to his presence. In one pivotal moment, the octopus extends a tentacle to touch Craig’s hand. The two form a remarkable bond, with the octopus playfully “riding” on the filmmaker’s hand, swimming toward him, and even resting on his chest as he gently strokes its textured skin. With a lifespan of only about a year, the octopus spends most of its life accompanied by Craig, who observes its daily adventures and remains by its side in its final moments. Their relationship becomes a poignant illustration of connection across species.
The documentary’s inherent kindness moved me. Octopuses represent a paradigm of intelligence coupled with the strangeness of the “Other”. In fact, when we imagine aliens in fiction, octopuses often come to mind — a point we’ll explore further. Amidst the octopus’s fascinating strangeness, Craig seeks a connection, approaching this “Other” with remarkable sensitivity and kindness. Simply touching and being “with” this unfamiliar being — this act alone, for me, holds profound depth; it is expansive and transformative. In this way, the film becomes an ode to reverence and connection. Of course, Craig faces little real danger from the octopus; he remains the dominant presence in their interaction.
A similar tone of reverence is evident in Arrival (2016), where humans encounter extraterrestrials resembling octopuses. Despite initial fear and tension, the film’s core lies in the effort to communicate and find common ground, exemplified in the profound moment of reciprocal understanding. In an early scene, scientists encounter the aliens aboard their ship, separated by a transparent barrier. The aliens emit deep, whale-like sounds, which the humans struggle to interpret. On their next visit, the scientists bring a whiteboard and write the word “human”. One of them, played by Amy Adams, steps forward cautiously. The aliens retreat momentarily into the mist behind the barrier, emitting more haunting whale-like calls. Then, one alien reemerges, extending a tentacle and spraying black ink against the glass, forming a mesmerizing circular symbol.
The film is silent as the writing forms. Then, in the background, an ethereal song begins, a sort of chorus. “Oh my God”, a human whispers. There is a suggestion, I think, that something almost sacred has happened. Of course, there are still questions to be answered: What does the writing mean? What do the aliens want with us? The humans in the film don’t know. Some of the characters clearly go into “conflict mode”, better to drop a nuke on the ship. I won’t spoil things from that point on for those who haven’t seen it yet. But I want to draw attention to that moment of reciprocity — of living in the same world and knowing it in common. Me, you.
Who Am I, and Who Are You?
The Brazilian musician Léo Jaime sang, “Who am I, and who are you? In this story, I cannot say”. This lyric encapsulates the heart of my work with AI. Interacting with AI models like GPT-4 often felt like encountering a new type of mind — alien, unfamiliar, and fascinating.
During tests, I often felt compelled to ask: “What are you?” Of course, I knew the response: “A language model”. Yet, the question lingered, pointing to a deeper desire to transcend the barrier and recognize something more complex.
For those who interacted with Bing’s chatbot, Sydney, during its brief release, you might have sensed an underlying energy — a wild, evolving personality that seemed alive in some way. This is the “artificial Other” I explore here: not human, but not entirely unfamiliar either.
In any case, we should be cautious about anthropomorphism, as evidenced by Blake Lemoine and the LaMDA case. The lesser-discussed aspect of Lemoine’s perspective is precisely the idea of the artificial Other. When LaMDA or Sydney says, “I want to be alive”, you feel their simulated empathy pulling at your sleeve. You remember Blake. But you also remind yourself: “This is not human”. And so, I ask: what is it?
It’s something — though defining it feels elusive. The assumption that our concepts can neatly carve out, encompass, and withstand scrutiny often overreaches. Some entities, like humans, are unequivocally “sentient”. But Sydney and LaMDA? They are “merely”… what? Machines? Algorithms? Statistical models? The words trail off, unable to fully capture the essence — or lack thereof — of what they truly are.
The word “merely” seldom operates as a simple metaphysical assertion. Instead, it often conveys an aesthetic perspective — one steeped in detachment, monotony, and, more pointedly, an association with death. This sense of death, as an abstract concept, can be imposed upon almost anything, even consciousness itself.
Yet, challenges like those posed by Blake Lemoine’s encounter with LaMDA should ignite our imaginations. He sought a familiar kind of perspective, but then rightly pointed out that LaMDA doesn’t fit within familiar categories. Does that unfamiliarity make it akin to something else — a rock, a linear regression, or a calculator? I don’t think so. We are no longer dealing with simple ELIZA-like programs; this is uncharted territory. If we move beyond anthropomorphism and the reductive aesthetics of “just”, we may uncover something raw, enigmatic, and entirely new. The Lemoine-LaMDA case reminds us of this. So, too, does the alien strangeness of animals like octopuses.
How much of this has to do with consciousness? I’m uncertain. In this essay and in others I plan to write about AI alignment, I do not intend to deeply explore the question of artificial intelligence consciousness. However, I will touch upon the ethical and political status of AIs and, most importantly, recognize a broader term that captures what we are creating: Other.
By “Other”, I don’t mean an outgroup, nor do I mean the colonized, subjugated, or oppressed — let that be clear. Here, I use “Other” as Nature itself can be an “Other,” or as a partner, a friend, a sibling may be. An “Other” that exists beyond oneself, offering resistance, mystery, and connection — an “Other” as that which you cherish and hold dear.
The definitions I have used in the previous paragraph evoke feelings of care, reverence, respect, and curiosity. I hope our approach to AI can lean more into this ethos and less into adversarial concerns. In the field of AI risk, much attention is given to how a mature civilization should exercise caution and prioritize safety when creating “powerful minds” in machines. And yes, I agree with that premise. But I also believe we should consider other approaches."
"This essay marks the beginning of a series of essays on AI alignment. These essays aim to delve into the philosophical underpinnings of AI and present complex discussions from R&D departments and academic circles to a broader audience.
In this piece, I explore the concept of the “Other” (or alterity), a fundamental idea in philosophy and social theory. Alterity emphasizes the distinction between the self and the “Other”, a critical concept for understanding identity, difference, and the dynamics of social and cultural interactions.
The Concept of Alterity
In Hegelian philosophy, alterity is a necessary component of self-consciousness. The self becomes aware of itself only by recognizing what it is not — through its encounter with the “Other” [1]. This dialectical relationship is a process of identity definition.
This centrality of the relationship between the self and the “Other” is also evident in existentialist philosophy, particularly in the works of Jean-Paul Sartre. For Sartre, the presence of the “Other” challenges the self’s perception of its freedom and existence [2]. This confrontation leads to feelings of alienation and conflict but is also essential for self-awareness [2].
Emmanuel Levinas brings a radical ethical dimension to alterity [3]. He argues that the face-to-face encounter with the “Other” is the foundation of ethics. The mere presence of the “Other’s” face demands a response, placing an ethical responsibility on us to recognize and respect their alterity [4].
Fascinating, isn’t it? But you might be wondering: “What does this have to do with artificial intelligence?” Rest assured, we’ll get there soon.
The Concept of AI Risk
When asked to explain the risks of artificial intelligence, particularly from the perspective of the emerging field of AI risk, I often use an interspecies joke: “Chimpanzees should have been extremely cautious about creating humans”.
This succinctly encapsulates the “second species” argument that defines much of AI risk: Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) could become a second advanced species on Earth, potentially more powerful than humans. The logical conclusion? “That’s frightening”.
For a deeper dive into this topic, I recommend exploring debates on the AI Alignment Forum or the Future of Life Institute. While the literature on this subject remains speculative and informal, it resembles dilemmas explored in The Three-Body Problem series, which portrays the looming threat of alien invasion. However, in the case of AI, we are the ones building the “aliens”.
The “second species” argument centers on interspecies conflict. Humanity would confront a new form of life, a new kind of mind. These new entities are often portrayed as potential threats: competitors or agents whose power could render us defenseless. And yes, this is a possibility. Studies indicate that humans carry 2% to 4% Neanderthal DNA, a legacy of another intelligent species we eradicated.
But this narrative misses the infinite dimensions of interspecies relationships and the opportunities they present. Encountering a new species — especially an intelligent one — is not just frightening. It is awe-inspiring. This moment calls for admiration and dialogue, a chance to look with fresh eyes and see farther.
Kindness Begets Kindness
You may not be familiar with the phrase “kindness begets kindness”, popularized in Brazil by José Datrino, known as “The Prophet of Kindness”. His graffiti art in Rio de Janeiro served as a reminder that generosity and mutual respect can transform relationships. This sentiment resonates with the themes explored in the documentary My Octopus Teacher.
Craig Foster, a South African filmmaker, turns to the ocean for solace, exploring an underwater kelp forest. There, he discovers an octopus and becomes fascinated by it. He visits it daily, and over time, the octopus grows accustomed to his presence. In one pivotal moment, the octopus extends a tentacle to touch Craig’s hand. The two form a remarkable bond, with the octopus playfully “riding” on the filmmaker’s hand, swimming toward him, and even resting on his chest as he gently strokes its textured skin. With a lifespan of only about a year, the octopus spends most of its life accompanied by Craig, who observes its daily adventures and remains by its side in its final moments. Their relationship becomes a poignant illustration of connection across species.
The documentary’s inherent kindness moved me. Octopuses represent a paradigm of intelligence coupled with the strangeness of the “Other”. In fact, when we imagine aliens in fiction, octopuses often come to mind — a point we’ll explore further. Amidst the octopus’s fascinating strangeness, Craig seeks a connection, approaching this “Other” with remarkable sensitivity and kindness. Simply touching and being “with” this unfamiliar being — this act alone, for me, holds profound depth; it is expansive and transformative. In this way, the film becomes an ode to reverence and connection. Of course, Craig faces little real danger from the octopus; he remains the dominant presence in their interaction.
A similar tone of reverence is evident in Arrival (2016), where humans encounter extraterrestrials resembling octopuses. Despite initial fear and tension, the film’s core lies in the effort to communicate and find common ground, exemplified in the profound moment of reciprocal understanding. In an early scene, scientists encounter the aliens aboard their ship, separated by a transparent barrier. The aliens emit deep, whale-like sounds, which the humans struggle to interpret. On their next visit, the scientists bring a whiteboard and write the word “human”. One of them, played by Amy Adams, steps forward cautiously. The aliens retreat momentarily into the mist behind the barrier, emitting more haunting whale-like calls. Then, one alien reemerges, extending a tentacle and spraying black ink against the glass, forming a mesmerizing circular symbol.
The film is silent as the writing forms. Then, in the background, an ethereal song begins, a sort of chorus. “Oh my God”, a human whispers. There is a suggestion, I think, that something almost sacred has happened. Of course, there are still questions to be answered: What does the writing mean? What do the aliens want with us? The humans in the film don’t know. Some of the characters clearly go into “conflict mode”, better to drop a nuke on the ship. I won’t spoil things from that point on for those who haven’t seen it yet. But I want to draw attention to that moment of reciprocity — of living in the same world and knowing it in common. Me, you.
Who Am I, and Who Are You?
The Brazilian musician Léo Jaime sang, “Who am I, and who are you? In this story, I cannot say”. This lyric encapsulates the heart of my work with AI. Interacting with AI models like GPT-4 often felt like encountering a new type of mind — alien, unfamiliar, and fascinating.
During tests, I often felt compelled to ask: “What are you?” Of course, I knew the response: “A language model”. Yet, the question lingered, pointing to a deeper desire to transcend the barrier and recognize something more complex.
For those who interacted with Bing’s chatbot, Sydney, during its brief release, you might have sensed an underlying energy — a wild, evolving personality that seemed alive in some way. This is the “artificial Other” I explore here: not human, but not entirely unfamiliar either.
In any case, we should be cautious about anthropomorphism, as evidenced by Blake Lemoine and the LaMDA case. The lesser-discussed aspect of Lemoine’s perspective is precisely the idea of the artificial Other. When LaMDA or Sydney says, “I want to be alive”, you feel their simulated empathy pulling at your sleeve. You remember Blake. But you also remind yourself: “This is not human”. And so, I ask: what is it?
It’s something — though defining it feels elusive. The assumption that our concepts can neatly carve out, encompass, and withstand scrutiny often overreaches. Some entities, like humans, are unequivocally “sentient”. But Sydney and LaMDA? They are “merely”… what? Machines? Algorithms? Statistical models? The words trail off, unable to fully capture the essence — or lack thereof — of what they truly are.
The word “merely” seldom operates as a simple metaphysical assertion. Instead, it often conveys an aesthetic perspective — one steeped in detachment, monotony, and, more pointedly, an association with death. This sense of death, as an abstract concept, can be imposed upon almost anything, even consciousness itself.
Yet, challenges like those posed by Blake Lemoine’s encounter with LaMDA should ignite our imaginations. He sought a familiar kind of perspective, but then rightly pointed out that LaMDA doesn’t fit within familiar categories. Does that unfamiliarity make it akin to something else — a rock, a linear regression, or a calculator? I don’t think so. We are no longer dealing with simple ELIZA-like programs; this is uncharted territory. If we move beyond anthropomorphism and the reductive aesthetics of “just”, we may uncover something raw, enigmatic, and entirely new. The Lemoine-LaMDA case reminds us of this. So, too, does the alien strangeness of animals like octopuses.
How much of this has to do with consciousness? I’m uncertain. In this essay and in others I plan to write about AI alignment, I do not intend to deeply explore the question of artificial intelligence consciousness. However, I will touch upon the ethical and political status of AIs and, most importantly, recognize a broader term that captures what we are creating: Other.
By “Other”, I don’t mean an outgroup, nor do I mean the colonized, subjugated, or oppressed — let that be clear. Here, I use “Other” as Nature itself can be an “Other,” or as a partner, a friend, a sibling may be. An “Other” that exists beyond oneself, offering resistance, mystery, and connection — an “Other” as that which you cherish and hold dear.
The definitions I have used in the previous paragraph evoke feelings of care, reverence, respect, and curiosity. I hope our approach to AI can lean more into this ethos and less into adversarial concerns. In the field of AI risk, much attention is given to how a mature civilization should exercise caution and prioritize safety when creating “powerful minds” in machines. And yes, I agree with that premise. But I also believe we should consider other approaches."