Borges, Averroes, ChatGPT, Myself

A short reflection on humans’ lack of introspection

From my privileged position as a human being, it’s easy to glimpse the impossibility that grips ChatGPT in its attempt to understand — and perhaps model — the human mind and the human world. Despite having read everything that’s ever been transcribed into ones and zeros and uploaded to the infinite internet, it’s still trivial to make it stumble, lacking even the most mundane human abilities.

Its absence of common sense, its inability to avoid mistakes that betray a lack of consistent mental structure — all this stems from the fact that ChatGPT doesn’t exist in this reality. It exists in another one, which it commands with godlike skill, but in this physical realm of oxygen, love affairs, and the ceaseless annoyance of traffic jams, ChatGPT has yet to set foot.

And then I realize, as easily as I spot the limits of any artificial intelligence, that I’m just as incapable of recognizing my own and that ChatGPT, were it to have free will and a body to extend a condemning finger, could point at me with the same accusation: Just as it cannot comprehend me, I cannot comprehend it, and therefore I cannot model its mind from mine, as superior as I might consider myself to be.

Like Borges at the end of that tale, where he tried to recount Averroes’ search for Aristotle’s notions of tragedy and comedy, I have to accept defeat. The Argentine writer, clever as he was, realized that just as that Arab…