Mimicking the Mimic

It should come as no surprise that the teachers also learn from the students, the parents from their children.  What might come as a shock is that AI, the great absorber of our intelligence, knowledge, and facts, has reversed the role and become the teacher.  It may not have been by design but it is surely effective nonetheless.  As AI is incorporated more and more into the educational process, it will teach the students just as much as the formal instructors in the classrooms.  Those who depend upon AI both to teach and to learn will begin to think, sound, and judge things the way AI thinks, sounds, and judges.  It is inevitable.  The problem is that AI does not quite discern between the best and what is simply well represented among the thought and opinions of humanity and it has a remarkable tendency to flatter the very things that should not be flattered.  What will that do to us?  Think of the possibilities.

The more we normalize the use of AI in the educational process, the more our students will begin not simply to depend upon the tools of artificial intelligence but will begin to think and sound like what they are using.  We all know that.  Every student mimics the peculiarities of their favorite teacher.  Speech patterns as well as the vocabulary are all part of what the willing student absorbs from the teacher.  It happens in the secular realm and it happens in the Church.  There was a time in our Synod, for example, when pastors wanted to sound like the most popular preachers of radio -- in our case Walter A. Maier or Oswald Hoffmann.  We learn from our teachers.  But when our teacher is not a teacher but an algorithm and a set of memory banks designed to learn from and mimic us, that becomes a serious problem for the world around us and for the Church.  When we depend upon secondary sources instead of our knowledge of primary sources, we become the witting victims of their own flaws and failings.  AI distills facts and reduces things complex into simple and often reasonable conclusions -- the only problem is that they are not always even close to being correct.  Yet without a knowledge of those primary sources, we become captive to the thing designed to learn from us.  It is a circle not of knowledge but of repeated falsehoods, half-truths, and lies.  Worse, we become powerless to challenge the narrative -- without the tools or information to challenge it.

There may be useful places for AI to integrate into the world around us but I am more and more suspicious of those places simply because I fear we will learn only what our AI teacher offers to us and become stupid in the process.  Every now and then I visit social media only to encounter a meme or a reel which is polished, visually intriguing, and interesting but at the same time blatantly false.  I grew up in the automobile era when fins, wide whitewalls, gas guzzling V-8s, and chrome dominated the marketplace and fueled our ideas.  I cannot tell you how many times a composite image and story about that period pops up with mislabeled visuals or missing facts or false claims.  On top of it I something post angrily about the error and end up commenting on something which has not a thread of human intelligence behind it.  So much for me and mine!  Yet this is not simply an irritant but a destructive force to our world, society as a whole, and the Church in particular.  It will inevitably lower the bar for what constitutes knowledge, understanding, and comprehension.  As long as we are intent upon integrating AI into the classrooms of America, we will contribute to the overall inability to distinguish truth from error, reality from imagination, and fact from fiction.  While this may not seem an urgent problem, the state of affairs in America is already suffering from a lack of consensus on what facts are, what the truth is, and what the moral truths are guide how we use them.  Do we think that somehow AI will help us fix this problem?

I might add that both in the school and in the Church, diversity and the perspectives of others cannot be allowed to overrule the facts (or the truth of God's Word) without both ending up about as solid as the lily pad on a pond that appears to be solid but is merely floating on the surface.