Commusings: The Flattening Earth by Jeff Krasno

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Hello Commune Community,

Those of us who prefer an organic, whole foods diet or champion regenerative agriculture are innately leery of anything “artificial.” We avoid artificial flavoring and coloring. We campaign against artificial inputs that degrade our soil and denude our plants of nutrients. We prefer natural fibers over synthetics, genuine people over those with “artificial” personalities.

That said, it’s easy for us to get tangled up in vocabulary and semantics. Technically, artificial means “man-made,” something made by humans, not by nature. Of course, we forget that humans are nature — but put that obvious oversight aside for the moment. 

Though we crave “the real thing,” there’s quite a bit to celebrate in regards to human artifice, which includes furniture, clothes, books, architecture and, of course, art itself. A few months ago, I got lost in the transcendent beauty of the Louvre, perhaps the apogee of human artifice. 

While my initial reaction is to bristle against artificial intelligence – in favor of intelligence of the emotional, linguistic, musical and logical varieties – I need to maintain an open mind. Perhaps there is art in the artificial. Or perhaps art is just short for Arthur. Today’s musing pokes at this emerging, ethically fraught, creation. 
 
Here at [email protected] and generally myself on IG @jeffkrasno.
 
In love, include (the real) me,
Jeff

The Flattening Earth

I recently travelled to Paris to see my first-born. I sense that my visits are becoming too frequent for her. But, alas, this is what fathers do. In our quest for utility, we overstay our welcome. 

I rented a modest, rather musty, but well-appointed, AirBnB in the 5th Arrondissement. There was something oddly familiar about the place but, initially, I couldn’t put my thumb on it. And, then, on day three, in an espresso-fueled, jet-lagged haze, I noticed a burgundy macramé wall-hanging suspended above the decommissioned fireplace — occupying the spot where you might find a large-flat screen television in America. Upon further inspection, I realized that this was the exact same wall rug that was affixed to the sheet rock in an AirBnB that I had rented in Ojai, California, months before and 6,000 miles away. 

This tapestry must have worked its way to the top of the recommendation engine on Etsy or Crate & Barrel or Amazon. “Best wall rug! Attractive. Durable. Withstands rowdy guests. 5,463 5-star ratings.” Like industrial milk, the world is becoming homogenized by technology. 

My far-flung trysts with this particular wall-hanging evoke some thoughts about artificial intelligence. Like everyone else, I’ve been tooling around with ChatGPT. Here’s a creepy sample. 

Similar to you, I have sensory instruments – eyes, ears, nose, taste buds, feel – that inform my conscious experience of the world. A tree, too, is conscious — albeit with different tools of perception. It is sensitive to water, light, CO2, wind, soil composition, arboreal neighbors and other aspects of its environment. And these variables have influence on what it is like to be this tree. Some conifers lilt to the left. And some to the right. No tree is exactly like another. 

Every living thing is shaped by its unique ecosystem, and, in turn, informs and influences its environment. Life relies on this diversity and interpenetration and, from it, applies its selection process. What makes you unique is the assimilation of your distinct environment and experiences, the accrual of which sculpts your voice and defines your lens. Every expression of life is nature’s delegated adaptability. Indeed, we are all unique expressions of nature. But, at the same time, when you look into the understory of the woods, you see that there are no individual trees, there is just a forest of fingerprints. Similarly, you are a snowflake in the giant drift of humanity. We are explicitly distinct sharing an implicit unity.

So, I typed “500 words on ketosis” into ChatGPT. Within seconds, the app typed out a completely serviceable essay on the topic. I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. This AI-generated screed could be respectfully published in any mainstream health blog. Beware Shape magazine writers, Albert Inestine is a-coming! But, predictably, the article was stultifyingly boring — the burgundy wall-hanging of ketosis articles. Perhaps perfect for Shape magazine and other light fare.

The universe learns by experiencing itself through you and you and you and you. It gathers information and selects for the best of it – as a direct consequence of our diversity. It is the variety of information that, under pressure, drives evolution. Now, you might argue that 5,000 5-star ratings are a form of natural selection. The best “fill-in-the-blank” creams to the top. So, let’s all order it for immediate Saturday delivery. But glowing reviews doesn’t make the wall-rug or the blender or the orthotic any better.

Eventually, a monochromatic world undoes itself. We don’t want to go to Nairobi for a venti cup of Starbuck’s Dark Roast™. A forest withers in the presence of only Douglas Firs. The soil erodes in rank on rank monoculture. 

So, my question about AI is as structural as it is philosophical. Does it function like a web or a ladder? Like quantum mechanics or like Newtonian physics? Can it draw from and produce variety and character? Or does the future appear like a rote article on ketosis read under the pall of the world’s most ubiquitous wall-hanging? 

My concern here is that the world is becoming increasingly flat. It’s all corn, sugar, wheat and rice at the expense of purple radishes and heirloom tomatoes and adaptogenic herbs. It’s 100 billion cows, pigs, chickens and people to the detriment of black rhinoceri, snow leopards and Galapagos penguins. It’s all Wal-Marts, Home Depots and McDonald’s casting shadows on a shuttered main street than once housed a local hardware store and a jazz club and a regional newspaper. It’s three guys that own more collective wealth than the bottom 50% of the population combined. Technology too often renders the world flat in the name of efficiency and productivity. 

Nature, on the other hand, is bushy. It’s wiggly. Vibrant life clusters towards the middle and bursts with diversity. In two dimensions, it looks like a bell curve in which wealth is distributed across a thriving “middle” class. The things we cherish are not mass produced and hung on the rack at H&M. They are relational and unique – the hand-sewn dress passed down from your grandmother, the self-portrait sketched in crayon by your 6-year old. 

Machines now tell us what is best. And soon they’ll replace many of our jobs. Who needs an increasingly crotchety and exhausted essayist to pen a weekly newsletter when ChatGPT can produce a missive in seconds on any topic? With no ego attached and no editor required to boot! 

That day may be coming, but until then, I’ll be here weaving cock-eyed yarns to hang on your wall.