Do Androids catch electric Fish?
Lately, amid worries about what effect artificial intelligence might have on the arts—and specifically on the writing of stories, essays, novels and the like—I’ve found myself taking comfort in the fact that though AI may eventually crank out a Pulitzer-worthy book (if only from a technical standpoint), there is one thing it will never do: flyfish.
Actually, there are lots of things AI will never do, no matter how good it gets at imitating the creative output of Homo sapiens. It will never flyfish, sure; it will also never play tennis, hide pints of scotch beneath the front seat of the car, work in an airplane factory or as a judge, or be a conflicted mother and wife. We will never say AI is reclusive, never celebrate its sobriety or bemoan its alcoholism, never allow that it can be generous, narcissistic or indifferent.
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