INTELLIGENCE is a natural gift, something we all have, though the levels differ depending on experience and, if you're into numbers, IQ scores.
But when you add the word "artificial" to it, it's like adding an artificial flavour to something that's already familiar, like that strange moment when you sip durian-flavoured coffee.
Sure, it tastes like durian, but you know there's no thorny fruit in that cup, just a hint of what it's trying to be. So, what do you get when you combine "artificial" and "intelligence"? It's like the durian-flavoured coffee - something that mimics the real thing but doesn't quite have the essence of it.
Here, it's human intelligence without the natural brain behind it. And now, these "intelligent" machines are everywhere, doing what we once prided ourselves on doing, thinking, deciding, and even creating, sometimes with a speed and accuracy that leaves us scratching our heads.
And while we nod along during those presentations about AI in the boardroom, yes, AI is the future most of us are still a little lost about how it all works. It's a bit like pretending to understand your in-laws when they start talking in that rapid dialect of theirs, nodding along, smiling, but deep down, still puzzled.
Now, we know that the goal of AI is to imitate how we think and to make decisions like us (or sometimes better). But before we dive into what that means, it helps to think about how our own brains actually work.
Let's say you're faced with a tricky decision: Do you sip that durian-flavoured coffee your mother-in-law has lovingly prepared for you? The brain kicks into high gear here, weighing all sorts of factors before you make your move.
Your brain, with its billions of nerve cells, starts processing inputs like a well-oiled machine. Okay, maybe it's more like a very complex and occasionally unreliable computer. Your senses pick up the situation: the smell of durian, the look of the dark liquid in the cup, the sound of your wife insisting, "It's nice, really, just try it!"
Your fingertips test the warmth of the cup, and your brain puts it all together. "It's just coffee, right?" Plus, your experience reminds you that your mother-in-law is unlikely to poison you, though that might not hold for everyone.
And just like that, you decide to take a sip. But all this processing, this weighing of pros and cons, comes naturally to us. It's the subtle art of human decision-making, the kind of thing that our natural intelligence excels at. Now imagine handing that over to a machine.
In the offices of Kuala Lumpur and beyond, we're now surrounded by machines trying to imitate this very process. AI analyses, strategises and optimises buzzwords we hear at every meeting. It's efficient, sure, but what happens to us in the process? Are we just here to keep the machine running, to make sure it doesn't go off the rails?
The optimistic answer is that AI will take over the boring stuff, so we can focus on "more meaningful work". But what is this meaningful work, really? It's a bit like when they tell you that work-life balance is just a few more efficient apps away.
It sounds good, but does it really change anything? If AI can think faster and more logically than we can, then what do we contribute? Sure, we still have creativity, right? But how long before AI catches up there too, generating ad campaigns and composing catchy jingles?
The corporate world loves to turn creativity into a metric — if it can boost the bottom line, it's worth having. But when you're competing with algorithms that never sleep, you start to wonder where the human touch fits in.
So, what's left for us? Maybe empathy — understanding people and feeling things. But then again, when you have a chatbot asking how your day is going, even that seems to be on the verge of automation.
It makes you miss the little things, like chatting over a kopi-o at the local mamak or exchanging knowing looks with a colleague over yet another corporate buzzword. You start to miss the human quirks, the moments that make us, well, us.
Maybe it's time to ask ourselves some bigger questions. Not just "Will AI take my job?" but "What am I when I'm not just doing a job?". It's a question that doesn't have a neat answer, much like that durian-flavoured coffee - you're not sure if you like it, but it sure makes you think.
In Malaysia, where community and culture have always been a big part of our lives, maybe we need to remember what it's like to just be human again, without the rush to produce or optimise. Maybe it's the moments when we stop worrying about productivity and start paying attention to each other that will remind us of our true value. The answer might not come from an AI algorithm or a strategy session.
It might just come from a quiet moment, like sitting in a kopitiam, thinking about what it means to be human in a world where even thinking can be outsourced.
In the end, whether AI makes us more or less human isn't a question the machines can answer for us. It's up to us to find out, even if the answer takes a while to brew - like a good cup of coffee, durian-flavoured or not.
The writer is a scientist who loves art