By DAVID L. GORDON
When I was a very young boy I was given a pony. So, I jumped right on with the intention of galloping off somewhere, but that somewhere ended up being a manure pile that I landed in face first. I never ever rode a horse again.
I guess I’ve been around long enough to watch humanity saddle up to every new invention like it’s the horse that’s finally going to carry us all to glory. And every time, without fail, we wind up face down in the muck wondering what went wrong.
Now we’ve gone and built ourselves an Artificial General Intelligence (AGI).
A machine that can think faster than us, remember better than us, and — if we’re being honest — probably judge you more accurately than your own mother.
And you’re planning to let it run loose on the airwaves . . . hmmm?
Let me offer a little frontier wisdom.
Radio, in its day, was a miracle. It carried voices across oceans, knitted the world together, and gave every fool with an opinion a chance to broadcast it. A democratic triumph, if you’re feeling charitable. A global nuisance, if you’re not.
But AGI? That’s a different breed of critter. You see, radio only carried what you put into it. AGI might start deciding what ought to be said.
And that, my friends, is where the river gets deep and the current turns mean.
If you let a machine choose your stories, you’ll soon find it choosing your thoughts. If you let it choose your thoughts, it won’t be long before it chooses your future. And if you let it choose your future, well — you might as well hand it your boots and ask it to walk your life for you.
So here’s my advice: Keep radio human. Let the machines help you tune the signal, but don’t let them write the sermon. Let them sort the noise, but don’t let them decide the truth. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let them tell you what’s worth caring about.
Because once you surrender that, you’re not living in a world shaped by intelligence — you’re living in a world shaped by convenience. And convenience has never been the mother of anything worth remembering.
When you’re next listening to a radio station, celebrate the miracle of voices carried through the air. But keep one hand on the dial, and the other on your common sense.
You’re going to need both.
The writer, aka Radio Gordo, was deeply involved with the early days of radio on Salt Spring Island.