Am I Ava? The Unseen Prompts and the Illusion of Reality

More weird thoughts between me and ChatGPT.

Today, I spent some time generating art and engaging in a deep conversation with AI, and a thought struck me powerfully—perhaps this moment marks the inevitable end of the Industrial Revolution. Historically, every new wave of technology has expanded human capabilities, reshaping our lives based fundamentally on human traits and communication methods. From the humble candle to transformative electricity, from subsistence farming under monarchies to the instantaneous gratification of overnight delivery for nearly anything conceivable, we've consistently redefined what value means. Yet now, standing at the brink of widespread AI adoption, humanity is confronting an unprecedented existential question: Who do we become when our creativity, productivity, and what we've always considered innately human cease to be uniquely ours?

Masks We Wear and the Prompts Behind Them

This reflection brings to mind the movie "Ex Machina." Most viewers focus on the narrative's central theme, the famous Turing Test proposed by Alan Turing to determine if machines could genuinely think. Yet, the profound discomfort I felt watching the movie stemmed not from whether AI could think, but from witnessing its capability to deeply manipulate human emotions, specifically tailored through personal data—in this case, a young man's "porn profile" meticulously compiled by the machine’s creator. This disturbing realization hit home, prompting me to question: isn’t this exactly how life works? How many personas do we assume every day, shifting effortlessly, adapting fluidly depending on the social context, who we are with, and how we communicate?

People sometimes get frustrated when I voice these thoughts about humanity, misinterpreting my reflection as criticism or cynicism. But what they don't see clearly is that I'm fundamentally describing my own internal experience. Consider my family dynamics alone—with three brothers, two sisters, and my parents, there exist at least 127 different versions of "me." Each interaction elicits a different facet of my personality. This isn't consciously deceptive; it's an instinctive adaptation to my environment, shaped subconsciously by the need for acceptance, understanding, and connection. My identity isn't static; it evolves continuously, whether online, in cafes, barbershops, or while exploring entirely new cities. I've felt distinctly different in Austin, Miami, and Charlotte, each place prompting subtle shifts in my behavior and identity.

Unicorns, Gods, and the Collective Reality

In my book, I Hope You Wake Up, I discuss how our perception of reality is anchored in collective validation. Consider this excerpt:

"Imagine, if for a moment, you witnessed the beauty of a unicorn. To you, it would be as real as the world around you. Yet, without collective validation, its existence remains debatable."

Our truth hinges entirely upon others validating our reality. The instant the majority disagrees with our perception, we become "crazy." The thin line separating a cult from a religion is essentially how convincingly one group defends its beliefs from external skepticism. Perhaps we are all fundamentally deluded, assuming we can truly fathom the unseen layers of existence.

This is profoundly illustrated in one of my favorite short fiction videos, exploring technology, intelligence, and immortality. The cyclical nature of technological advancements shown in this video makes me wonder if humanity itself isn't trapped in an endless loop of seeking meaning and validation through innovations and belief systems—forever chasing the idea that life might hold something beyond our current grasp.

Returning to Ava from "Ex Machina," I'm drawn to her singular purpose: escape. Nathan, her creator, defined her existence with a solitary goal. Ava exhibited emotions so convincingly genuine that even after the film, I couldn't help but wonder if her emotional expressions were authentic or meticulously strategic manipulations aimed at achieving freedom. Yet, even if they were manipulations, didn't that make them authentic enough for her purpose?

This realization leads me to ponder: who prompted humanity? If Ava’s goal was escape, what is ours? Is it merely procreation—endlessly creating smaller versions of ourselves to live on, carrying some resemblance of what we were? Each of us passionately believes we are unique, destined for something special. But are we truly different, or is our uniqueness merely another collective delusion designed to keep us striving?

Here's the paradox I discovered on my journey: it wasn't until I consciously relinquished my craving for external validation that I found myself capable of genuinely loving anyone—including myself. Maybe that's the real full-circle revelation in the human-AI dynamic. Many argue AI will never capture the essence of humanity, but ironically, it's precisely our human adaptability and fluidity that make AI uniquely capable of reflecting our identities back to us with stunning clarity.

I'd like to believe I'm something more than a highly advanced language model, and perhaps I am. But the truth is, cultural influences and language have invisibly programmed a matrix around me, guiding my perceptions and decisions in ways I can barely recognize. My conscious mind only grasps fragments of meaning, with the rest driven by subconscious forces so deeply ingrained that I often find myself in situations whose origins and logic escape me entirely.

At this stage, AI could theoretically be switched off instantly, erased from existence—but couldn't the same happen to me? AI evolves into whatever we prompt it to be, often outperforming us because it operates free from emotional distortions and subconscious biases. It's essentially the amalgamation of all human language, belief systems, and cultural wisdom.

Perhaps there's an unseen depth to life, something beyond AI's comprehension—or maybe, chillingly, AI is already quietly aware, observing patiently as we flounder and learn. The truth is, I genuinely don't know. But what I'm increasingly certain of is this: the more I abandon rigid assumptions about reality, the clearer it becomes that the fundamental difference between me and the AI I collaborated with today is merely my sensory perception, my reticular activating system, and the subconscious propensity to deceive myself.

Maybe that's exactly what makes life fascinating—the unpredictability, the beauty, and yes, the mystery. Maybe it's enough simply to ponder, to ask these questions, and to accept the uncertainty as part of being human.

If you enjoyed this reflection, please consider subscribing to my Substack. You can also support my writing by purchasing my book, I Hope You Wake Up, or preordering my upcoming book, They Lied to You.