“The creeping progress of artificial intelligence (AI) places the notion of the human in crisis. There are many things that AI already does better and more efficiently than humans, and it is increasingly easy to imagine a world in which machines are better diagnosticians than doctors; wittier than comedians; more eloquent than writers and journalists; wiser than philosophers, sages, and religious leaders. Indeed, it is even possible to imagine AI bots that are better friends, parents, and lovers than humans. In such a world, it is tempting to wonder: what is left for human endeavor? Why insist, for instance, that articles, books, and films be written by humans when AI can do it faster, cheaper, and better?”
I recently attended THON at Pennsylvania State University, where I had ample time to read and reflect on the countless stories that adorned the walls of the Bryce Jordan Center. These were stories of resilience: accounts of triumph over pediatric cancer written by the children and families who experienced them. It was both humbling and striking: humbling in the sense that these stories reflected the unique goodness of humanity, our collective effort to bring comfort in a battle that often feels like an endless tug-of-war between life and death; striking in the sheer variety of technologies used to combat one of the world’s most relentless illnesses, cancer.
This moment of reflection offers a broader opportunity to consider how technology and human intelligence inform the lifesaving care applied by physicians and their teams, bringing the promise of hope to our society’s youngest members in their fight for survival. Not long ago, medicine became more diagnostically precise through advancements like Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) and Positron Emission Tomography (PET), transforming our ability to detect and treat diseases. MRI provided physicians with an unprecedented view of soft tissue, allowing them to detect tumors, strokes, multiple sclerosis, and neurodegenerative diseases with remarkable accuracy. PET scans took this further, enabling doctors to stage and monitor cancer at the cellular level, vastly improving diagnostic precision for conditions like Alzheimer’s, epilepsy, and Parkinson’s. Today, these technologies are indispensable in the care of children battling cancer.
Artificial intelligence stands at the edge of a similar revolution, offering enormous opportunities yet posing a different kind of challenge. Historically, technology has not eliminated jobs but instead reshaped them. Consider the rise of companies like Apple, Alphabet, and Meta; their success is not rooted in replacing humans but in employing thousands who develop technologies that connect us, increase access to knowledge, and ultimately enhance human interaction. Still, some fear that artificial intelligence will not just assist human work but replace the human experience itself: it could become more human than our friends, parents, and lovers. This raises a critical question: If AI can write films, analyze data, and even provide companionship, does it threaten human endeavor?
Let’s consider that.
People inform AI. It is taught to reason, interpret, and behave through human-designed systems, yet it is not human. It lacks consciousness, emotion, and subjective experience. Like a service animal trained for a specific purpose, AI is designed to perform tasks more efficiently than humans. That is the very reason we created it. It learns, discovers, and refines processes, but always within the framework given to it by its human developers.
From this perspective, artificial intelligence is uniquely human but distinctly artificial, curated by programmers and scientists, existing only to serve a purpose-built function. Whether it assists physicians in diagnosing disease, helps studios refine screenwriting, or aids professors in identifying plagiarism, AI remains a tool, not a replacement for human existence.
This brings us back to the central question: Can AI threaten the human endeavor? The assumption that it does is flawed because human worth is not measured by efficiency alone. Relationships, experiences, and emotions shape our existence, all things that cannot be reduced to calculations, no matter how advanced the machine.
And here is where the distinction becomes undeniable.
The richness of human relationships, friendships, love, and family bonds is built on the ebb and flow of shared experiences, joy, sorrow, and growth. We argue, we embrace, and we grieve. These experiences are not optimized for efficiency; they cost us something: time, emotional energy, and commitment. AI does not and cannot engage in that cost. Imagine reasoning with a machine after learning that your best friend has been diagnosed with cancer. Would it cry with you? Would it stay awake beside you through the night? Would it carry you through the emotional storm ahead?
I think not.
This space, the raw, imperfect, profoundly personal space of human connection, is reserved for us. It belongs to the teachers and scholars, the parents, the lovers, and the friends who dedicate lifetimes to relationships and decades to families. It is reserved for those who bleed, for those who cry, and for those whose tears are uniquely human. It is not reserved for the cold abstraction of artificial intelligence.
Still, while this perspective may be comforting, it does not absolve us of the responsibility to understand AI’s limitations while harnessing its potential. The future will require wisdom in its development and ethical use. AI will inevitably collaborate with us in shaping society, but humans must guide that collaboration with the understanding that our value does not come from productivity alone.
Ultimately, AI may measure efficiency. But human experience is measured by meaning, and meaning cannot be calculated, coded, or optimized. It is felt, lived, and shared.
And that is something no machine will ever possess.