What is a good metaphor for AI? Hans Christian Andersen is a genius in his ability to capture absolute metaphors — striking comparisons that cannot be easily interpreted in multiple ways. One such metaphor is the metaphor of sensitivity in “The Princess and the Pea.”
A prince is searching for a real princess. As a child, I wondered, “What does he mean by ‘real’?” If she is the king’s daughter, doesn’t it make her real?” Apparently, not.
He travels around the world, searching only to be deceived, misled, frustrated, and disillusioned until he returns home, and one stormy night, a young woman claiming to be a princess arrives at the prince’s castle seeking shelter.
The queen doesn’t believe her and wants to test her claim. She places a single pea under twenty mattresses and offers the princess a bed for the night. The next morning, the princess confesses she had a horrible night’s sleep because of something hard poking her in the back and keeping her awake.
Here comes Hans Christian Andersen’s absolute metaphor — if she is so sensitive, she must be real. But why?
When we are interested in the real, we always look for something highly sensitive. We don’t want a radio that isn’t sensitive to the radio signal. We don’t want a car that isn’t sensitive to what we do with the steering wheel. And ultimately, we don’t want to be with someone who is not sensitive to who we are. The less sensitive/responsive they are, the less they can appreciate and respond. And we want someone who can respond.
Sensitivity is the absolute metaphor for realness. To be real means to be able to sense differences — even subtle ones. It’s the ability to distinguish the true from the fake, the real from the artificial. The less sensitive we are to these differences, the less real we are. Just like that other princess from Andersen’s “Swineherd.”
A prince falls in love with the emperor’s daughter. He sends her two beautiful gifts: a rose that only blooms once every five years and a nightingale that sings beautifully. The princess rejects these natural gifts because they are… natural — not flashy or extravagant enough for her taste. Unable to see the difference between the real and the artificial, she values trinkets solely for their flashiness.
We live in a world of trinkets and artificial things. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to differentiate between the real and the artificial. Artificial intelligence threatens to replace humans. Is it possible? Yes — if we lose sensitivity to the differences between the real and the artificial. The more people can’t detect any differences between Shakespeare and AI-generated texts, the more real this threat is.
To be real is to be sensitive to subtle differences. If you know the taste of real coffee, you won’t fall for a counterfeit. If you know the taste of real human language, you won’t fall for an AI-generated one. It will poke into your back all night and keep you from sleeping.
We may glance at an artificial rose and say, “It looks exactly like a real one!” but it won’t make it real. Real means alive. To be sensitive to the real means to be sensitive to the presence of Life in the other. There’s no life in the artificial. The artificial has its uses but can never replace the real. If it does, it will stand as the ultimate judgment on the human race for losing sensitivity to what is real.
Whether we realize it or not, we are that prince looking for a real princess. The soul yearns for the real every moment. It aches when we sleep on the artificial. In fact, we can’t fall asleep on the artificial at all. We look for real people, real things, real experiences, real life. When we touch the real, we come alive.
How do we know the difference? The soul knows — if we are sensitive enough to listen to it.
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