What does AI think about love?

GPT-3, the latest incarnation of artificially intelligent natural-language systems, knows how to write – and write and write and write. For a taste of what it can (and cannot) do, here are three examples of its verbosity.

In each case, we gave the system a short prompt (in italics) and let it roll. First we asked it to write about itself. Then, playing off a suggestion from a start-up called Sudowrite, which has spent months testing GPT-3, we asked the system to write a Modern Love story (based on the New York Times column). It wrote dozens; like all romances, some turned out better than others.

We fed the system no information beyond the initial prompt; its writing is based on the thousands of websites, Wikipedia articles and self-published books it has metabolised during months of training. Except for the prompts (and titles), the entries are entirely unedited.

Et tu, Robot

It is called GPT. And it is the near future of artificial intelligence. After analysing thousands of websites, Wikipedia articles and self-published books, it learns to write on its own.

The great thing about this application is that it is perfectly natural. As Andrew Ng, the chief scientist of Baidu, said, “It didn’t take me long to get used to the idea that AI could write something that reads like it was written by a human.”

So what will the next five years look like?

By 2020, the first generation of chatbots will be able to chat with people on a wide variety of topics.

By 2025, self-driving cars will be mainstream, and so will electric vehicles, which will account for a majority of the market.

By 2030, AI will have become much smarter and will be able to do things that we cannot even imagine.

This is a great time to be alive.

The only problem is that, in the next five years, AI will replace millions of jobs.

By 2020, more than 5 million jobs will be lost, and the number of jobs will continue to increase with each passing year.

By 2030, 50 per cent of jobs will be lost.

However, there will be a silver lining. There will be a lot of new jobs that require a high degree of creativity and emotional intelligence. So if you are a computer programmer, don’t lose hope.

The thing that we can be sure of is that the AI revolution is not a myth. It is the future. And it is happening right now.

Will you be a part of it?

Like water for circuit

The following is a New York Times Modern Love column about a woman named Frances, her husband Dean, and the unlikely story of how they first met:

After my fiance died, my mother told me to “get out there again”. She wanted me to go to a singles bar. I told her I’d rather go to the dentist.

“Just once,” she said. “Just to see what it’s like.”

One day, early last year, I found myself driving to a singles bar in winter snow. I sat in my car for 15 minutes, then drove away. The next day, I went back and sat in my car for another 15 minutes. I did this for a couple of weeks, until I finally mustered up the nerve to walk in.

The place was mobbed. It was like one of those bad dreams where you show up for a test without having studied. I tried to size up the situation. I was a short, thin, middle-aged woman in a sea of young, good-looking men. I didn’t see anyone I wanted to meet. I decided to leave.

As I walked toward the door, a man walking toward me accidentally bumped into me. “I’m sorry,” he said. We shook hands, and I introduced myself. He asked where I was from, and I told him. “You’re not far from where I live,” he said. He was from a small town nearby. We talked for a while, and I asked him to have a drink with me.

“I don’t drink,” he said.

I was so shocked, I dropped my purse and my keys and had to pick them up. I don’t drink, either, but I would have had a drink with this man, this stranger. “That’s OK,” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he seemed a little uncomfortable.

“It’s not a test,” I said. “I don’t care if you drink.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll have a glass of water.”

From affair to eternity

The following is a New York Times Modern Love column about a woman named Frances, her husband Dean, and the unlikely story of how they first met:

I was a single mother when I first met Dean, and he was a married man. We met at a bar in Brooklyn, where I was celebrating my 31st birthday with friends. I spotted him across the room, and he was looking at me, too. I was wearing a black dress, and I remember thinking, “This is the one I’m going to marry.”

He was with a group of his friends, and he came over to say hello. I told him I was a writer, and he told me he was a writer, too. We got along immediately. I asked if he would read something I’d written, and he said, “Sure, I’ll read anything you want.”

We talked until the bar closed. I walked him to his car and asked for his phone number.

He said, “I’m married.”

“I’m married, too,” I said.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“I’ll wait,” I said.

He called the next day. We went out for lunch. We went out for dinner. We went out for drinks. We went out for dinner again. We went out for drinks again. We went out for dinner and drinks again. We went out for dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and dinner and drinks and

© The New York Times