AI 2041: Ten Visions for Our Future Read online

  Now, let’s take a journey to 2041.

  INTRODUCTION BY CHEN QIUFAN

  HOW WE CAN LEARN TO STOP WORRYING AND EMBRACE THE FUTURE WITH IMAGINATION

  IN AUGUST 2019, while visiting the Barbican Centre in London, I came across an exhibition titled AI: More Than Human. Like a refreshing summer downpour, the exhibition cleared my senses—and changed most of my preexisting biases and misconceptions toward artificial intelligence. The deceivingly simple name of the exhibition was nowhere near a sufficient representation of the diversity and complexity it contained. Each room of the exhibit revealed new wonders, all with a connection to the curators’ expansive definition of what AI encompasses. There was Golem, a mythical creature in Jewish folklore; Doraemon, the well-loved Japanese anime hero; Charles Babbage’s preliminary computer science experiments; AlphaGo, the program designed to challenge humans’ fundamental intellect; Joy Buolamwini’s analysis on the gender bias of facial recognition software; and teamLab’s large-scale interactive digital art infused with Shinto philosophy and aesthetics. It was a magnificent and mind-expanding reminder of the power of interdisciplinary thinking.

  According to Amara’s law, “We tend to overestimate the effect of a technology in the short run and underestimate the effect in the long run.” Most of us tend to think of AI in narrow terms: the murderbot from The Terminator, incompetent algorithms that could never match the wits or threaten the existence of humans in any way, mere soulless technological inventions that have nothing to do with how humans perceive the world, communicate emotions, manage institutions, and explore other possibilities of life.

  The truth—as it has been revealed in stories ranging from the Chinese folktale of Yan Shi, the mechanic who creates a humanoid, to Talos, the bronze automaton in Greek mythology—is that humans’ search for artificial intelligence has persisted throughout world history, long before computer science existed as a field or the term “AI” entered the lexicon. From the past era to the present day, the unstoppable force of AI has been revolutionizing every dimension of human civilization, and it will continue to do so.

  Science fiction, my chosen field, plays a rather delicate role in investigating the human-machine paradigm. The 1818 novel Frankenstein, often praised as the first modern science fiction novel, hinges on questions that still resonate today: With the help of technology, are humans entitled to create intelligent life that’s different from all currently existing forms of life? What would the relationship between the creation and the creator look like? The archetype of the mad scientist inflicting his creations on the world originated from Mary Shelley’s masterpiece two hundred years ago.

  While some may scapegoat science fiction, blaming it for people’s narrow and often negative view of AI, that’s only part of the story. Science fiction has the capacity to serve as a warning, but speculative storytelling also has a unique ability to transcend time-space limitations, connect technology and humanities, blur the boundary between fiction and reality, and spark empathy and deep thinking within its reader. Historian and bestselling author Yuval Noah Harari has called science fiction “the most important artistic genre” of our time.

  That’s a high bar to live up to. For science fiction writers like myself, the challenge we face is creating stories that not only reveal hidden truths about our present-day reality, but also, simultaneously, project even wilder imaginative possibilities.

  Therefore, when my former colleague from Google Kai-Fu Lee got in touch with me and proposed this collaboration on AI 2041—a one-of-a-kind book project that combines science fiction and analysis of big ideas that animate technology—I was thrilled. The Kai-Fu I know is a pioneering global leader, a savvy and trend-making business investor, and an imaginative, open-minded prophet of tech. His notions on career development in his field have influenced a generation of young people. Now, his mind is set on the future.

  Equipped with a profound understanding of cutting-edge research and its applications in the business world, Kai-Fu delineates the ways in which AI could change human society in twenty years in areas ranging from medicine and education to entertainment, employment, and finance. His idea for this project was ambitious, but it was also a kind of magical coincidence. Years earlier, in my own writing, I had developed the notion of “science fiction realism.” To me, science fiction is fascinating because it not only generates an imaginative space for escapists to leave behind their mundane lives, play the role of superheroes, and freely explore galaxies far, far away, but it also provides a precious opportunity for them to temporarily remove themselves from everyday reality and critically reflect upon it. By imagining the future through science fiction, we can even step in, make change, and actively play a role in shaping our reality.

  In other words, with every future we wish to create, we must first learn to imagine it.

  My imagination began developing as a child thanks to classic works of science fiction like Star Wars, Star Trek, and 2001: A Space Odyssey. Since I was ten, these works have been my portal to the vast beyond and worlds unknown. I believe that, before setting pen to paper for each story, the key is always to orient the story in the history of its genre and a greater social context. As someone deeply invested in—even obsessed with—the fantasies of science fiction, I am in awe of how inclusive the spectrum of science fiction storytelling is. Almost any theme or style can find its place in the genre.

  Before I became a full-time author, I worked in technology. A lot of people would assume engineers and computer science wizards might have little interest in fiction—because their brains are hardwired for science, as opposed to literature. But during my more than ten years working in tech, I encountered many engineers and technologists who were not-so-secret fans of speculative fiction. This enthusiasm sometimes manifested in meeting rooms with names like “Enterprise” or “Neuromancer,” but it also was present among the formidable minds behind projects like Google X and Hyperloop. From the modern submarine to the laser gun, and from mobile phones to CRISPR, scientists will readily admit they got direct inspirations from fiction. Imagination indeed shapes the world.

  From the beginning, I decided that AI 2041 would challenge the stereotype of the dystopian AI narrative—the kind of tale where the future is irrevocably bleak. Without disregarding AI’s faults or nuances, Kai-Fu and I endeavored to portray a future where AI technology could influence individuals and societies positively. We wished to imagine a future that we would like to live in—and to shape. We imagined a future where the next generations could enjoy the benefits of technological development, work to bring more achievement and meaning into the world, and live happily.

  The path to imagining the future of our dreams was not always an easy one. Our challenge was to become immersed in the latest AI research and then to project, with science and logic, realistically, how the AI scene would appear in twenty years. Kai-Fu and our team spent hours studying recently published research papers, conversing with experts, professionals, and thinkers involved with the AI industry, participating in the AI workshop hosted by the World Economic Forum, and visiting top AI tech companies, in order to ensure we had a comprehensive grasp of the technological and philosophical basis of AI development.

  The other challenge was imagining the human future. We wished to represent how individuals from disparate cultures and industries and with different identities would react to the future shock induced by AI. Subtle psychological details are difficult to infer through mere logic and rationalization. To help fill in the emotional portrait of the characters in our stories, we looked to history and drew inspiration from similar world-changing events that have occurred in the past. To stimulate our readers’ imagination and capacity to conceptualize alternative human conditions, we knew our stories must also spark empathy if we were to fully convey our vision and sentiment. Kai-Fu’s analysis serves as the string that connects the soaring kite of imagination to the graspable reel of reality.


  After months of intensive work and rounds of polishing, here are the ten portals we have assembled that will transport you to the time-space of 2041. We hope that you will embark on this journey with curiosity, an open mind—and an open heart, too.

  One last thing: For me, the greatest value of science fiction is not providing answers, but rather raising questions. After you close the book, our hope is that lots of new questions will enliven your mind: For instance, can AI help humans prevent the next global pandemic by eliminating it at the very root? How can we deal with future job challenges? How can we maintain cultural diversity in a world dominated by machines? How can we teach our children to live in a society where humans and machines coexist? We hope our readers’ questions will help take us further down the path as we shape a happier and brighter future.

  Welcome to 2041!

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE GOLDEN ELEPHANT

  STORY TRANSLATED BY BLAKE STONE-BANKS

  IT IS BETTER TO LIVE YOUR OWN DESTINY IMPERFECTLY THAN TO IMITATE SOMEBODY ELSE’S PERFECTLY.

  —BHAGAVAD GITA (, SONG OF GOD OR HINDU SCRIPTURE), CHAPTER 3, VERSE 35

  NOTE FROM KAI-FU: The opening story takes readers to Mumbai, where we meet a family who has signed up for a deep-learning-enabled insurance program. This dynamic insurance program engages with the insured in the form of a series of apps intended to better their lives. The family’s teenage daughter, however, finds that the AI program’s persuasive nudges complicate her search for love. “The Golden Elephant” introduces the basics of AI and deep learning, offering a sense of its main strengths and weaknesses. In particular, the story illustrates how AI can single-mindedly try to optimize certain goals, but sometimes create detrimental externalities. The story also suggests the risks when one company possesses so much data from its users. In my commentary at the end of the chapter, I will explore these issues, offering a brief history of AI and why it excites many but has become a source of distrust for others.

  ON THE SCREEN, the three-story statue of Ganesh swayed in the surf of Chowpatty Beach as though synced to the sitar soundtrack. With each wave, the towering idol descended lower until it was engulfed by the Arabian Sea. In the salty brine, the statue dissolved into gold and burgundy foam, washing onto Chowpatty Beach, where the colors clung like blessings to the legions of believers who had gathered for the Visarjan immersion ritual celebrating the end of the Ganesh Chaturthi festival.

  In her family’s Mumbai apartment, Nayana watched as her grandparents clapped their hands and sang along to the TV. Her younger brother, Rohan, took a mouthful of cassava chips and a deep swig from his diet cola. Though he was only eight, Rohan was under doctor’s orders to strictly control his fat and sugar intake. As he wagged his head in excitement, crumbs sprayed from his mouth and flew across the floor. In the kitchen, Papa Sanjay and Mama Riya banged on pots and crooned like they were in a Bollywood film.

  Nayana tried to shut them all out of her mind. The tenth-grader was instead focusing all her energy on her smartstream, where she had downloaded FateLeaf. The new app was all Nayana’s classmates could seem to talk about lately. It was said to possess the answer to almost any question, thanks to the prescience of India’s greatest fortune tellers.

  The app—its branding and ad campaign made clear—was inspired by the Hindu sage Agastya, who was said to have engraved the past, present, and future lives of all people in Sanskrit onto palm leaves, so-called Nadi leaves, thousands of years ago.

  According to the legend, simply by providing one’s thumbprints and birthdate to a Nadi leaf fortune teller, a person could have their life story foretold from the corresponding leaf. The problem was that many leaves had been lost to meddling colonialists, war, and time. In 2025, a tech company tracked down and scanned all the known Nadi leaves still in circulation. The company used AI to perform deep learning, auto-translation, and analysis of the remaining leaves. The result was the creation of virtual Nadi leaves, stored in the cloud—one for each of the 8.7 billion people on Earth.

  Nayana was not dwelling on the ancient history of the Nadi leaves. She had a more pressing matter on her mind. Users of the FateLeaf app could seek to uncover the wisdom of their Nadi leaf by posing various questions. While her family watched the Ganesh Visarjan celebration on TV, Nayana nervously typed out a question within the app: “Does Sahej like me?” Before she clicked “Send,” a notification popped up indicating that an answer to her question would cost two hundred rupees. Nayana clicked “Submit.”

  Nayana had liked Sahej from the moment his stream first connected in their virtual classroom. Her new classmate didn’t use any filter or AR background. Behind Sahej, hanging on the wall, Nayana could see rows of colorful masks, which, she learned, Sahej had carved and painted himself. On the first day of the new term, the teacher had asked Sahej about the masks, and the new student shyly gave a show-and-tell, explaining how the masks combined Indian gods and spirits with the powers of superheroes.

  Now, in an invitation-only room on her ShareChat, some of Nayana’s classmates were gossiping about Sahej. From the way his room was furnished to the fact that his surname was hidden from public view in school records, these girls were certain Sahej was among the “vulnerable group” that the government mandated make up at least 15 percent of their student body. At private schools across India, such children were practically guaranteed spots and their tuition, books, and uniforms were covered by scholarships. “Fifteen percent” and “vulnerable group” were euphemisms for the Dalits.

  From documentaries she had watched online, Nayana knew about India’s old caste system, which was deeply embedded in Hindu religious and cultural beliefs. A person’s caste had once determined one’s profession, education, spouse—their whole life. At the bottom rung of this system were the Dalits, or, as they were sometimes referred to with derision, “untouchables.” For generations, members of this community were forced to do the dirtiest jobs: cleaning sewers, handling the corpses of dead animals, and tanning leather.

  The constitution of India, ratified in 1950, outlawed discrimination based on caste. But for years following independence, Dalit areas for drinking, dining, residing, and even burial were kept separate from those of groups considered higher in the system. Members of the higher castes might even refuse to be in the same room as the Dalits, even if they were classmates or colleagues.

  In the 2010s, the Indian government sought to correct these injustices by establishing a 15-percent quota for Dalit representation in government positions and in schools. The well-intentioned policy had sparked controversy and even violence. Higher-caste parents complained that such admissions weren’t based on academic performance. They argued that their children were paying the price for previous generations’ sins and that India was just trading one form of inequality for another.

  Despite these pockets of backlash, the government’s efforts seemed to be working. The 200 million descendants of Dalits were integrating into mainstream society. It had become more difficult to recognize their past identity at a glance.

  * * *

  —

  THE GIRLS IN NAYANA’S ShareChat couldn’t stop talking about the new boy in school, Sahej, debating his background—but also whether they would consider going out with him.

  You shallow snobs, Nayana silently huffed.

  For her part, Nayana saw in Sahej a kindred artistic spirit. Inspired by Bharti Kher, Nayana dreamed of becoming a performance artist, and she often had to explain that this was nothing like being a superficial pop entertainer. She believed great artists had to be brutally honest about their innermost feelings and should never accept the perspectives of others. If she liked Sahej, then she liked Sahej—no matter his family background, where he lived, or even his Tamil-accented Hindi.

  The question Nayana had posed to the FateLeaf app seemed to take forever to process. Finally, a notification popped up on
Nayana’s smartstream accompanied by a palm leaf icon: “What a pity! Due to insufficient data provided, FateLeaf cannot currently answer your query.”

  The clink of Nayana’s refund vibrated from her smartstream.

  “Insufficient data!” Nayana silently cursed at the app.

  Annoyed, she finally raised her head from her screen to notice her mother, Riya, putting the finishing touches on dinner. Something was off. In addition to a number of Indian holiday delights, Nayana saw several super-expensive dishes from a Chinese delivery place on the table. Such treats were rare for her penny-pinching father. But there was something even more unusual: Riya was wearing her favorite pure silk Parsi-style sari. She had her hair up and was wearing a complete set of jewelry. Even Nayana’s grandparents seemed different—happier than usual—and for once, her fat brother, Rohan, wasn’t pestering her with all kinds of stupid questions.

  The Ganesh Chaturthi festival couldn’t explain all this.

  “So, is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Nayana said as she stared at the spread on the table.

  “What do you mean, what’s going on?” Riya shot back.

  “Am I the only one who thinks all this is a bit out of the ordinary?”

  Nayana’s parents glanced at each other for a second then burst out laughing.

  “Take a look and tell us what’s different,” Riya said.

  Nayana felt like she was about to lose her mind. “What are you hiding from me?”

  “My sweet little girl, eat first.” Grandmom began to pull apart the naan.