ChatGPT4o, AI, and The Tower of Babel
A spiritual take on this week's AI advancements
I work at a Catholic school. Though I was raised Catholic and believe in God, I don't strictly follow a particular faith and would probably even fall into the category of “lapsed.” Over time, I have found valuable lessons in various religions and developed my spirituality, like many, through diverse experiences. However, my Catholic upbringing remains central, shaping my morals and ethics.
One story from my upbringing came to mind yesterday when OpenAI released ChatGPT4o and all its new features, especially the language translation. By now you’ve likely seen the video, but if not, here it is. The voice translation feature could change how we communicate across languages, races, and cultures.
This made me think of the Biblical parable of the Tower of Babel. I'm not a theologian, but I asked a Catholic monk to check this story. Here's how I understand it:
In Genesis, the Babylonians wanted to build a great city with a tower that reached the heavens. God disrupted their plans by confusing their language, so they couldn't understand each other. The city was never completed, and the people were scattered across the earth.
This story is meant to explain why we have different languages. It's also why we say someone "babbles" when they don't make sense. God mixed up our languages to humble us, reminding us that we can't reach heaven by our own efforts.
This parable can be interpreted in various ways. For our discussion, the most relevant analysis examines the appropriateness of humans striving beyond their limits. It also explores the tension between human ambition and respect for divine authority.
Now, think about this new AI technology. What happens when there are no language barriers? Many people believe this is positive—imagine what we could achieve if we could all communicate without problems, they say. Perhaps it could even end conflicts between countries…
But isn't this like trying to build a Tower to Heaven again?
I've mostly avoided the deep, philosophical discussions about AI because it's beyond my control. AI will be a significant part of society, whether I like it or not. Instead of debating if AI is good or bad, I focus on how we react to it. This mindset, inspired by stoic acceptance and the urging of Geoffrey Hinton, helps me cope.
However, the recent release of ChatGPT-4 has me thinking deeply again. Ethan Mollick says you need "three sleepless nights" to fully grasp AI's impact. I'm already at four, and I don't see it stopping.
How many sleepless nights will GPT-5 bring?
Frustration and Humility in the Learning Process
In the summer of 2019, I traveled to the Tibetan village of Ritoma in Western China to coach a semi-professional basketball team. This team was composed of nomadic Tibetan men employed by the high-end clothing company Norlha Atelier. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.
For a month, I practiced with Dugya Bum and Chuchon Jyap, the two full-time players on the team. During the offseason, they worked for the clothing company and no longer lived as nomads. But for the first week, we traveled with five other "hired guns" to the city of Luqu in Western China. There, they played in a local cash tournament that was broadcast online across the country.
I attempted to coach them. This story deserves its own blog – or even a book – but it resurfaced in my mind last night while laying in bed and watching ChatGPT4o effortlessly translate English into Italian on the fly.
I couldn’t help but remember how intensely I struggled that first week in China while in Luqu for the tournament. Of the seven players I was supposed to coach, only one spoke a bit of English. I had planned to use cell phone translation apps to cross the language divide where necessary, but that plan was dismantled when I found out that six of the players spoke only Tibetan – not Chinese – which did not exist as an option on any of the translation apps I had downloaded ahead of the trip.
Fortunately, one player spoke Mandarin. He became my main point of contact for that week. We handed my phone back and forth to communicate. For the rest of the time, I relied on hand motions, facial expressions, and speaking English to Dugya Bum, who could understand me but only spoke in broken English.
This experience was incredibly humbling. I had left JFK airport in New York City expecting to arrive in Tibet as a paragon of basketball skill and knowledge. I thought the players would be grateful for my volunteer time, and that I would lead them to victory in the tournament.
Instead, we fumbled through interactions and never made it out of the group stage. Later, the proprietor of the team – the owner of Norlha Atelier – asked me, "So...what happened?" in confusion. The team usually placed in the top three of each tournament, bringing home a cash prize that supported the team's continued existence and growth.
The humbling experience was not just due to my inability to communicate but also my pride. I was so convinced of my own value -- and so unaware of my flaws -- that I missed the glaring gaps in my approach. I spent so much time frustrated by my inability to make my experience match my the picture I had created in my imagination that I missed the beauty and joy of the reality in front of me.
Pride does come before the fall. It was only after enduring prolonged periods of solitude—between our games—and experiencing a condensed version of "the dark night of the soul" that I found a renewed sense of purpose to make a meaningful contribution. If my dreams weren't going to be realized, perhaps I could carve out a role for myself in this challenging reality where I could be an additive force.
It wasn’t easy, but I did find that joy. I learned to step back where I wasn’t needed, took opportunities to help where possible, and ultimately found a way to bond with the team through the confusion of the language barrier.
Everything about this experience exhausted me, and that’s what made it so great. I wonder, with AI making communication easier, what will happen to this kind of discomfort? Is it better for things to be easy?
The Disappearance of Languages
Is this a good thing? If future technology lets us wear earbuds that translate languages instantly, will we still need to learn new languages? I remember when Spanish was considered "the language of the future." My grandmother, a French teacher for thirty years, spent a week living in Mexico with a host family as an adult in the 1980’s to become fluent in Spanish for that exact reason.
Now, what is the language of the future? Is language itself becoming less important? If I want my child to be bilingual, could I use an earbud to translate as I speak English, helping them learn Chinese at the same time? What happens when my teenager curses at me in Mandarin ten years later, and I have no idea what they just said?
Many educators believe that some struggle is essential in learning. Thoughtful blogs about the need for “friction” in the learning process have popped up here, here, and here (and more). This is a good thing and should continue; educators need the language to explain why critical thinking and analysis are vital. They need a lens through which to explain the need for the conservation of friction in the learning process.
I think the key to preserving challenge and resistance in the classroom lies in the interactions with AI themselves. We need to focus on teaching each student to engage critically with AI and making thoughtful interaction part of the learning process — rather than working around AI on the whole. By monitoring, evaluating, and grading these interactions, we can keep the necessary learning and critical thinking challenges in place to help our kids and society progress. Otherwise, we risk becoming mindless drones asking AI to do everything for us, perhaps even building a faulty tower to the sky once again, only to be struck down by a power vaster than anything we – or AI – could imagine.