Why are we not talking to one another?

{"text":[[{"start":null,"text":"

"}],[{"start":4.9,"text":"During the past couple of months, I have learnt of a practice that apparently has been growing in popularity for some time. In the course of a casual conversation with someone at a recent gathering, they mentioned having consulted a chatbot for guidance on a personal relationship problem. Because my own head is mostly in the clouds, meaning I am very often the last to hear of anything culturally popular or on the rise, I did a bit of a double-take, looked at her with confusion and said: “You asked a machine about your personal life?” I was literally stunned. I had never heard anyone tell me something like that before. She tactfully ignored my ignorance and went on to explain how helpful the experience had been. "}],[{"start":45.8,"text":"I think it is true that once something has entered your field of awareness it becomes more likely you will encounter it. Certainly, in the weeks that followed, I began meeting people who also began dropping into conversation references to their regular sessions with chatbots about a range of personal problems. I don’t think I had much space to pass judgment because I was still trying to wrap my mind around how it could work to receive advice about one’s unique personal experiences from artificial intelligence. But I did wonder how it could possibly be a good idea. "}],[{"start":78.65,"text":"After a while, curiosity got the best of me. I tried it. I asked a chatbot about a personal problem, and we proceeded to “have a conversation”. The program’s “advice” actually made a lot of sense to me but rather than finding the exchange helpful it left me feeling terrified. I could see, I could experience, just how quickly and almost imperceptibly this engagement could develop from mere curiosity to heavier dependence and even addiction. The myth of Pandora’s box flitted across my mind. I have not been able to stop thinking about this experience, and it has led me to wonder why people are conversing with AI about deeply personal concerns — why are we not talking to one another instead?"}],[{"start":121.7,"text":"The 20th-century American painter Edward Hopper is renowned for his depictions of isolated figures in everyday domestic and public spaces. In the 1926 work “Sunday” a lone man sits on the curb of a deserted street. His shoulders are hunched and his arms rest heavily on his knees as he looks down at the pavement. There is an air of dejection to him. The painting’s title seems to emphasise the figure being alone, both physically and existentially. Traditionally, Sunday is the day of the week reserved for church, family or leisure, none of which appears to play a part in this man’s life. Rather, we are presented with someone seemingly without any communal connections. "}],[{"start":164.4,"text":"The painting is 100 years old this year and yet I feel like it speaks to our contemporary times. It made me think not just about our ongoing need to have people in our lives with whom we can share the ups and downs but also about what the then US Surgeon General Vivek Murthy in 2023 called an “epidemic of loneliness” in America. I suspect that many people around the world feel deep bouts of loneliness in their daily lives, even if they have family, partners or a social circle. Though the painting is of a man alone, loneliness is often more about feeling disconnected or insufficiently heard than it is about proximity to other people. Hopper’s painting was made in the years preceding the Great Depression, a time of uncertainty and disillusionment that, one could argue, shared some similarities with the present day. I’m unable to look at this painting without seeing somewhere in my mind’s eye Hopper’s other works. A city, a house, an office, though perhaps teeming with people, is also full of singular people who feel alone."}],[{"start":226.15,"text":"I was quietly moved by Ernest Biéler’s 1898 painting “Confidence à l’Abri du Bois” the first time I saw it several years ago. Two women dressed in white sit close together on the grass with an expansive landscape of hills and fields behind them. As viewers we almost feel like we are sitting close to them. In a landscape empty of other people, these women are at liberty to share whatever they wish with each other, and it is as though their sharing has created a kind of sanctuary space within the semi-circle of trees. I love that their dresses billow out and almost seem to merge at the shoulders and towards the hemlines. I like to read this as a metaphor for how the practice of confiding in one another can help us feel more connected and deeply understood. For as long as I have known it this serene yet vibrant painting has seemed to me a beautiful glimpse of the possibilities of shared emotional intimacy. "}],[{"start":null,"text":""}],[{"start":284.2,"text":"In a moment of reflection at the start of the year I had the clear sense that I wanted to be more intentional about sharing life’s journey in the months ahead. One of my friends seemed to rise up in my heart and my mind and I immediately felt joy at the thought of the two of us sharing more with one another. I’ve known this particular friend for years and years, although we have found ourselves distant from one another’s lives at various points. Ours is a friendship that, when active, has always been a source of genuine and compassionate companionship. Without much further thought I sent her a message asking if she felt like scheduling a regular-ish chat for the next few months. She replied without hesitation and with a firm “yes”. "}],[{"start":326.55,"text":"We live in two different countries with a six-hour time difference but we have a consistent hour set aside a couple of times each month. No multitasking. Just our tea or coffee and our presence to one another on the phone. Even when I do not feel up for a chat, because I’m moody or tired or feeling down, it always helps to connect with her, to share whatever I am carrying and to help carry whatever she feels the need to share. We’ve been chatting regularly since January and it has been one of the best things I’ve done in a long time. It has reminded me that we need to smooth the edges of life’s challenges through steady interaction with one another, like water over a rock."}],[{"start":365.95,"text":"In the 2024 painting “Silent Reflection” by Ukraine-born artist Aliya Abs, a faceless woman is shown reclining on a bench alongside several multicoloured cushions. She rests her head on her left palm, and her body is cloaked in a blanket with pastel-coloured geometric patterns on it. Even though there are no facial features, the figure has an aura of solitude rather than loneliness, a feeling of a chosen state of being that may be nourishing, or even sacred. The presence of the blanket and cushions makes it seem like an atmosphere of intentional comfort, space made for herself. I appreciate the title of the work because it suggests to me a recognition that solitude and reflection can be valuable ways of building or deepening a necessary relationship to ourselves. "}],[{"start":null,"text":""}],[{"start":413.09999999999997,"text":"It is not always easy to choose to seek solitude because it can open up spaces for thoughts and feelings that we may not wish to confront. Yet it is often after I have taken time to reflect for myself on what is happening in my own life that I can be more present to others. Taking the time to pause and listen to our own interior lives may make us more discerning about the counsel we seek and the wisdom or advice to which we listen, or even offer. I am still not 100 per cent sure what I think about the growing practice of engaging technology for seemingly therapeutic purposes. But I feel certain that the vitality of human exchanges, and the compassion they engender, will always provide more nourishment for our shared humanity than anything technology could offer."}],[{"start":462.75,"text":""}]],"url":"https://audio.ftcn.net.cn/album/a_1781940000_9066.mp3"}