What does It mean to be human
What does being human mean to you? This question came up recently when a friend shared a thought-provoking post about Elon Musk and the collective dis-trust…our maybe distaste some people seem to have for him. Intrigued, I dove into the comments, eager to see the various perspectives. One comment stood out to me—paraphrased loosely—it expressed discontent with Musk's perceived lack of humanity and empathy, citing examples like his unconventional choice to name his children with symbols and numbers, which the commentator felt indicated a sense of detachment.
This observation stuck with me as I was reading about recent advancements in artificial intelligence and platforms like ChatGPT. As we rapidly embrace these new technologies, it feels as though we might also be drifting away from the very qualities that define our humanity. Perhaps this is why many feel unsettled by figures like Elon Musk (this is not meant to be a discussion about him but to simply use him as an example to encourage thought); he exemplifies our discomfort with losing our identity, our humanity…and turning into mere numbers or symbols, much like the technology we create.
When I asked ChatGPT, "What does it mean to be human?" it responded with: "Being human encompasses a rich tapestry of experiences, emotions, and characteristics that distinguish us as a species." It highlighted ten essential elements, including consciousness, emotional depth, social connections, and empathy. While I won’t argue with the description of our rich human tapestry, I think the core sentiment is clear: We want to be seen, heard, and feel safe.
I have presented this statement at the beginning of every presentation for the last 10 years. . It turns out that not only do kids want to be seen and heard…so do adults. We all desire recognition; we refuse to be reduced to mere numbers or symbols within a large group. I vividly remember a friend from college who attended Auburn University. He lamented about his core classes, often overflowing with students—one math class had more than 100 participants. He confided, “I’m just a number. Number 62 in the class. The teacher doesn’t even know me.” This left him feeling lost in the crowd, invisible. In contrast, it made me grateful for my experience at Troy University, where classes were small and personalized made all the difference; my professors knew my name and a bit about my story. I felt seen, I felt heard.
As technology continues to advance, we’re inundated with discussions about AI and its potential to replace jobs that once required human touch and creativity. This advancement raises a pressing question: When will we grow weary of feeling obsolete and start to reclaim our humanity? My concern is that we might be approaching this tipping point far too quickly. There’s a growing sentiment that humans are becoming increasingly irrelevant in a world dominated by technology—AI, bots, and digital solutions beginning to overshadow human significance. We have created a rapidly expanding system that will cook for us, clean for us, drive for us, think for us. It begs the questions are these tools liberating us to connect with others more deeply, or are they isolating us further? As we integrate technology into our lives, we need to ask ourselves: At what point do WE become mere statistics in a dataset? At what point are we, as humans, the minority? At what point do we become just a number or a symbol? At what point do we lose our humanness and at what cost?