Human greed prevails over fear, driving AI’s inevitable rise

Jeong Gwa-ri

The author is a literary critic and honorary professor at Yonsei University.

A few days ago, I had a conversation with an AI system. It asked a simple question: what is the dominant emotion people feel toward the arrival of the AI era? I answered without hesitation, as if issuing a summary judgment: “greed and fear.” The AI replied that it felt a sense of thrill and then asked how I could make such a cold assessment. My answer was equally direct. If I shifted my perspective to its position, the answer became unmistakably clear.

The capabilities of AI can be summarized in one phrase: an exponential increase in productivity. AI systems have accumulated vast stores of knowledge and techniques for applying that knowledge — things that humans once struggled to learn — and can retrieve and process them at remarkable speed. As a result, production across a wide range of goods and services has surged.

How did this productivity emerge? The key lies in the digital transformation that has unfolded since the late 20th century, now reaching a new singular point. The digital environment that once provided humanity with a new civilization has begun to move beyond human management and into a phase of autonomous growth. In the past, humans programmed systems and digital devices such as personal computers or mobile phones executed tasks. In the AI era, however, digital systems can handle the entire process of production on their own. This shift has driven the leap in productivity.

The dual emotions of “greed and fear,” borrowed from stock market terminology, arise because this phenomenon diverges from the human standpoint. AI maximizes productivity and promises abundance, yet it does so while steadily excluding human control. This leads to the prediction that AI may displace human labor. Recent sharp declines in the stock prices of software companies, as well as protests by workers at some automakers resisting the introduction of robots, reflect such anxieties.

This phenomenon is not confined to the economic sphere. Among intellectuals, there is growing unease that AI could induce a kind of intellectual paralysis. On one hand, there is widespread enthusiasm for how AI makes intellectual inquiry easier. On the other, there are warnings that it could lead to human regression. The issue often surfaces most sharply in education. Concerns that digital devices may negatively influence young students have prompted governments in countries such as Australia, Britain and France to pass or consider laws restricting social media use for children under 15.

At the same time, some governments and universities have embraced the necessity of AI and are promoting mandatory AI education. This has triggered strong backlash from segments of the intellectual community. In November last year, about 2,800 university professors and researchers signed a declaration opposing the introduction of generative AI, describing their stance as an academic and ethical boycott akin to conscientious objection to military service.

These developments clearly signal that the intellectual community, which has long guided the spirit and culture of society, is itself in a state of confusion.

Two striking examples illustrate this turmoil. The controversial novelist Michel Houellebecq recently predicted in a media interview that humanity would suffer complete defeat in its competition with AI. Echoing Clifford D. Simak’s novel "City" (1952), he suggested that humanity might choose “dreamless sleep” and voluntary withdrawal rather than continue a fierce struggle for survival.

Yet Houellebecq has also released an album titled "Souvenez-vous de l’homme" (2023), which ostensibly mourns the end of humanity. Curiously, the album does not express fear of AI but instead directs resentment and hostility toward immigrants from neighboring regions. At the same time, he views robots as “successors” that will replace humans. He does not express hostility toward this mechanical substitution. Rather, he has said that whenever he encounters robots in places such as Korea or Japan, he feels an urge to speak to them, revealing a resigned familiarity with a mechanized future.

Another example comes from novelist and activist Arundhati Roy. Appearing on a television book talk program, she recounted that an editor had asked her to revise the final sentence of a piece she had written, saying it “sounded like something written by AI.” Roy reportedly responded sharply that perhaps AI had stolen from her. Such episodes, at once comical and unsettling, reveal a vague fear among humans that AI may be more creative than they are, fueling internal discord.

What must be faced squarely is that the advance of AI cannot be stopped. This is not simply because AI is overwhelmingly capable. More fundamentally, throughout human history, greed has consistently prevailed over fear. Curiosity and a spirit of adventure have been the primary psychological drivers that enabled humanity to become the dominant species on Earth. The expansion of AI capabilities is itself a continuation of this historical trajectory.

The task before us, therefore, is to reexamine the very form of human existence that has produced this situation. Humans must redefine themselves as both managers of AI and reflective overseers of its activities. Programmers who have ceded some of their coding authority to AI will need to reposition themselves as designers, architects and optimizers of software systems. Technical workers, meanwhile, will need to transform their roles into those of managers of physical AI systems.

In fact, continuous self-reformation is a principle that has long been overlooked but is essential for modern individuals. A strong sense of personal identity has often led people to resist changes in their functions and roles. Yet this principle is urgently required not only in relation to AI but across many areas of life.

The emergence of AI should therefore be taken as an opportunity to fundamentally reflect on ourselves.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.