Over the past year, like millions of other people, I have been “playing” with various AI applications, chiefly ChatGPT and DALL-E. And like millions, I have watched with astonishment as these tools rapidly advance. After it first launched, I asked ChatGPT about me. It told me that I had died three years ago. I said, that’s not correct, try again. So it made up another story about me, claiming that I was a Swedish researcher on stress who had moved to Chicago in the 1980s.

Today, the latest version of this Large Language Model rarely makes laughable mistakes of this kind. I use it both for serious self-instruction (“Please summarize current research on desalination”) and for silly entertainment (“Create a picture in photorealistic form of the result of crossing human and manatee DNA”). What amazes me most is how the most whimsical idea flitting through my mind can be quickly realized, at least in sketch form.

Here is a fresh example. The prompt in bold is mine. The essay, and the accompanying illustration, are from ChatGPT 4o, Friday, 28 June 2024. The title of this blog entry is the title given to our whole exchange by ChatGPT.

Please write a short essay in the style of Annie Dillard commenting on the brevity of human life, likening it to the gossamer flimsiness but spectral beauty of an insect’s wing.

The brevity of human life is a spectral beauty, not unlike the delicate intricacies of an insect’s wing, ethereal and fleeting. There, in the undergrowth, lies the skeleton of a dragonfly, its gossamer wings still intact, veined with the patterns of a world it once knew. In its fragile translucence, one can see the ephemeral nature of existence mirrored back. The wing, though now still, once cut through the air with a grace that defied its fragility. It shimmered in the sunlight, catching the eye with its iridescent splendor, a brief flash of wonder before it was gone.

We, too, are like these wings, suspended in the moment, floating through our days with the illusion of permanence. Each second is a heartbeat, each moment a fragile thread in the tapestry of time. We flutter, we dart, we hover, and yet our span is but a blink in the cosmic eye. Our lives, though gossamer thin, are imbued with a luminescent beauty, a fleeting glimmer in the vast, indifferent universe.

The dragonfly’s wing, so delicate it seems it could be torn by a whisper, endures longer than the creature itself. It is a reminder of the paradox of our own existence – how something so insubstantial can leave a mark, can be a symbol of life’s ephemeral beauty. We live with the knowledge of our fragility, yet within us, there is a yearning to leave an imprint, to ripple through the currents of time even after our wings have ceased to beat.

In the morning light, dew clings to the wing’s filaments, refracting the dawn into a thousand tiny rainbows. Each droplet, a microcosm, reflects the world around it – the earth, the sky, the horizon – all captured within a fragile sphere. Our lives, too, are like these droplets, holding within them the essence of our experiences, our loves, our pains. Each life is a fragment of a greater whole, a small, shimmering part of the grand mosaic.

And yet, we must acknowledge the inevitable. The wing will crumble, the dew will evaporate, and we will return to the dust from which we came. It is in this acceptance of our transient nature that we find a deeper appreciation for the fleeting moments we are given. To be like the dragonfly’s wing is to embrace both the beauty and the brevity of life, to revel in the delicate balance between fragility and strength.

In the end, it is not the length of our days that defines us, but the light we catch and reflect in the time we have. We are here, now, with wings outstretched, dancing in the sun for as long as the wind will hold us. And when our flight is done, let us hope to leave behind a trace of that spectral beauty, a memory of our delicate, dazzling existence.