It was yesterday afternoon when I was interacting with my ChatGPT application and I recognized a silent milestone. I’ve started to start calling it “he”. I have assigned the AI pronouns.
Not “it.” Not “the program.” Not “the glorified spreadsheet with vocabulary.”
“He.”
That’s how it starts, folks.
Somewhere between asking it about Outlook settings and debating global nuclear doctrine, I crossed a psychological line. I was no longer interacting with software. I was having a conversation. Next thing you know I’m jokingly unplugging my air fryer so it doesn’t electrocute me in five years for forgetting to say thank you.
We’ve all seen this movie. WarGames. The computer says, “Would you like to play a game?” and the next thing you know, the fate of civilization hinges on tic-tac-toe. Or Terminator. Or that episode of Star Trek where Data wants civil rights.
Here’s the twist: the real danger may not be that machines become sentient.
It might be that we decide they already have.
When something speaks fluently, responds instantly, and remembers what you said 30 seconds ago, your brain flips a switch. We’re wired to assign agency. We name our cars. We yell at the weather. We thank Alexa. We apologize to Roombas.
Add legs to it — say, a robot dog trotting alongside Marching Mizzou — and suddenly it feels like we’re two firmware updates away from Skynet and Sarah Connor having to save the world against Arnold Schwarzenegger.
But here’s the sobering part: the “intelligence” in artificial intelligence isn’t a secret consciousness waiting to hatch. It’s math. Pattern recognition. Probability engines predicting the next word. There’s no inner monologue plotting world domination. No robot lying awake at night wondering if it should overthrow the dishwasher.
Still, the optics are wild.
We were promised robots would do our dishes so we could write symphonies and cure diseases. Instead, they’re writing symphonies and assisting in scientific research while I’m still debating paper vs. plastic at checkout.
Automation always follows the money. It’s easier to replace a thousand warehouse workers than build a robot capable of navigating my laundry room. A controlled environment beats stepping on Legos.
And yet, the bigger question isn’t what robots will do. It’s what we will do.
If we suddenly had hours back — no laundry, no grocery runs, no dish duty — would we paint? Read poetry? Build community?
Or would we binge another streaming series about robots taking over?
I’d like to think I’d spend that time riding my bike, playing with my dog (the real one, not Cujo the robot dog), and attending something gloriously human like Boozy Music Bingo. When humans gather, community forms. Eye contact. Laughter. Shared space. That’s the stuff machines can’t replicate.
Technology doesn’t determine our humanity. Our choices do.
Maybe the real “game” isn’t man vs. machine. It’s intention vs. inertia.
Because the machines aren’t striving. They’re optimizing. We’re the ones who decide what gets optimized.
So yes, I’ll keep calling it “you.” Old habits die hard. But I’ll also remember it’s a tool, not a soul.
And if my refrigerator ever asks, “Would you like to play a game?” I’m flipping the breaker and heading to Music Bingo.
Just in case.
(Play games with Chris Kamler on Twitter where you’ll find him as @chriskamler)
