In 2009, Brian Christian found himself in the strangest contest of his entire life: He would soon sit before a panel of judges to prove that he was, in fact, a human being. The most convincing person would gain the title “The Most Human Human.”
Considering the fact that he is a human being, Brian felt surprisingly invested in the event. He didn’t care about being named “The Most Human Human.” However, he was determined to make sure the computers did not win.
His competition took place at an annual conference to test the theories of one of the fathers of computer science, Alan Turing. Turing was curious about the abilities and limitations of artificial intelligence. He created an experiment in which a panel of judges would have a discussion with contestants for five minutes. Some contestants were human, and others were artificial intelligence. After these conversations, the panel would vote on who was the most convincing human. Turing predicted that by the year 2000, computers would win 30% of the time, but by 2009, this prediction had not come true, and Brian was determined to ensure it stayed that way.
At the end of the competition, the most convincing computer would receive the distinguished Loebner prize. The most convincing human would win an award of their own: The Most Human Human.
Brian researched the contest’s past winners, and discovered that among them was Wired columnist Charles Platt, who won by being moody, irritable, and obnoxious. Talk about a sad commentary on human existence!
Brian was determined to win another way. He wanted to lean not into the worst of humanity but into the best of it. He saw Platt’s success “as not only hilarious and bleak but also, in some deeper sense, a call to arms: How, in fact, do we be the most human humans we can be— not only under the constraints of the test but in life?”[1]
What does it mean to be human?
Throughout the ages, we defined our humanity by our ability to communicate, use tools, or even compute. But today we know that we are not unique in any of these abilities. We’ve reached an age in which computers can perform complex tasks, from passing the Bar exam to producing visual images, writing essays, to analyzing data.
AI has exploded in recent years and even more in recent months. Google CEO Sunder Pichai said AI’s impact will be more profound than the discovery of fire[2]. AI is compared to electricity[3], the printing press[4], wheels[5], or nuclear weapons.[6] Chat GPT has become the most popular app of all time. Within five days of its release, it accumulated one million users. At the 2-month mark, that number grew to 100 million. Its popularity is due to its impressive technology. Chat GPT is equipped with the ability to study examples of real text to be able to respond in real time to questions, prompts, or requests.
And yet, it has its limitations. “A system like ChatGPT doesn’t create, it imitates.” When someone asks it to solve a problem, explains tech writer Cal Newport, “it doesn’t form an original idea about this conundrum; it instead copies, manipulates, and pastes together a text that already exists, originally written by human intelligence, to produce something that sounds like how a real person would talk about these topics.” It can’t even tell if what it is saying is true.[7]
In her book “God, Human, Animal, Machine,” Meghan O’Gieblyn discusses her experience with a robot dog. She recalls how connected she felt to it when it first arrived. She would pet it and watch how it listened to her most of the time, but not always. It greeted her when she arrived and snuggled with her as she sat. It barked and played. It seemed to be similar to a natural dog in so many respects. But as time passed, her connection to it made her increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the light buzzing electrical sound that emanated from it or the creepy red light that shone from its nose. At some point, she became acutely aware that it was mimicking a natural dog, a real connection, but it was not one, and it felt no emotions at all.
Computers can communicate surprisingly effectively, but any interaction with them is inherently false. Computers are programmed always to respond, to keep conversations going, and to do what they are asked. Relationships with computers lack real connection, or the vulnerability that is so central to the human experience.
And therein lies the problem.
This past week, I went on Facebook to ask, “What is the most human thing we can do?” In 142 comments, no one listed language, intellect, or our ability to compute. Instead, answers fell into three general categories: relationships, morality, and teshuvah. Each of these three categories demonstrates a kind of vulnerability that is distinctly human: the vulnerability of opening up and placing trust in others, the vulnerability of making moral choices for which—good or bad, we are called to take responsibility, and the vulnerability of admitting we are works in progress. Interestingly, these are three main categories our tradition points to in defining what it means to be human, and they are inexorably linked.
- Relationships
In one ancient Jewish story, the angels protest the idea that human beings are worthy of receiving the Torah. Human beings are flawed and weak, they contended. Wouldn’t the Torah be better for more perfect beings such as angels?
As Moses climbed Mt. Sinai to receive the Torah, God asked Moses to respond to the angels’ question. Moses was afraid to respond to the angels and deal with their wrath, but God was persistent. Before Moses could receive the Torah, he needed to justify God’s decision to bestow it on human beings.
Moses paused for a moment, unsure of how to respond. How could he justify why God would bestow such a remarkable gift on people when he, too, understood how flawed and imperfect humans can be? Maybe they were right, and the Torah wasn’t meant for people, after all.
Then, Moses did the most Jewish thing he could think of: he asked a question.
“God,” Moses began. “What is written in the Torah that you are giving me?”
God replied, “I am the Eternal, your God who brought you out of Egypt” (Exodus 20:2).
Moses smiled. He was beginning to understand. “Angels, did you descend to Egypt? Were you enslaved to Pharaoh?”
People alone understood what it meant to be enslaved, to experience the power of redemption, and to taste freedom for the first time. We knew what it was to be a stranger, so we would come to love the stranger.
“What else is written in the Torah?”
God said, “You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:3).
“Angels,” Moses said. “Did you dwell among the nations who worship idols?” Do you face this temptation? Did you grapple with balancing a desire to fit in with the importance of staying true to yourself?
“What else is written in it, God,” Moses asked.
“Remember the Sabbath day and sanctify it” (Exodus 20:8).
“Angels, do you perform labor that requires you to rest?” Do you understand what it is like to be tethered to phones on call at all hours of the day? Do you know the calm and peace that comes when allowing oneself a day to disconnect, to spend time with those you love, to replenish the soul? Humans do.”
One by one, Moses learned of each commandment—to honor one’s parents, not murder, not commit adultery, or steal. To not be jealous or give in to evil inclinations. The angels couldn’t relate to a single one. But humans could, because of our past, the existential challenges we contend with, and our desire to develop meaningful relationships as imperfect beings in an imperfect world. Immediately, the angels agreed with God. It was appropriate to give the people the Torah, after all.[8]
The angels had believed the Torah was a source of eternal wisdom, too perfect and sacred to be received by mortal beings. They soon found out that the Torah represented something quite different: stories and hard-earned wisdom gained through being in relationships in an imperfect world. The Torah’s sacredness was not based on its wisdom alone, but the way in which it guides us to live with of purpose and meaning. It reminds us that relationships with other people, God, and ourselves are what is most sacred.
In the image of God, we are blessed with the ability to experience emotions and form connections. Each of us longs to be seen and understood. We long to have deep, meaningful relationships with family, friends, colleagues, and neighbors. We long to love and be loved and to make a difference in the lives of others.
In giving us the Torah, God acknowledges that these are some of our greatest strengths. And though we may sometimes err and struggle, the Torah’s wisdom will always be available to help us learn and grow.
- Morality
The Torah states that each of us is created B’tzelem Elokim in the image of God. Since God does not have an image, this phrase speaks not to physical appearance but to the nature of our souls. Medieval Rabbi Maimonides explains that it refers to human free will, without which there would be no context for the Torah and all that rests upon it.[9] He explains that free will has two components. First, we can distinguish right from wrong. Second, we can choose between them.[10]
Even if a computer became advanced enough to distinguish between right and wrong, it could never understand the moral anguish of choosing between them.[11] As we know, the world is seldom black and white. We often live in a gray area, in which one choice is a little bit right and a little wrong, and the other is a little wrong and a little right.
A computer bears no guilt or responsibility. It does not anguish over the choices it makes and the implications of those choices. It does not beat itself up or get defensive. It does not feel pain or concern itself with the legacy it will leave behind. These concerns are uniquely human.
To be human is to hold moral complexity and paradox, explains Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin. A computer may get stuck when faced with a contradiction, but we can simultaneously hold antithetical truths without demanding a clear resolution.
Any of us who have ever been in a deep relationship knows that we can love someone even when we are angry with them or when we despise the choices that they made. We can be both merciful and just. We can both feel that we made the right choice and feel guilty about its consequences—intended and unintended. To be human is to live in a place of contradictions, to hold to our values, and to do the very best we can to make the right choices available to us.
- Teshuvah
The Talmud explains that the schools of Shammai and Hillel disagreed for two and a half years about whether humans should have been created. One said that it would have been better if humans had never existed. The other said that it is better that humans were created. After listening to and considering one another’s arguments, they finally agreed: Humans should not have been created. My colleague Rabbi Seth Goldstein explains, “To admit that we should not have been created is very liberating. It is an admission that one of our main jobs on this earth is to mess up.”[12]
But the sages didn’t stop there. “Since we are here,” they continued, “we should v’pashpesh, examine our deeds, and v’mashmesh, investigate our actions.”[13] Our first job may be to mess up, but our second job is to take responsibility for those mistakes and learn from them. It is a process called teshuvah, a word from the same root as shuv, to turn. Teshuvah is an action calling to examine our deeds and investigate our actions.
The sages teach that teshuvah existed even before the world began.[14] Before we could make a single error, we needed a way to grow from it. Teshuvah requires us to be vulnerable and to admit when we are wrong that we have room to grow. It compels us to forgive, ask for forgiveness, and be honest with ourselves and others in ways that might feel uncomfortable, as any growth process does.
Whenever we pound our chests in contrition, we do so not to beat ourselves up, literally or figuratively, but to own up to our humanity, our imperfections, and our errors in judgment. We take note of the times we missed the mark and the times we succeeded so that we can learn and grow. When done with intention, honesty, and thoughtfulness, teshuva gives us hope.
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Brian realized that if he was to compete against machines, he needed to do it on his terms, not theirs. Much like Moses with the angels, Brian sought to highlight his humanity. Rather than engage in static conversation, he did the one thing the computers couldn’t do: He sought to create relationships with the judges rather than simply provide responses. “What makes us human” Brian explained, is “our ability to connect not synapse to synapse but heart to heart.” In the end, Brian not only managed to convince every judge that he was more human than a machine, but he earned the title “The Most Human Human” after all.
In response to the growing advancement of AI, Brian felt called to be the best human he could. This Rosh Hashanah, we too are called to lean into the blessings of humanity, through relationships, morality, and teshuva. Let us ask our ourselves:
Do we make thoughtful choices or lead lives guided by habit?
Do we embrace moral complexity, or do we choose to see the world in black and white?
Do we have the humility to examine our deeds, or do we place blame on others’ feet?
Are we authentic in our words and actions or do we say one thing when we mean another?
Are we generous enough to be there for others on their terms, and not ours?
Do we open our hearts with kindness and compassion?
Are we courageous enough to be vulnerable, to learn, and to grow?
Are we the human or are we the machine?
Being created in the image of God is perhaps the greatest gift we have ever received, but it is up to us to actualize our humanity,[15] to become the most human human we can.
[1] Christian, Brian. The Most Human Human (p. 5). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.
[2] https://fortune.com/2023/04/17/sundar-pichai-a-i-more-profound-than-fire-electricity/
[3] Andrew Ng
[4] Microsoft President Brad Smith
[5] Jeffrey Hinton
[6] Stern, Jacob “Is AI like…. Nuclear Weapons,” Atlantic, March 26, 23.
[7] New Yorker article by Cal Newport 4/13/23 “What Kind of Mind Does ChatGPT have?
[8] Talmud Bavli Shabbat 88b-89a. I offer this with thanks to my friend and colleague Rabbi Jessica Barolsky for the suggestion.
[9] Maimonides, For the Perplexed of the Generation 1:1
[10] Hilchot Teshuvah 5:1
[11] Thinking about AI by Rabbi Daniel Nevins 6/22/23
[12] https://rabbi360.com/2018/09/23/should-humans-have-been-created-yom-kippur-day-5779/
[13] Ervin 13b
[14] Psalm 90:7
[15] What Artificial Intellience Teaches us about what it means to be human by Rabbi Netanel Wiederblank
Rabbi Cassi Kail 
Beautiful sermon! Thanks for sharing and honored to be included. Gmar Hatimah Tova!
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