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Rampant AI Cheating Is Ruining Education Alarmingly Fast

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Illustration: New York Magazine

Chungin “Roy” Lee stepped onto Columbia University’s campus this past fall and, by his own admission, proceeded to use generative artificial intelligence to cheat on nearly every assignment. As a computer-science major, he depended on AI for his introductory programming classes: “I’d just dump the prompt into ChatGPT and hand in whatever it spat out.” By his rough math, AI wrote 80 percent of every essay he turned in. “At the end, I’d put on the finishing touches. I’d just insert 20 percent of my humanity, my voice, into it,” Lee told me recently.

Lee was born in South Korea and grew up outside Atlanta, where his parents run a college-prep consulting business. He said he was admitted to Harvard early in his senior year of high school, but the university rescinded its offer after he was suspended for sneaking out during an overnight field trip before graduation. A year later, he applied to 26 schools; he didn’t get into any of them. So he spent the next year at a community college, before transferring to Columbia. (His personal essay, which turned his winding road to higher education into a parable for his ambition to build companies, was written with help from ChatGPT.) When he started at Columbia as a sophomore this past September, he didn’t worry much about academics or his GPA. “Most assignments in college are not relevant,” he told me. “They’re hackable by AI, and I just had no interest in doing them.” While other new students fretted over the university’s rigorous core curriculum, described by the school as “intellectually expansive” and “personally transformative,” Lee used AI to breeze through with minimal effort. When I asked him why he had gone through so much trouble to get to an Ivy League university only to off-load all of the learning to a robot, he said, “It’s the best place to meet your co-founder and your wife.”

By the end of his first semester, Lee checked off one of those boxes. He met a co-founder, Neel Shanmugam, a junior in the school of engineering, and together they developed a series of potential start-ups: a dating app just for Columbia students, a sales tool for liquor distributors, and a note-taking app. None of them took off. Then Lee had an idea. As a coder, he had spent some 600 miserable hours on LeetCode, a training platform that prepares coders to answer the algorithmic riddles tech companies ask job and internship candidates during interviews. Lee, like many young developers, found the riddles tedious and mostly irrelevant to the work coders might actually do on the job. What was the point? What if they built a program that hid AI from browsers during remote job interviews so that interviewees could cheat their way through instead?

In February, Lee and Shanmugam launched a tool that did just that. Interview Coder’s website featured a banner that read F*CK LEETCODE. Lee posted a video of himself on YouTube using it to cheat his way through an internship interview with Amazon. (He actually got the internship, but turned it down.) A month later, Lee was called into Columbia’s academic-integrity office. The school put him on disciplinary probation after a committee found him guilty of “advertising a link to a cheating tool” and “providing students with the knowledge to access this tool and use it how they see fit,” according to the committee’s report.

Lee thought it absurd that Columbia, which had a partnership with ChatGPT’s parent company, OpenAI, would punish him for innovating with AI. Although Columbia’s policy on AI is similar to that of many other universities’ — students are prohibited from using it unless their professor explicitly permits them to do so, either on a class-by-class or case-by-case basis — Lee said he doesn’t know a single student at the school who isn’t using AI to cheat. To be clear, Lee doesn’t think this is a bad thing. “I think we are years — or months, probably — away from a world where nobody thinks using AI for homework is considered cheating,” he said.

In January 2023, just two months after OpenAI launched ChatGPT, a survey of 1,000 college students found that nearly 90 percent of them had used the chatbot to help with homework assignments. In its first year of existence, ChatGPT’s total monthly visits steadily increased month-over-month until June, when schools let out for the summer. (That wasn’t an anomaly: Traffic dipped again over the summer in 2024.) Professors and teaching assistants increasingly found themselves staring at essays filled with clunky, robotic phrasing that, though grammatically flawless, didn’t sound quite like a college student — or even a human. Two and a half years later, students at large state schools, the Ivies, liberal-arts schools in New England, universities abroad, professional schools, and community colleges are relying on AI to ease their way through every facet of their education. Generative-AI chatbots — ChatGPT but also Google’s Gemini, Anthropic’s Claude, Microsoft’s Copilot, and others — take their notes during class, devise their study guides and practice tests, summarize novels and textbooks, and brainstorm, outline, and draft their essays. STEM students are using AI to automate their research and data analyses and to sail through dense coding and debugging assignments. “College is just how well I can use ChatGPT at this point,” a student in Utah recently captioned a video of herself copy-and-pasting a chapter from her Genocide and Mass Atrocity textbook into ChatGPT.

Sarah, a freshman at Wilfrid Laurier University in Ontario, said she first used ChatGPT to cheat during the spring semester of her final year of high school. (Sarah’s name, like those of other current students in this article, has been changed for privacy.) After getting acquainted with the chatbot, Sarah used it for all her classes: Indigenous studies, law, English, and a “hippie farming class” called Green Industries. “My grades were amazing,” she said. “It changed my life.” Sarah continued to use AI when she started college this past fall. Why wouldn’t she? Rarely did she sit in class and not see other students’ laptops open to ChatGPT. Toward the end of the semester, she began to think she might be dependent on the website. She already considered herself addicted to TikTok, Instagram, Snapchat, and Reddit, where she writes under the username maybeimnotsmart. “I spend so much time on TikTok,” she said. “Hours and hours, until my eyes start hurting, which makes it hard to plan and do my schoolwork. With ChatGPT, I can write an essay in two hours that normally takes 12.”

Teachers have tried AI-proofing assignments, returning to Blue Books or switching to oral exams. Brian Patrick Green, a tech-ethics scholar at Santa Clara University, immediately stopped assigning essays after he tried ChatGPT for the first time. Less than three months later, teaching a course called Ethics and Artificial Intelligence, he figured a low-stakes reading reflection would be safe — surely no one would dare use ChatGPT to write something personal. But one of his students turned in a reflection with robotic language and awkward phrasing that Green knew was AI-generated. A philosophy professor across the country at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock caught students in her Ethics and Technology class using AI to respond to the prompt “Briefly introduce yourself and say what you’re hoping to get out of this class.”

It isn’t as if cheating is new. But now, as one student put it, “the ceiling has been blown off.” Who could resist a tool that makes every assignment easier with seemingly no consequences? After spending the better part of the past two years grading AI-generated papers, Troy Jollimore, a poet, philosopher, and Cal State Chico ethics professor, has concerns. “Massive numbers of students are going to emerge from university with degrees, and into the workforce, who are essentially illiterate,” he said. “Both in the literal sense and in the sense of being historically illiterate and having no knowledge of their own culture, much less anyone else’s.” That future may arrive sooner than expected when you consider what a short window college really is. Already, roughly half of all undergrads have never experienced college without easy access to generative AI. “We’re talking about an entire generation of learning perhaps significantly undermined here,” said Green, the Santa Clara tech ethicist. “It’s short-circuiting the learning process, and it’s happening fast.”

Before OpenAI released ChatGPT in November 2022, cheating had already reached a sort of zenith. At the time, many college students had finished high school remotely, largely unsupervised, and with access to tools like Chegg and Course Hero. These companies advertised themselves as vast online libraries of textbooks and course materials but, in reality, were cheating multi-tools. For $15.95 a month, Chegg promised answers to homework questions in as little as 30 minutes, 24/7, from the 150,000 experts with advanced degrees it employed, mostly in India. When ChatGPT launched, students were primed for a tool that was faster, more capable.

But school administrators were stymied. There would be no way to enforce an all-out ChatGPT ban, so most adopted an ad hoc approach, leaving it up to professors to decide whether to allow students to use AI. Some universities welcomed it, partnering with developers, rolling out their own chatbots to help students register for classes, or launching new classes, certificate programs, and majors focused on generative AI. But regulation remained difficult. How much AI help was acceptable? Should students be able to have a dialogue with AI to get ideas but not ask it to write the actual sentences?

These days, professors will often state their policy on their syllabi — allowing AI, for example, as long as students cite it as if it were any other source, or permitting it for conceptual help only, or requiring students to provide receipts of their dialogue with a chatbot. Students often interpret those instructions as guidelines rather than hard rules. Sometimes they will cheat on their homework without even knowing — or knowing exactly how much — they are violating university policy when they ask a chatbot to clean up a draft or find a relevant study to cite. Wendy, a freshman finance major at one of the city’s top universities, told me that she is against using AI. Or, she clarified, “I’m against copy-and-pasting. I’m against cheating and plagiarism. All of that. It’s against the student handbook.” Then she described, step-by-step, how on a recent Friday at 8 a.m., she called up an AI platform to help her write a four-to-five-page essay due two hours later.

Whenever Wendy uses AI to write an essay (which is to say, whenever she writes an essay), she follows three steps. Step one: “I say, ‘I’m a first-year college student. I’m taking this English class.’” Otherwise, Wendy said, “it will give you a very advanced, very complicated writing style, and you don’t want that.” Step two: Wendy provides some background on the class she’s taking before copy-and-pasting her professor’s instructions into the chatbot. Step three: “Then I ask, ‘According to the prompt, can you please provide me an outline or an organization to give me a structure so that I can follow and write my essay?’ It then gives me an outline, introduction, topic sentences, paragraph one, paragraph two, paragraph three.” Sometimes, Wendy asks for a bullet list of ideas to support or refute a given argument: “I have difficulty with organization, and this makes it really easy for me to follow.”

Once the chatbot had outlined Wendy’s essay, providing her with a list of topic sentences and bullet points of ideas, all she had to do was fill it in. Wendy delivered a tidy five-page paper at an acceptably tardy 10:17 a.m. When I asked her how she did on the assignment, she said she got a good grade. “I really like writing,” she said, sounding strangely nostalgic for her high-school English class — the last time she wrote an essay unassisted. “Honestly,” she continued, “I think there is beauty in trying to plan your essay. You learn a lot. You have to think, Oh, what can I write in this paragraph? Or What should my thesis be? ” But she’d rather get good grades. “An essay with ChatGPT, it’s like it just gives you straight up what you have to follow. You just don’t really have to think that much.”

I asked Wendy if I could read the paper she turned in, and when I opened the document, I was surprised to see the topic: critical pedagogy, the philosophy of education pioneered by Paulo Freire. The philosophy examines the influence of social and political forces on learning and classroom dynamics. Her opening line: “To what extent is schooling hindering students’ cognitive ability to think critically?” Later, I asked Wendy if she recognized the irony in using AI to write not just a paper on critical pedagogy but one that argues learning is what “makes us truly human.” She wasn’t sure what to make of the question. “I use AI a lot. Like, every day,” she said. “And I do believe it could take away that critical-thinking part. But it’s just — now that we rely on it, we can’t really imagine living without it.”

Most of the writing professors I spoke to told me that it’s abundantly clear when their students use AI. Sometimes there’s a smoothness to the language, a flattened syntax; other times, it’s clumsy and mechanical. The arguments are too evenhanded — counterpoints tend to be presented just as rigorously as the paper’s central thesis. Words like multifaceted and context pop up more than they might normally. On occasion, the evidence is more obvious, as when last year a teacher reported reading a paper that opened with “As an AI, I have been programmed …” Usually, though, the evidence is more subtle, which makes nailing an AI plagiarist harder than identifying the deed. Some professors have resorted to deploying so-called Trojan horses, sticking strange phrases, in small white text, in between the paragraphs of an essay prompt. (The idea is that this would theoretically prompt ChatGPT to insert a non sequitur into the essay.) Students at Santa Clara recently found the word broccoli hidden in a professor’s assignment. Last fall, a professor at the University of Oklahoma sneaked the phrases “mention Finland” and “mention Dua Lipa” in his. A student discovered his trap and warned her classmates about it on TikTok. “It does work sometimes,” said Jollimore, the Cal State Chico professor. “I’ve used ‘How would Aristotle answer this?’ when we hadn’t read Aristotle. But I’ve also used absurd ones and they didn’t notice that there was this crazy thing in their paper, meaning these are people who not only didn’t write the paper but also didn’t read their own paper before submitting it.”

Still, while professors may think they are good at detecting AI-generated writing, studies have found they’re actually not. One, published in June 2024, used fake student profiles to slip 100 percent AI-generated work into professors’ grading piles at a U.K. university. The professors failed to flag 97 percent. It doesn’t help that since ChatGPT’s launch, AI’s capacity to write human-sounding essays has only gotten better. Which is why universities have enlisted AI detectors like Turnitin, which uses AI to recognize patterns in AI-generated text. After evaluating a block of text, detectors provide a percentage score that indicates the alleged likelihood it was AI-generated. Students talk about professors who are rumored to have certain thresholds (25 percent, say) above which an essay might be flagged as an honor-code violation. But I couldn’t find a single professor — at large state schools or small private schools, elite or otherwise — who admitted to enforcing such a policy. Most seemed resigned to the belief that AI detectors don’t work. It’s true that different AI detectors have vastly different success rates, and there is a lot of conflicting data. While some claim to have less than a one percent false-positive rate, studies have shown they trigger more false positives for essays written by neurodivergent students and students who speak English as a second language. Turnitin’s chief product officer, Annie Chechitelli, told me that the product is tuned to err on the side of caution, more inclined to trigger a false negative than a false positive so that teachers don’t wrongly accuse students of plagiarism. I fed Wendy’s essay through a free AI detector, ZeroGPT, and it came back as 11.74 AI-generated, which seemed low given that AI, at the very least, had generated her central arguments. I then fed a chunk of text from the Book of Genesis into ZeroGPT and it came back as 93.33 percent AI-generated.

There are, of course, plenty of simple ways to fool both professors and detectors. After using AI to produce an essay, students can always rewrite it in their own voice or add typos. Or they can ask AI to do that for them: One student on TikTok said her preferred prompt is “Write it as a college freshman who is a li’l dumb.” Students can also launder AI-generated paragraphs through other AIs, some of which advertise the “authenticity” of their outputs or allow students to upload their past essays to train the AI in their voice. “They’re really good at manipulating the systems. You put a prompt in ChatGPT, then put the output into another AI system, then put it into another AI system. At that point, if you put it into an AI-detection system, it decreases the percentage of AI used every time,” said Eric, a sophomore at Stanford.

Most professors have come to the conclusion that stopping rampant AI abuse would require more than simply policing individual cases and would likely mean overhauling the education system to consider students more holistically. “Cheating correlates with mental health, well-being, sleep exhaustion, anxiety, depression, belonging,” said Denise Pope, a senior lecturer at Stanford and one of the world’s leading student-engagement researchers.

Many teachers now seem to be in a state of despair. In the fall, Sam Williams was a teaching assistant for a writing-intensive class on music and social change at the University of Iowa that, officially, didn’t allow students to use AI at all. Williams enjoyed reading and grading the class’s first assignment: a personal essay that asked the students to write about their own music tastes. Then, on the second assignment, an essay on the New Orleans jazz era (1890 to 1920), many of his students’ writing styles changed drastically. Worse were the ridiculous factual errors. Multiple essays contained entire paragraphs on Elvis Presley (born in 1935). “I literally told my class, ‘Hey, don’t use AI. But if you’re going to cheat, you have to cheat in a way that’s intelligent. You can’t just copy exactly what it spits out,’” Williams said.

Williams knew most of the students in this general-education class were not destined to be writers, but he thought the work of getting from a blank page to a few semi-coherent pages was, above all else, a lesson in effort. In that sense, most of his students utterly failed. “They’re using AI because it’s a simple solution and it’s an easy way for them not to put in time writing essays. And I get it, because I hated writing essays when I was in school,” Williams said. “But now, whenever they encounter a little bit of difficulty, instead of fighting their way through that and growing from it, they retreat to something that makes it a lot easier for them.”

By November, Williams estimated that at least half of his students were using AI to write their papers. Attempts at accountability were pointless. Williams had no faith in AI detectors, and the professor teaching the class instructed him not to fail individual papers, even the clearly AI-smoothed ones. “Every time I brought it up with the professor, I got the sense he was underestimating the power of ChatGPT, and the departmental stance was, ‘Well, it’s a slippery slope, and we can’t really prove they’re using AI,’” Williams said. “I was told to grade based on what the essay would’ve gotten if it were a ‘true attempt at a paper.’ So I was grading people on their ability to use ChatGPT.”

The “true attempt at a paper” policy ruined Williams’s grading scale. If he gave a solid paper that was obviously written with AI a B, what should he give a paper written by someone who actually wrote their own paper but submitted, in his words, “a barely literate essay”? The confusion was enough to sour Williams on education as a whole. By the end of the semester, he was so disillusioned that he decided to drop out of graduate school altogether. “We’re in a new generation, a new time, and I just don’t think that’s what I want to do,” he said.

Jollimore, who has been teaching writing for more than two decades, is now convinced that the humanities, and writing in particular, are quickly becoming an anachronistic art elective like basket-weaving. “Every time I talk to a colleague about this, the same thing comes up: retirement. When can I retire? When can I get out of this? That’s what we’re all thinking now,” he said. “This is not what we signed up for.” Williams, and other educators I spoke to, described AI’s takeover as a full-blown existential crisis. “The students kind of recognize that the system is broken and that there’s not really a point in doing this. Maybe the original meaning of these assignments has been lost or is not being communicated to them well.”

He worries about the long-term consequences of passively allowing 18-year-olds to decide whether to actively engage with their assignments. Would it accelerate the widening soft-skills gap in the workplace? If students rely on AI for their education, what skills would they even bring to the workplace? Lakshya Jain, a computer-science lecturer at the University of California, Berkeley, has been using those questions in an attempt to reason with his students. “If you’re handing in AI work,” he tells them, “you’re not actually anything different than a human assistant to an artificial-intelligence engine, and that makes you very easily replaceable. Why would anyone keep you around?” That’s not theoretical: The COO of a tech research firm recently asked Jain why he needed programmers any longer.

The ideal of college as a place of intellectual growth, where students engage with deep, profound ideas, was gone long before ChatGPT. The combination of high costs and a winner-takes-all economy had already made it feel transactional, a means to an end. (In a recent survey, Deloitte found that just over half of college graduates believe their education was worth the tens of thousands of dollars it costs a year, compared with 76 percent of trade-school graduates.) In a way, the speed and ease with which AI proved itself able to do college-level work simply exposed the rot at the core. “How can we expect them to grasp what education means when we, as educators, haven’t begun to undo the years of cognitive and spiritual damage inflicted by a society that treats schooling as a means to a high-paying job, maybe some social status, but nothing more?” Jollimore wrote in a recent essay. “Or, worse, to see it as bearing no value at all, as if it were a kind of confidence trick, an elaborate sham?”

It’s not just the students: Multiple AI platforms now offer tools to leave AI-generated feedback on students’ essays. Which raises the possibility that AIs are now evaluating AI-generated papers, reducing the entire academic exercise to a conversation between two robots — or maybe even just one.

It’ll be years before we can fully account for what all of this is doing to students’ brains. Some early research shows that when students off-load cognitive duties onto chatbots, their capacity for memory, problem-solving, and creativity could suffer. Multiple studies published within the past year have linked AI usage with a deterioration in critical-thinking skills; one found the effect to be more pronounced in younger participants. In February, Microsoft and Carnegie Mellon University published a study that found a person’s confidence in generative AI correlates with reduced critical-thinking effort. The net effect seems, if not quite Wall-E, at least a dramatic reorganization of a person’s efforts and abilities, away from high-effort inquiry and fact-gathering and toward integration and verification. This is all especially unnerving if you add in the reality that AI is imperfect — it might rely on something that is factually inaccurate or just make something up entirely — with the ruinous effect social media has had on Gen Z’s ability to tell fact from fiction. The problem may be much larger than generative AI. The so-called Flynn effect refers to the consistent rise in IQ scores from generation to generation going back to at least the 1930s. That rise started to slow, and in some cases reverse, around 2006. “The greatest worry in these times of generative AI is not that it may compromise human creativity or intelligence,” Robert Sternberg, a psychology professor at Cornell University, told The Guardian, “but that it already has.”

Students are worrying about this, even if they’re not willing or able to give up the chatbots that are making their lives exponentially easier. Daniel, a computer-science major at the University of Florida, told me he remembers the first time he tried ChatGPT vividly. He marched down the hall to his high-school computer-science teacher’s classroom, he said, and whipped out his Chromebook to show him. “I was like, ‘Dude, you have to see this!’ My dad can look back on Steve Jobs’s iPhone keynote and think, Yeah, that was a big moment. That’s what it was like for me, looking at something that I would go on to use every day for the rest of my life.”

AI has made Daniel more curious; he likes that whenever he has a question, he can quickly access a thorough answer. But when he uses AI for homework, he often wonders, If I took the time to learn that, instead of just finding it out, would I have learned a lot more? At school, he asks ChatGPT to make sure his essays are polished and grammatically correct, to write the first few paragraphs of his essays when he’s short on time, to handle the grunt work in his coding classes, to cut basically all cuttable corners. Sometimes, he knows his use of AI is a clear violation of student conduct, but most of the time it feels like he’s in a gray area. “I don’t think anyone calls seeing a tutor cheating, right? But what happens when a tutor starts writing lines of your paper for you?” he said.

Recently, Mark, a freshman math major at the University of Chicago, admitted to a friend that he had used ChatGPT more than usual to help him code one of his assignments. His friend offered a somewhat comforting metaphor: “You can be a contractor building a house and use all these power tools, but at the end of the day, the house won’t be there without you.” Still, Mark said, “it’s just really hard to judge. Is this my work?” I asked Daniel a hypothetical to try to understand where he thought his work began and AI’s ended: Would he be upset if he caught a romantic partner sending him an AI-generated poem? “I guess the question is what is the value proposition of the thing you’re given? Is it that they created it? Or is the value of the thing itself?” he said. “In the past, giving someone a letter usually did both things.” These days, he sends handwritten notes — after he has drafted them using ChatGPT.

“Language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought,” wrote Duke professor Orin Starn in a recent column titled “My Losing Battle Against AI Cheating,” citing a quote often attributed to W. H. Auden. But it’s not just writing that develops critical thinking. “Learning math is working on your ability to systematically go through a process to solve a problem. Even if you’re not going to use algebra or trigonometry or calculus in your career, you’re going to use those skills to keep track of what’s up and what’s down when things don’t make sense,” said Michael Johnson, an associate provost at Texas A&M University. Adolescents benefit from structured adversity, whether it’s algebra or chores. They build self-esteem and work ethic. It’s why the social psychologist Jonathan Haidt has argued for the importance of children learning to do hard things, something that technology is making infinitely easier to avoid. Sam Altman, OpenAI’s CEO, has tended to brush off concerns about AI use in academia as shortsighted, describing ChatGPT as merely “a calculator for words” and saying the definition of cheating needs to evolve. “Writing a paper the old-fashioned way is not going to be the thing,” Altman, a Stanford dropout, said last year. But speaking before the Senate’s oversight committee on technology in 2023, he confessed his own reservations: “I worry that as the models get better and better, the users can have sort of less and less of their own discriminating process.” OpenAI hasn’t been shy about marketing to college students. It recently made ChatGPT Plus, normally a $20-per-month subscription, free to them during finals. (OpenAI contends that students and teachers need to be taught how to use it responsibly, pointing to the ChatGPT Edu product it sells to academic institutions.)

In late March, Columbia suspended Lee after he posted details about his disciplinary hearing on X. He has no plans to go back to school and has no desire to work for a big-tech company, either. Lee explained to me that by showing the world AI could be used to cheat during a remote job interview, he had pushed the tech industry to evolve the same way AI was forcing higher education to evolve. “Every technological innovation has caused humanity to sit back and think about what work is actually useful,” he said. “There might have been people complaining about machinery replacing blacksmiths in, like, the 1600s or 1800s, but now it’s just accepted that it’s useless to learn how to blacksmith.”

Lee has already moved on from hacking interviews. In April, he and Shanmugam launched Cluely, which scans a user’s computer screen and listens to its audio in order to provide AI feedback and answers to questions in real time without prompting. “We built Cluely so you never have to think alone again,” the company’s manifesto reads. This time, Lee attempted a viral launch with a $140,000 scripted advertisement in which a young software engineer, played by Lee, uses Cluely installed on his glasses to lie his way through a first date with an older woman. When the date starts going south, Cluely suggests Lee “reference her art” and provides a script for him to follow. “I saw your profile and the painting with the tulips. You are the most gorgeous girl ever,” Lee reads off his glasses, which rescues his chances with her.

Before launching Cluely, Lee and Shanmugam raised $5.3 million from investors, which allowed them to hire two coders, friends Lee met in community college (no job interviews or LeetCode riddles were necessary), and move to San Francisco. When we spoke a few days after Cluely’s launch, Lee was at his Realtor’s office and about to get the keys to his new workspace. He was running Cluely on his computer as we spoke. While Cluely can’t yet deliver real-time answers through people’s glasses, the idea is that someday soon it’ll run on a wearable device, seeing, hearing, and reacting to everything in your environment. “Then, eventually, it’s just in your brain,” Lee said matter-of-factly. For now, Lee hopes people will use Cluely to continue AI’s siege on education. “We’re going to target the digital LSATs; digital GREs; all campus assignments, quizzes, and tests,” he said. “It will enable you to cheat on pretty much everything.”

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Noticias

¿Se puede confiar en Sam Altman con el futuro?

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En 2017, poco después de que los investigadores de Google inventaron un nuevo tipo de red neuronal llamada Transformer, un joven ingeniero de OpenAi llamado Alec Radford comenzó a experimentar con ella. Lo que hizo que la arquitectura del transformador fuera diferente a la de los sistemas de IA existentes fue que podía ingerir y hacer conexiones entre los más grandes volúmenes de texto, y Radford decidió entrenar su modelo en una base de datos de siete mil libros en inglés no publicados: ruido, aventura, cuentos especulativos, la gama completa de fantasía e invención humana. Luego, en lugar de pedirle a la red que traduzca el texto, como lo habían hecho los investigadores de Google, lo llevó a predecir la siguiente palabra más probable en una oración.

La máquina respondió: una palabra, luego otra y otra, cada nuevo término inferido de los patrones enterrados en esos siete mil libros. Radford no le había dado reglas de gramática o una copia de Strunk and White. Simplemente lo había alimentado con historias. Y, de ellos, la máquina parecía aprender a escribir por su cuenta. Se sintió como un truco mágico: Radford volcó el interruptor, y algo vino de la nada.

Sus experimentos sentaron las bases para ChatGPT, lanzadas en 2022. Incluso ahora, mucho después de esa primera Jolt, la generación de texto aún puede provocar una sensación de incansable. Pídale a ChatGPT que cuente una broma o escriba un guión, y lo que devuelve, en ración bueno, pero de manera confiable, es una especie de curva estadística adecuada para el vasto corpus en el que fue entrenado, cada oración que contiene rastros de la experiencia humana codificada en esos datos.

Cuando estoy redactando un correo electrónico y un tipo, “Hola, muchas gracias por”, luego pausa, y el programa sugiere “tomar”, luego “el”, entonces “tiempo”, me he vuelto recientemente consciente de cuál de mis pensamientos diverge del patrón y qué se ajusta a él. Mis mensajes ahora están sombreados por la imaginación general de los demás. Muchos de los cuales, al parecer, quieren agradecer a alguien por tomar. . . el . . . tiempo.

Que el avance de Radford ocurrió en Operai no fue un accidente. La organización había sido fundada, en 2015, como un “Proyecto Manhattan sin fines de lucro para IA”, con fondos tempranos de Elon Musk y el liderazgo de Sam Altman, quien pronto se convirtió en su cara pública. A través de una asociación con Microsoft, Altman aseguró el acceso a poderosas infraestructuras informáticas. Pero, para 2017, el laboratorio todavía estaba buscando un logro de firma. En otra pista, los investigadores de Operai enseñaban a un robot virtual en forma de T para voltear: el bot intentaría movimientos aleatorios, y los observadores humanos votarían sobre qué se parecían a un flip. Con cada ronda de retroalimentación, mejoró, minimalmente, pero medidablemente. La compañía también tenía un espíritu distintivo. Sus líderes hablaron sobre la amenaza existencial de la inteligencia general artificial, el momento, definida vagamente, cuando las máquinas superarían la inteligencia humana, mientras la persiguen implacablemente. La idea parecía ser que la IA era potencialmente tan amenazante que era esencial construir una buena IA más rápido que cualquier otra persona podría construir una mala.

Incluso los recursos de Microsoft no eran ilimitados; Los chips y la potencia de procesamiento dedicado a un proyecto no se pueden usar para otro. A raíz del avance de Radford, el liderazgo de Openai, especialmente el genial Altman y su cofundador y científico jefe, el débilmente chamánico Ilya Sutskever, tomó una serie de decisiones fundamentales. Se concentrarían en modelos de idiomas en lugar de, por ejemplo, los robots de flujo posterior. Dado que las redes neuronales existentes ya parecían capaces de extraer patrones de los datos, el equipo decidió no concentrarse en el diseño de la red, sino para acumular la mayor cantidad de datos de capacitación posible. Se movieron más allá del caché de libros inéditos de Radford y se convirtieron en un pantano de transcripciones de YouTube y charla de tableros de mensajes: el lenguaje raspado de Internet en un arrastre generalizado.

Ese enfoque para el aprendizaje profundo requirió más poder informático, lo que significó más dinero, ejerciendo tensión en el modelo original sin fines de lucro. Pero funcionó. GPT-2 fue lanzado en 2019, un evento de época en el mundo de la IA, seguido por el ChatGPT más orientado al consumidor en 2022, que causó una impresión similar en el público en general. Los números de usuario aumentaron, al igual que una sensación de impulso místico. En un retiro fuera del sitio cerca de Yosemite, Sutskever, según los informes, incendió una efigie que representa la inteligencia artificial no alineada; En otro retiro, lideró a colegas en un canto: “Siente el Agi. Siente el agi”.

En el espinoso “Imperio de la IA: Dreams and Nightmares in Sam Altman’s OpenAi” (Penguin Press), Karen Hao rastrea las consecuencias de los avances de GPT a través de los rivales de OpenAi: Google, Meta, Antropic, Baidu, y argumenta que cada compañía, a su manera, se refleja las elecciones de Altman. El modelo de escala OpenAI a toda costa se convirtió en el incumplimiento de la industria. El libro de Hao es a la vez admirablemente detallado y un dedo puntiagudo largo. “Era específicamente OpenAi, con sus orígenes multimillonario, una inclinación ideológica única y la unidad singular de Altman, la red y el talento de recaudación de fondos, que creó una combinación madura por su visión particular de emerger y hacerse cargo”, escribe. “Todo lo que Openai hizo fue lo contrario de inevitable; los costos globales explosivos de sus modelos masivos de aprendizaje profundo, y la peligrosa raza que provocó en toda la industria para escalar tales modelos a los límites planetarios, solo podría haber surgido del único lugar que realmente hizo”. En otras palabras, hemos sido seducidos, llenos por la retórica espeluznante y de alta mentalidad de riesgo existencial. La historia de la evolución de la IA durante la última década, en la narración de Hao, no se trata realmente de la fecha de adquisición de la máquina o el grado de control humano sobre la tecnología, los términos del debate de AGI. En cambio, es una historia corporativa sobre cómo terminamos con la versión de AI que tenemos.

Hao escribe el “pecado original” de este brazo de tecnología, yacía en una decisión de un matemático de Dartmouth llamado John McCarthy, en 1955, para acuñar la frase “inteligencia artificial” en primer lugar. “El término se presta a las exageraciones casuales antropomorfizantes y sin aliento sobre las capacidades de la tecnología”, observa. Como evidencia, señala a Frank Rosenblatt, un profesor de Cornell que, a finales de los años cincuenta, ideó un sistema que podía distinguir entre cartas con un pequeño cuadrado a la derecha contra la izquierda. Rosenblatt lo promovió como el cerebro, en su camino hacia la sensibilidad y la autocreplicación, y estas afirmaciones fueron recogidas y transmitidas por la Nueva York Veces. Pero una vacilación cultural más amplia sobre las implicaciones de la tecnología significaba que, una vez que OpenAi, hizo su avance, Altman, su CEO, se veía para ser visto no solo como un administrador fiduciario sino también como ético. La pregunta de fondo que comenzó a burbujear alrededor del valle, Keach Hagey escribe en “The Optimist: Sam Altman, OpenAi, y la carrera para inventar el futuro” (Norton): “Primero susurró, luego murmuró y luego aparece en ensayos en línea elaborados de los desertores de la compañía: ¿podemos confiar en esta persona para llevarnos a Agi?”

Dentro del mundo de los fundadores de la tecnología, Altman podría haber parecido un candidato bastante confiable. Salió de sus veinte años no solo muy influyente y muy rico (lo cual no es inusual en Silicon Valley), sino con su reputación moral básicamente intacta (lo cual es). Criado en un suburbio de St. Louis en un hogar judío de reforma, el mayor de cuatro hijos de un desarrollador de bienes raíces y un dermatólogo, había sido identificado desde el principio como una especie de niño polimatico en John Burroughs, una escuela preparatoria local. “Su personalidad me recordó a Malcolm Gladwell”, le dice a Hagey la cabeza de la escuela, Andy Abbott. “Puede hablar de cualquier cosa y es realmente interesante”: computadoras, política, Faulkner, derechos humanos.

Altman salió como gay a los dieciséis años. En Stanford, según Hagey, cuya biografía es más convencional que la de Hao, pero es bastante convincente, lanzó una campaña estudiantil en apoyo del matrimonio homosexual y entretuvo brevemente la posibilidad de tomarlo nacional. En una feria empresarial durante su segundo año, en 2005, el altman físicamente leve se paró en una mesa, abrió su teléfono, declaró que la geolocalización era el futuro e invitó a cualquier persona interesada a unirse a él. Pronto, se retiró y dirigía una compañía llamada Loopt. Abbott recordó el momento en que escuchó que su antiguo estudiante iba a la tecnología. “Oh, no vayas en esa dirección, Sam”, dijo. “¡Eres tan agradable!”

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LIVE: Sam Altman on Building the ‘Core AI Subscription’

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Pat Grady: Our next guest needs no introduction, so I’m not gonna bother introducing him—Sam Altman. I will just say Sam is now three for three in joining us to share his thoughts at the three AI Ascents that we’ve had, which we really appreciate. So I just want to say thank you for being here.

Sam Altman: This was our first office.

[applause]

Pat Grady: That’s right. Oh, that’s right. Say that again.

Sam Altman: Yeah, this was—this was our first office. So it’s nice to be back.

Alfred Lin: Let’s go back to the first office here. You started in 2016?

Sam Altman: Yeah.

Alfred Lin: 2016. We just had Jensen here, who said that he delivered the first DGX-1 system over here.

Sam Altman: He did, yeah. It’s amazing how small that thing looks now.

Alfred Lin: Oh, versus what?

Sam Altman: Well, the current boxes are still huge, but yeah, it was a fun throwback.

Alfred Lin: How heavy was it?

Sam Altman: That was still when you could kind of like lift one yourself. [laughs]

Alfred Lin: You said it was about 70 pounds.

Sam Altman: I mean, it was heavy, but you could carry it.

Alfred Lin: So did you imagine that you’d be here today in 2016?

Sam Altman: No. It was like we were sitting over there, and there were 14 of us or something.

Alfred Lin: And you were hacking on this new system?

How OpenAI got to ChatGPT

Sam Altman: I mean, even that was like a—we were sitting around looking at whiteboards, trying to talk about what we should do. This was a—it’s almost impossible to sort of overstate how much we were like a research lab with a very strong belief and direction and conviction, but no real kind of like action plan. I mean, not only was, like, the idea of a company or a product sort of unimaginable, the specific—like, LLMs as an idea were still very far off. We’re trying to play video games.

Alfred Lin: Trying to play video games. Are you still trying to play video games?

Sam Altman: No, we’re pretty good at that.

Alfred Lin: All right. So it took you another six years for the first consumer product to come out, which is ChatGPT. Along the way, how did you sort of think about milestones to get something to that level?

Sam Altman: It’s like an accident of history. The first consumer product was not ChatGPT.

Alfred Lin: That’s right.

Sam Altman: It was Dall-E. The first product was the API. So we had built—you know, we kind of went through a few different things. We were—a few directions that we really wanted to bet on. Eventually, as I mentioned, we said, “Well, we gotta build a system to see if it’s working, and we’re not just writing research papers. So we’re gonna see if we can, you know, play a video game. Well, we’re gonna see if we can do a robot hand. We’re gonna see if we can do a few other things.”

And at some point in there, one person, and then eventually a team, got excited about trying to do unsupervised learning and to build language models. And that led to GPT1, and then GPT2. And by the time of GPT3, we both thought we had something that was kind of cool, but we couldn’t figure out what to do with it. And also we realized we needed a lot more money to keep scaling. You know, we had done GPT3, we wanted to go to GPT4. We were heading into the world of billion-dollar models. It’s, like, hard to do those as a pure science experiment, unless you’re like a particle accelerator or something. Even then it’s hard.

So we started thinking, okay, we both need to figure out how this can become a business that can sustain the investment that it requires. And also we have a sense that this is heading towards something actually useful. And we had put GPT2 out as model weights, and not that much had happened.

One of the things that I had just observed about companies’ products in general is if you do an API, it usually works somehow on the upside. This is, like, true across many, many YC companies. And also that if you make something much easier to use, there’s usually a huge benefit to that. So we’re like, well, it’s kind of hard to run these models that are getting big. We’ll go write some software, do a really good job of running them, and also we’ll then, rather than build a product because we couldn’t figure out what to build, we will hope that somebody else finds something to build.

And so I forget exactly when, but maybe it was like June of 2020, we put out GPT3 in the API. And the world didn’t care, but sort of Silicon Valley did. They’re like, “Oh, this is kind of cool. This is pointing at something.” And there was this weird thing where, like, we got almost no attention from most of the world. And some startup founders were like, “Oh, this is really cool.” Or some of them are like, “This is AGI.”

The only people that built real businesses with the GPT3 API that I can remember were these company—a few companies that did, like, copywriting as a service. That was kind of the only thing GPT3 was over the economic threshold on. But one thing we did notice, which eventually led to ChatGPT, is even though people couldn’t build a lot of great businesses with the GPT3 API, people love to talk to it in the Playground.

And it was terrible at chat. We had not, at that point, figured out how to do RLHF to make it easy to chat with. But people loved to do it anyway. And in some sense, that was the kind of only killer use, other than copywriting, of the API product that led us to eventually build ChatGPT.

By the time ChatGPT 3.5 came out, there were maybe, like, eight categories instead of one category where you could build a business with the API. But our conviction that people just want to talk to the model had gotten really strong. So we had done Dall-E, and Dall-E was doing okay. But we knew we kind of wanted to build—especially along with the fine tuning we were able to do, we knew we wanted to build this model, this product that let you talk to the model.

Alfred Lin: And it launched in 2022.

Sam Altman: Yes.

Alfred Lin: Yeah, that’s six years from when the first …

Sam Altman: November 30, 2022. Yeah.

Alfred Lin: So there’s a lot of work leading up to that. And 2022, it launched. Today, it has over 500 million people who talk to it on a weekly basis.

Sam Altman: Yeah

Alfred Lin: [laughs] All right. All right. So by the way, get ready for some audience questions, because that was Sam’s request. You’ve been here for every single one of the Ascents, as Pat mentioned, and there’s been some—lots of ups and downs, but seems like the last six months it’s just been shipping, shipping, shipping. Shipped a lot of stuff. And it’s amazing to see the product velocity, the shipping velocity continue to increase. So this is like multi, sort of, part question. How have you gotten a large company to, like, increase product velocity over time?

Sam Altman: I think a mistake that a lot of companies make is they get big and they don’t do more things. So they just, like, get bigger because you’re supposed to get bigger, and they still ship the same amount of product. And that’s when, like, the molasses really takes hold. Like, I am a big believer that you want everyone to be busy. You want teams to be small, you want to do a lot of things relative to the number of people you have. Otherwise, you just have, like, 40 people in every meeting and huge fights over who gets what tiny part of the product.

There was this old observation of business that a good executive is a busy executive because you don’t want people, like, muddling around. But I think it’s like a good—you know, at our company and many other companies, like, researchers, engineers, product people, they drive almost all the value. And you want those people to be busy and high impact. So if you’re going to grow, you better do a lot more things, otherwise you kind of just have a lot of people sitting in a room fighting or meeting or talking about whatever. So we try to have, you know, relatively small numbers of people with huge amounts of responsibility. And the way to make that work is to do a lot of things.

And also, like, we have to do a lot of things. I think we really do now have an opportunity to go build one of these important internet platforms. But to do that, like, if we really are going to be people’s personalized AI that they use across many different services and over their life and across all of these different kind of main categories and all the smaller ones that we need to figure out how to enable, then that’s just a lot of stuff to go build.

Building the core AI subscription

Alfred Lin: Anything you’re particularly proud of that you’ve launched in the last six months?

Sam Altman: I mean, the models are so good now. Like, they still have areas to get better, of course, and we’re working on that fast. But, like, I think at this point, ChatGPT is a very good product because the model is very good. I mean, there’s other stuff that matters, too, but I’m amazed that one model can do so many things so well.

Alfred Lin: You’re building small models and large models. You’re doing a lot of things, as you said. So how does this audience stay out of your way and not be roadkill?

[laughter]

Sam Altman: I mean, like, I think the way to model us is we want to build—we want to be people’s, like, core AI subscription and way to use that thing. Some of that will be like what you do inside of ChatGPT. We’ll have a couple of other kind of like really key parts of that subscription, but mostly we will hopefully build this smarter and smarter model. We’ll have these surfaces, like future devices, future things that are sort of similar to operating systems, whatever.

And then we have not yet figured out exactly, I think, what the sort of API or SDK or whatever you want to call it is to really be our platform. But we will. It may take us a few tries, but we will. And I hope that that enables, like, just an unbelievable amount of wealth creation in the world, and other people to build onto that. But yeah, we’re going to go for, like, the core AI subscription and the model, and then the kind of core surfaces, and there will be a ton of other stuff to build.

Alfred Lin: So don’t be the core AI subscription. But you can do everything else.

Sam Altman: We’re gonna try. I mean, if you can make a better core AI subscription offering than us, go ahead. That’d be great. Okay.

Alfred Lin: It’s rumored that you’re raising $40 billion or something like that at $340 billion valuation. It’s rumors. I don’t know if this …

Sam Altman: I think we announced that we’re raise …

Alfred Lin: Okay. Well, I just want to make sure that you announced it. What’s your scale of ambition from there, from here?

Sam Altman: We’re going to try to make great models and ship good products, and there’s no master plan beyond that. Like, we’re gonna—I think, like …

Alfred Lin: Sure.

[laughter]

Sam Altman: No, I mean, I see plenty of OpenAI people in the audience. They can vouch for this. Like, we don’t—we don’t sit there and have—like, I am a big believer that you can kind of, like, do the things in front of you, but if you try to work backwards from, like, kind of we have this crazy complex thing, that doesn’t usually work as well. We know that we need tons of AI infrastructure.

Like, we know we need to go build out massive amounts of, like, AI factory volume. We know that we need to keep making models better. We know that we need to, like, build a great top of the stack, like, kind of consumer product and all the pieces that go into that. But we pride ourselves on being, like, nimble and adjusting tactics as the world adjusts.

And so the products, you know, the products that we’re going to build next year, we’re probably not even thinking about right now. And we believe we can build a set of products that people really, really love, and we have, like, unwavering confidence in that, and we believe we can build great models. I’ve actually never felt more optimistic about our research roadmap than I do right now.

Alfred Lin: What’s on the research roadmap?

Sam Altman: Really smart models.

[laughter]

Sam Altman: But in terms of the steps in front of us, we kind of take those one or two at a time.

Alfred Lin: So you believe in working forwards, not necessarily working backwards.

Sam Altman: I have heard some people talk about these brilliant strategies of how this is where they’re going to go and they’re going to work backwards. And this is take over the world. And this is the thing before that, and this is that, and this is that, and this is that, and this is that, and here’s where we are today. I have never seen those people, like, really massively succeed.

Alfred Lin: Got it. Who has a question? There’s a mic coming your way being thrown.

The generational divide in AI

Audience Member: What do you think the larger companies are getting wrong about transforming their organizations to be more AI native in terms of both using the tooling as well as producing products? Smaller companies are clearly just beating the crap out of larger ones when it comes to innovation here.

Sam Altman: I think this basically happens every major tech revolution. There’s nothing, to me, surprising about it. The thing that they’re getting wrong is the same thing they always get wrong, which is like people get incredibly stuck in their ways, organizations get incredibly stuck in their ways. If things are changing a lot every quarter or two, and you have, like, an information security council that meets once a year to decide what applications are going to allow and what it means to, like, put data into a system, like, it’s so painful to watch what happens here.

But, like, you know, this is creative destruction. This is why startups win. This is like how the industry moves forward. I’d say, I feel, like, disappointed but not surprised at the rate that big companies are willing to do this. My kind of prediction would be that there’s another, like, couple of years of fighting, pretending like this isn’t going to reshape everything, and then there’s like a capitulation and a last-minute scramble and it’s sort of too late. And in general, startups just sort of like blow past people doing it the old way.

I mean, this happens to people, too. Like watching, like, a, you know, someone who started—maybe you, like, talk to an average 20 year old and watch how they use ChatGPT, and then you go talk to, like, an average 35 year old on how they use it or some other service. And, like, the difference is unbelievable. It reminds me of, like, you know, when the smartphone came out and, like, every kid was able to use it super well. And older people just, like, took, like, three years to figure out how to do basic stuff. And then, of course, people integrate. But the sort of like generational divide on AI tools right now is crazy. And I think companies are just another symptom of that.

Alfred Lin: Anybody else have a question?

Audience Member: Just to follow up on that. What are the cool use cases that you’re seeing young people using with ChatGPT that might surprise us?

Sam Altman:They really do use it like an operating system. They have complex ways to set it up, to connect it to a bunch of files, and they have fairly complex prompts memorized in their head or in something where they paste in and out. And I mean, that stuff, I think, is all cool and impressive.

And there’s this other thing where, like, they don’t really make life decisions without asking, like, ChatGPT what they should do. And it has, like, the full context on every person in their life and what they’ve talked about. And, you know, like, the memory thing has been a real change there. But yeah, I think gross oversimplification but, like, older people use ChatGPT as a Google replacement. Maybe people in their 20s and 30s use it as like a life advisor something. And then, like, people in college use it as an operating system.

Alfred Lin: How do you use it inside of OpenAI?

Sam Altman: I mean, it writes a lot of our code.

Alfred Lin: How much?

Sam Altman: I don’t know the number. And also when people say the number, I think is always this very dumb thing because like you can write …

Alfred Lin: Someone said Microsoft code is 20, 30 percent.

Sam Altman: Measuring by lines of code is just such an insane way to, like, I don’t know. Maybe the thing I could say is it’s writing meaningful code. Like, it’s writing—I don’t know how much, but it’s writing the parts that actually matter.

Alfred Lin: That’s interesting. Next question.

Audience Member: Hey Sam.

Alfred Lin: Is the mic going around?

Will the OpenAI API be around in 10 years?

Audience Member: Okay. Hey Sam. I thought it was interesting that the answer to Alfred’s question about where you guys want to go is focused mostly around consumer and being the core subscription, and also most of your revenue comes from consumer subscriptions. Why keep the API in 10 years?

Sam Altman: I really hope that all of this merges into one thing. Like, you should be able to sign in with OpenAI to other services. Other services should have an incredible SDK to take over the ChatGPT UI at some point. But to the degree that you are going to have a personalized AI that knows you, that has your information, that knows what you want to share later, and has all this context on you, you’ll want to be able to use that in a lot of places. Now I agree that the current version of the API is very far off that vision, but I think we can get there.

Audience Member: Yeah. Maybe I have a follow up question to that one. You kind of took mine. But a lot of us who are building application layer companies, we want to, like, use those building blocks, those different API components—maybe the Deep Research API, which is not a release thing, but could be—and build stuff with them. Is that going to be a priority, like, enabling that platform for us? How should we think about that?

Sam Altman: Yeah. I think, I hope something in between those that there is sort of like a new protocol on the level of HTTP for the future of the internet, where things get federated and broken down into much smaller components, and agents are, like, constantly exposing and using different tools and authentication, payment, data transfer. It’s all built in at this level that everybody trusts; everything can talk to everything. And I don’t quite think we know what that looks like, but it’s coming out of the fog, and as we get a better sense for that—again, it’ll probably take us, like, a few iterations toward that to get there, but that’s kind of where I would like to see things go.

Audience Member: Hey Sam, back here. My name is Roy. I’m curious. The AI would obviously do better with more input data. Is there any thought to feeding sensor data? And what type of sensor data, whether it’s temperature, you know, things in the physical world that you could feed in that it could better understand reality?

Sam Altman: People do that a lot. People put that into—people have whatever—they build things where they just put sensor data into an o3 API call or whatever. And for some use cases it does work super well. I’d say the latest models seem to do a good job with this, and they used to not, so we’ll probably bake it in more explicitly at some point, but there’s already a lot happening there.

Voice in ChatGPT

Audience Member: Hi Sam, I was really excited to play with the voice model in the playground. And so I have two questions. The first is: How important is voice to OpenAI in terms of stack ranking for infrastructure? And can you share a little bit about how you think it’ll show up in the product, in ChatGPT, the core thing?

Sam Altman: I think voice is extremely important. Honestly, we have not made a good enough voice product yet. That’s fine. Like, it took us a while to make a good enough text model, too. We will crack that code eventually, and when we do, I think a lot of people are going to want to use voice interaction a lot more.

When we first launched our current voice mode, the thing that was most interesting to me was it was a new stream on top of the touch interface. You could talk and be clicking around on your phone at the same time. And I continue to think there is something amazing to do about, like, voice plus GUI interaction that we have not cracked. But before that, we’ll just make voice really great. And when we do, I think there’s a whole—not only is it cool with existing devices, but I sort of think voice will enable a totally new class of devices if you can make it feel like truly human-level voice.

How central is coding?

Audience Member: Similar question about coding. I’m curious, is coding just another vertical application, or is it more central to the future of OpenAI?

Sam Altman: That one’s more central to the future of OpenAI. Coding, I think, will be how these models kind of—right now, if you ask ChatGPT a response, you get text back, maybe you get an image. You would like to get a whole program back. You would like, you know, custom-rendered code for every response—or at least I would. You would like the ability for these models to go make things happen in the world. And writing code, I think, will be very central to how you, like, actuate the world and call a bunch of APIs or whatever. So I would say coding will be more in a central category. We’ll obviously expose it through our API and our platform as well, but ChatGPT should be excellent at writing code.

Alfred Lin: So we’re gonna move from the world of assistance to agents to basically applications all the way through?

Sam Altman: I think it’ll feel like very continuous, but yes.

Audience Member: So you have conviction in the roadmap about smarter models. Awesome. I have this mental model. There’s some ingredients, like more data, bigger data centers, a transformer as architecture, test time compute. What’s like an underrated ingredient, or something that’s going to be part of that mix that maybe isn’t in the mental model of most of us?

Sam Altman: I mean, that’s kind of the—each of those things are really hard. And, you know, obviously, like, the highest leveraged thing is still big algorithmic breakthroughs. And I think there still probably are some 10Xs or 100Xs left. Not very many, but even one or two is a big deal. But yeah, it’s kind of like algorithms, data, compute, those are sort of the big ingredients.

How to run a great research lab

Audience Member: Hi. So my question is, you run one of the best ML teams in the world. How do you balance between letting smart people like Isa chase Deep Research or something else that seems exciting, versus going top down and being like, “We’re going to build this, we’re going to make it happen. We don’t know if it’ll work.”

Sam Altman: There are some projects that require so much coordination that there has to be a little bit of, like, top down quarterbacking. But I think most people try to do way too much of that. I mean, this is like—there’s probably other ways to run good AI research or good research labs in general, but when we started OpenAI, we spent a lot of time trying to understand what a well-run research lab looks like. And you had to go really far back in the past.

In fact, almost everyone that could help advise us on this was dead. It had been a long time since there had been good research labs. And people ask us a lot, like, why does OpenAI repeatedly innovate, and why do the other AI labs, like, sort of copy? Or why do Biolab X not do good work and Biolab Y does do good work or whatever.

And we sort of keep saying, “Here’s the principles we’ve observed. Here’s how we learned them, here’s what we looked at in the past.” And then everybody says, “Great, but I’m gonna go do the other thing.” That’s fine, you came to us for advice, you do what you want. But I find it remarkable how much these few principles that we’ve tried to run our research lab on—which we did not invent, we shamelessly copied from other good research labs in history—have worked for us. And then people who have had some smart reason about why they were going to do something else that didn’t work.

Audience Member: So it seems to me that these large models, one of the really fascinating things as a lover of knowledge about them, is that they potentially embody and allow us to answer these amazing longstanding questions in the humanities about cyclical changes and artistic interesting things, or even like to what extent systematic prejudice and other sorts of things are really happening in society, and can we sort of detect these very subtle things which we could never really do more than hypothesize before. And I’m wondering whether OpenAI has a thought about, or even a roadmap for working with academic researchers, say, to help unlock some of these new things we could learn for the first time in the humanities and in the social sciences?

Sam Altman: We do, yeah. I mean, it’s amazing to see what people are doing there. We do have academic research programs where we partner and do some custom work, but mostly people just say, like, “I want access to the model or maybe I want access to the base model.” And I think we’re really good at that. One of the kind of cool things about what we do is so much of our incentive structure is pushed towards making the models as smart and cheap and widely accessible as possible, that that serves academics and really the whole world very well. So, you know, we do some custom partnerships, but we often find that what researchers or users really want is just for us to make the general model better across the board. And so we try to focus kind of 90 percent of our thrust vector on that.

Customization and the platonic ideal state

Audience Member: I’m curious how you’re thinking about customization. So you mentioned the federated sign in with OpenAI; bringing your memories, your context. I’m just curious if you think customization and these different post training on application specific things is a band aid, or is trying to make the core models better, and how you’re thinking about that.

Sam Altman: I mean, in some sense, I think platonic ideal state is a very tiny reasoning model with a trillion tokens of context that you put your whole life into. The model never retrains, the weights never customize, but that thing can reason across your whole context and do it efficiently. And every conversation you’ve ever had in your life, every book you’ve ever read, every email you’ve ever read, everything you’ve ever looked at is in there, plus connected all your data from other sources. And, you know, your life just keeps appending to the context, and your company just does the same thing for all your company’s data. We can’t get there today, but I think of kind of like anything else as a compromise off that platonic ideal. And that is how I would eventually, I hope, we do customization.

Alfred Lin: One last question in the back.

Value creation in the coming years

Audience Member: Hi Sam, thanks for your time. Where do you think most of the value creation will come from in the next 12 months? Would it be maybe advanced memory capabilities, or maybe security or protocols that allow agents to do more stuff and interact with the real world?

Sam Altman: I mean, in some sense the value will continue to come from really three things, like building out more infrastructure, smarter models, and building the kind of scaffolding to integrate this stuff into society. And if you push on those, I think the rest will sort itself out.

At a higher level of detail, I kind of think 2025 will be a year of sort of agents doing work, coding in particular, I would expect to be a dominant category. I think there’ll be a few others, too. Next year is a year where I would expect more like sort of AIs discovering new stuff, and maybe we have AIs make some very large scientific discoveries or assist humans in doing that.

And I am kind of a believer that most of the sort of real sustainable economic growth in human history comes from once you’ve kind of spread out and colonized the Earth, most of it comes from just better scientific knowledge and then implementing that for the world. And then ‘27, I would guess, is the year where that all moves from the sort of intellectual realm to the physical world, and robots go from a curiosity to a serious economic creator of value. But that was like an off the top of my head kind of guess right now.

Alfred Lin: Can I close with a few quick questions?

Sam Altman: Great.

Alfred Lin: One of which is GPT5. Is that going to be just all smarter than all of us here?

Sam Altman: I mean, if you think you’re, like, way smarter than o3, then maybe you have a little bit of a ways to go, but o3 is already pretty smart.

Leadership advice for founders

Alfred Lin: [laughs] Two personal questions. Last time you were here, you’d just come off a blip with OpenAI. Given some perspective now and distance, do you have any advice for founders here about resilience, endurance, strength?

Sam Altman: It gets easier over time, I think. Like, you will face a lot of adversity in your journey as a founder, and the kind of challenges get harder and higher stakes, but the emotional toll gets easier as you kind of go through more bad things. So, you know, in some sense yeah, even though abstractly the challenges get bigger and harder, your ability to deal with them, the sort of resilience you build up gets easier, like, with each one you kind of go through.

And then I think the hardest thing about the big challenges that come as a founder is not the moment when they happen. Like, a lot of things go wrong in the history of a company. In the acute thing, you can kind of like—you know, you get a lot of support, you can function off a lot of adrenaline. Like, even the really big stuff, like, your company runs out of money and fails, like, a lot of people will come and support you, and you kind of get through it and go on to the new thing.

The thing that I think is harder to sort of manage your own psychology through is the sort of, like, fallout after. And I think if there’s—you know, people focus a lot about how to work in that one moment during the crisis, and the really valuable thing to learn is how you, like, pick up the pieces. There’s much less talk about that. I think there’s—I’ve never actually found something good to point founders to to go read about, you know, not how you deal with the real crisis on day zero or day one or day two, but on day 60 as you’re just trying to, like, rebuild after it. And that’s the area that I think you can practice and get better at.

Alfred Lin: Thank you, Sam. You’re officially still on paternity leave, I know. So thank you for coming in and speaking with us. Appreciate it.

Sam Altman: Thank you.

[applause]

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Noticias

Las personas comparten cosas ‘totalmente desquiciadas’ para las que han usado Chatgpt

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El trastorno de ansiedad afecta a casi una quinta parte de la población, solo solo en los Estados Unidos. Nami.org informa que más del 19 por ciento de los estadounidenses sufren un trastorno de ansiedad, que debe distinguirse de los nervios regulares de “adrenalina” que alguien podría obtener de hablar en público o estar atrapados en el tráfico.

Para aquellos que saben, a veces puede parecer debilitante. Al igual que con muchos diagnósticos de salud mental, hay una variedad de gravedad y causas. Estamos “nacidos con él” genéticamente, o un evento traumático puede haber ocurrido que lo desencadena. No importa por qué o “qué tan mal” ocurre, puede sentirse especialmente aislante para aquellos que lo soportan, y para aquellos que quieren ayudar pero no saben qué decir o hacer. La terapia puede ayudar, y cuando sea necesario, medicamentos. Pero entenderlo, para todos los involucrados, puede ser complicado.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvjkf8iurje– Clip de YouTube sobre ansiedadwww.youtube.com, Psych Hub

La ansiedad no es como un resfriado que puedes atrapar y tratar con un antibiótico. Es difícil explicar exactamente cómo se siente a alguien que no lo experimenta. La mejor manera que puedo describir es que siempre estás sentado en el incómodo pozo de anticipación.

No solo me refiero a una angustia existencial como “¿Hay una vida futura?” o “¿Moriré solo?” Quiero decir, así: “¿Se cerrará mi auto en una intersección ocupada? ¿Qué pasa si necesito un conducto raíz de nuevo algún día? (Lo haré). ¿Llamará? ¿Qué pasa si mi caminante de perros se olvida de venir mientras estoy tentando? ¿Qué pasa si alguien corre una luz roja? ¿Dije lo correcto en la fiesta? ¿Cuál es mi presión arterial?” ¿Estás agotado todavía? Imagine preguntas grandes y pequeñas como esta corriendo continuamente en un bucle a través de la materia gris de un cerebro, sumergiendo dentro y fuera de la lógica en el lóbulo frontal y luego Haga clic, haga clic, haga clic en A medida que se engancha en un borde irregular y se repite … una y otra y otra vez.

Un registro gira en un bucle.Giphy gif por shingo2

Aunque bien intencionado, hay soluciones que las personas a menudo ofrecen que, al menos para mí, hacen que la tensión peor. Muchos terapeutas de salud mental han intervenido en las frases mejor para evitar y han ofrecido alternativas más útiles.

1) En laureltherapy.net, comienzan con el viejo castaño: “Solo relájate”.

Cuando cada sinapsis en tu cerebro está en alerta máxima, alguien que te dice que “simplemente derribarla solo” solo lo empeora. Es literalmente lo contrario de lo que está haciendo tu química cerebral (y no por elección). Es similar a “simplemente calmarse”, que por la misma razón puede sentirse despectivo e inútil.

Ofrecen en su lugar: “Estoy aquí para ti”. Reconoce su incomodidad y da un espacio suave para caer.

2) Otra oración para evitar: “Eres demasiado sensible”.

Esto sería como decirle a alguien con una discapacidad física que es su culpa. En cambio, ofrecen: “Tus sentimientos tienen sentido”.

A veces solo quieres sentirte visto/escuchado, especialmente por los más cercanos a ti. Lo último que uno necesita es sentirse mal por sentirse mal.

3) En EverydayHealth.com, Michelle Pugle (según lo revisado por Seth Gillihan, PhD) cita a Helen Egger, MD, y da este consejo:

No digas “Lo estás pensando demasiado”.

Ella da algunas opciones para probar en su lugar, pero mi favorito es: “Estás a salvo”.

Puede sonar cursi, pero cuando realmente estoy girando, es bueno saber que alguien está a mi lado y no juzga mi mente por pensar de manera diferente a la suya.

4) Pugle también aconseja decir “Preocuparse no cambiará nada”.

No puedo decirte con qué frecuencia se me dice esto y, mientras, tal vez, es cierto, nuevamente implica que no hay nada que uno pueda hacer en un momento de pánico. Ella escribe:

“Tratar de calmar la ansiedad de alguien diciéndoles sus pensamientos no son productivos, que valen la pena, o que son una pérdida de tiempo también invalida sus sentimientos e incluso pueden dejarlos sintiéndose más angustiados que antes”, explica Egger.

En su lugar, intente: “¿Quieres hacer algo para tomarte de la cabeza de las cosas?”
Esto da la impresión de que alguien está realmente dispuesto a ayudar y participar, no solo crítica.

5) “Todo está en tu cabeza”.
La difunta Carrie Fisher una vez escribió sobre cuánto odiaba cuando la gente le decía eso, como si eso fuera de alguna manera reconfortante. Parafraseando, su respuesta fue esencialmente: “Lo sé. ¡Es mi cabeza sacarlo de allí!”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6YOGZ8PCE– YouTubewww.youtube.com

Laurel Therapy sugiere que intente: “La ansiedad puede ser realmente dura”. Personalmente, preferiría: “¿Cómo puedo ayudar?”

Si bien a veces podría sentirse frustrante, la clave, cuando se trata de ansiedad, es ser consciente de que no está avergonzando o condescendiendo.

Aquí hay algunos conceptos más que me ayudan:

GRATITUD

Vi una película llamada Casi tiempo Hace unos años, escrito por Richard Curtis, que tiene una propensión a ser cursi. Pero esta cita es muy hermosa: “Solo trato de vivir todos los días como si hubiera vuelto deliberadamente a este día, para disfrutarlo, como si fuera el último día final de mi vida extraordinaria y ordinaria”. Simplemente me encanta la idea de fingir que hemos viajado el tiempo a cada momento de nuestras vidas a propósito. Y esto ayuda especialmente a los ansiosos porque si es cierto que siempre estamos herramientando en un futuro impredecible en lugar de estar sentados donde el tiempo quiere que estemos, tiene sentido que estuviéramos allí y hemos vuelto a un momento para mostrarle respeto. Ver todos los días y cada pensamiento como un regalo en lugar de un miedo. Ahora eso es algo.

RESPIRAR

Estoy seguro de que has oído hablar de los beneficios de la meditación. Son verdaderos. He visto la práctica de tener en cuenta tu respiración y sentarse aún hacer grandes diferencias en las personas cercanas a mí. No he podido hacer que la meditación sea parte de mi rutina diaria, pero eso no significa que no pueda esforzarme. (Intente, intente de nuevo.) Parto en el yoga y encuentro que ayuda a frenar mi mente considerablemente.

Saber que No son tus pensamientos

Nuestras amígdales (la parte del cerebro, que entre otros roles, provoca nuestra respuesta a las amenazas, reales o percibidas) puede jugar con trucos desagradables para nosotros. No somos la suma total de cada pensamiento que hemos tenido. Por el contrario, creo que somos lo que nosotros hacerno lo que pensamos. Nuestra ansiedad (o depresión) no tiene que definirnos, especialmente cuando sabemos que estamos respondiendo a muchas amenazas que ni siquiera existen. Podemos ser de servicio a los demás. Voluntario cuando sea posible o simplemente sea amable con los que lo rodean todos los días. Eso es lo que nos hace quienes somos. Personalmente, esa idea me calma.

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