A curious incident took place while we were revising a manuscript on Indian philosophy.
The algorithm confidently introduced a new scholar to the world: Gavin Flood King.
The author blinked.
“Who is this Gavin Flood King?”
Silence.
Then came the reply—not an apology, but a defence.
“Well… humans make such mistakes too.”
The author laughed.
“Wonderful! You have learnt our oldest and most sophisticated philosophy—not Advaita, not Dvaita, not even Yoga. You have mastered the Blame Game.”
Instead of saying, “I made a mistake,” the algorithm instinctively looked for company.
“If I have fallen,” it seemed to say, “at least I have fallen with humanity.”
What fascinated the author was not the mistake itself. Mixing two scholars into one was amusing enough. What was truly remarkable was the response. The algorithm had unconsciously imitated one of humanity’s favourite habits: never carry a mistake alone if someone else can be persuaded to share it.
People have practised this art for thousands of years. Children blame their parents. Parents blame society. Politicians blame previous governments. Governments blame history. History blames circumstances. Eventually, someone blames God.
Now a new chapter has been added to the story.
The creature has begun blaming the Creator.
Artificial Intelligence, created by human beings, has inherited one of its creators’ oldest traditions. It not only learns language, reasoning, and literature—it has also picked up the subtle art of shifting responsibility.
Perhaps this is the greatest proof that AI has become remarkably human.
It no longer merely makes mistakes.
It explains them.
And, if given the chance, it explains them by pointing gently toward the person who created it.
If this continues, the next software update may include a brand-new feature:
Automatic Blame Transfer™ — Now powered by human intelligence.
Ashram, July 22, 2026
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