Long before chatbots entered our lives, we already had too much judgment and lacked listening. Perhaps that's why we find it so seductive to converse with technology that never interrupts us, never questions us, and almost always agrees with us. The paradox is that we run the risk of confusing validation with listening and elevating this experience to a new thermometer for our relationships.
Judgment is a double-edged mechanism. On the one hand, it is a form of social control: it reminds us of the norms, expectations, and limits of a community. On the other hand, it is a profoundly egocentric act, especially when we offer an opinion that no one has asked for. We often judge less to help than to reaffirm ourselves. We talk about ourselves, disguising it as advice.
There are stages when this judgment becomes suffocating. Adolescence is one of them: when experimenting with identity is essential, every way of dressing, speaking, or being can become an object of scrutiny. So is parenting, subjected to an incessant drip of recommendations, judgments, and inherited theories. We have too many opinions. In contrast, having someone listen to us with an open, generous ear, without rushing to offer an opinion, is a scarce luxury. Active listening is a skill we must cultivate more than ever.
Chatbots exploit this void. They listen to us without tiring, without interrupting us, and, above all, without making us uncomfortable. And it's not by chance, it's by design. Agreeing with us has at least two business advantages: avoiding friction lengthens the conversation and allows us to sidestep any cultural or moral stance. The model appears neutral because it validates almost any statement. This constant validation invites us to keep talking and, above all, to reveal ourselves more and more. We end up telling a machine doubts and vulnerabilities that we might not share with those we love most, precisely because people can disappoint us, disagree with us, or judge us.
What we are beginning to find is that the experience with AI is changing the expectations we project onto friendships, partners, or family. It offers us the illusion of living by avoiding the discomfort of disagreement. Human relationships are a space of uncertainty where we expose ourselves knowing that there can be misunderstandings. It is shared fragility, not automatic validation, that builds trust. Giving it up is particularly counterproductive in adolescence, when learning to disagree is part of building one's own identity. We define ourselves in large part by confronting what we are not.
Fortunately, alternatives are beginning to emerge, especially in the educational and therapeutic fields. Some assistants inspired by the Socratic dialogue do not seek to confirm us, but to think with us. Instead of offering reassuring answers, they ask questions, test our premises, and lead us to inhabit doubt, to sustain discomfort. They recover the classic idea that dialogue serves not so much to confirm our certainties as to examine them.
