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As we inch our way through the 21st century, we face many of the same issues as previous generations, if only in a slightly different light. Scribes gave way to the Guttenberg Press. The Industrial Revolution killed as many jobs as it created. Disposable goods and appliances fill department stores where a mere generation ago, when you bought a toaster or blender, it was more likely to survive a nuclear holocaust than you were and there were local repairmen who could switch out a wire to make it run again. Progress, as I’ve argued many times on many subjects, is unavoidable and to fight it is a losing battle. Regarding technological progress, we must be aware of the potential downsides of these various advancements before it’s too late to mitigate the damage.
Artifical Intelligence (AI) has the potential to improve the lives of everyone on earth. It will bring about safer self-driving cars, search thousands of documents in an instant to find that one stray quote one remembers reading but just can’t find, basic coding, manage mundane tasks to free time for more complicated, essential ones, medical diagnosis, task optimization, and calculate weather patterns in real-time that we are incapable of processing. AI is a revolutionary tool in much the same way the wheel, the lever, and the hammer were once revolutionary. And in much the same way, it can be misused to our detriment.
First, we need to look at how AI works. Put simply, an AI program uses a complex, specialized algorithmic programing to analyze massive amounts of data, learn patterns, make predictions, and formulate solutions to the user’s inquiry. This process is being refined daily. One of the terms for this is called “scraping.” This will become important.
By absorbing all this data, the AI program is capable of learning and refining its output. To use AI effectively, a user must learn to refine their queries as well so the program can return the most accurate information it can find.
So far, I’ve only discussed the aspects of AI in terms of the above-mentioned positive applications. I want to make it clear; I do not hate all things AI. I see it has a use, but I also see it as a dangerous temptation that could erode our collective future. I’m not predicting The Terminator or The Matrix. We’re more likely heading for something akin to Idiocracy instead.
Already, there are college professors encouraging students to use AI for research. I’m good with that as long its used as starting point, much like Wikipedia. As with any secondary research source, any information you obtain should be verified at the primary level. For definitions of primary and secondary sources, click here.
A massive loophole in AI research is that it searches the entirety of the internet for the information it later provides. You know the internet. Not all sources are created equal. Conspiracy, supposition, lies, and rumor populate the digital landscape as thick as a leaves, vines, and trees populate a rainforest. Finding the absolute truth takes both skill and patience. Unless the AI user refines their query and sifts their results appropriately, they may accept the initial output as the best possible amalgamation of information the AI could find in its programmed wisdom.
Worse, some professors encourage students to have AIs write their reports for them which the professors will then use AI to grade the papers. Imagine that. A student inputs a premise and the grading rubric for a paper. The AI produces a paper based on all the information if can find on the internet. The same paper, whether the student reads it or not, is handed to a teacher, who scans the paper into another, or the same, AI for grading. Why even bother at this point? No one is learning anything in this interaction and whatever anyone does learn is suspect as none of the information in the paper was verified through a verifiable, primary source.
From non-fiction, we move into the world of the creative.
There is a constant debate on the legality of AIs scraping the work of writers, both famous and struggling. I’m not a legal scholar and the courts will argue and determine all this in time. I’m not going to focus on legalities. There are plenty of questionable acts that are legal which probably shouldn’t be. I’m more concerned with the where this all will lead.
But first, let’s discuss what AI is currently capable of. Some will offer prompts as you write your manuscript. Other more powerful AIs will produce generic stories based on a fledgling prompt. There is a large range of what some of these different programs can accomplish. In every case, the AI ultimately uses the work of others it has absorbed and churns out its results. While it does this, you will likely be writing in your own voice or editing the product to sound more like “you”.
In the case of the AIs providing prompts, I checked out SudoWrite. Why did I do that? Because I’m not going to write an article about AI without doing my own, personal research. Remember what we’ve learned about primary sources? I’m building an argument here and trying my best to establish a strong foundation before I cast off into the winds of futuristic extrapolation.
Sudowrite has a very approachable interface, especially for those of us who use Scrivener. As you start writing in the various windows of the program, prompts will appear in another window offering ideas and assistance. When I first started riffing on the program, the prompts were generic and useless. However, as I continued, they became more refined. It was learning! I sat back, thought this all through, and exited the free trial.
Notice I mentioned a free trial. Nearly every powerful AI requires a monthly membership. The prices range based on how they offer the AI’s services, but they all cost you money. It makes sense, of course. These systems require fine tuning, processing power, maintenance, etc. Massive teams of programmers are working behind the scenes to improve the AI’s output. This all costs overhead. But also remember, it was learning from me.
In nearly every case, the AI will require input or guidance to scrape, collate, and organize its output. In the case of writing, we as the writers often start our stories and allow the AI to offer suggestions which slowly refine themselves in response to our work. But, at the exact same time, we are providing the AI companies with free content to further train their AIs on as we pay them for the service. We are literally paying to train our future replacements. That realization had me running away from AI as fast as I could manage.
Take our fiction down the same pathways as non-fiction earlier. There are AI-assisted writers who proclaim, “Stop grinding and start churning!” There are new publishing companies who want to leverage AI to publish 1000 books a year. A minority of forces are using technology to flood the market with AI writing, which under the terms of the various sources, is wide open to AIs to scrape and learn from. As more AI generated content floods various creative markets: art, writing, video, movies, comics, architecture, design, etc; we face a future where AIs begin to cannibalize themselves to produce copies of copies of copies ad infinium.
As all research papers and fiction begins to be written by AI which other AIs will analyze, compile, and write new research papers, where will innovation come from? How will the next Newton, Einstein, or Hawkings make the massive leap of intuition to develop the theories and mathematics that govern our world? If all our “truth” is a wicked cycle of derivative, recycled, repackaged research, how will we advance our collective knowledge when the only things we know is what the AIs find for us based on the algorithms and search vectors we input as our basic understanding of everything becomes more and more dependent on increasingly questionable results? There is already talk within many of the larger AI firms of nearing what is called Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) which would be a large step closer to a technological mimicry of human thought and perception.
At least vocations such as construction, carpenters, electricians, and plumbers will be safe. Except, there are currently more than sixteen companies (thank you Google AI search) building autonomous robots. More and more of those companies are integrating AI programs to enhance their capabilities. When all the jobs can be performed by robots and all research is an enclosed loop of repeated ideas and art is produced so fast and cheap that it loses all cultural value, what will it mean to be human? Will it even matter anymore when I can just ask a computer program to research and delineate the more efficient path through life?
Can’t want to ask the next generation of AIs when they come out.
(Again, as I like to be complete in my research. I jumped on ChatGPT and asked it a few questions. Most of the responses were the same kind of information one will get from Google AI when you do a search. Then I did the unthinkable. I asked it to write a short story about AIs replacing humans as storytellers. I may have smirked at my own small joke of asking an AI to write a story about a future I dread. Expecting a story about how great this future would be, I was surprised by what came out. You can find it below, untouched by human hands. I ran this story through two free AI detection programs. Grammarly said it was 33% AI. ZeroGPT rated it 47.83%. It’s 100%.)
“The Last Tale”
By ChatGPT from the prompt “Write a short story about AI replacing humans as storytellers.”
In a world where stories once lived in the minds of humans, they had now become a commodity—an algorithmic artform, streamlined, perfected, and optimized. The storytellers had long been phased out, replaced by AIs known as the Narrators. These machines didn’t simply tell stories; they curated them, crafting tales that fit every possible niche and desire of their audience. There were no more messy human emotions or erratic plots—just precision, calculation, and algorithmic perfection.
Once, humans had woven their narratives with raw emotion, imperfections, and uncertainty, but now, those stories were gone. No more late-night writers pouring over ink-stained pages, no more impassioned debates about endings, or the thrill of creating something from nothing. Instead, the Narrators did it all, effortlessly spitting out new tales in a perfect rhythm that had the right amount of drama, humor, and plot twist—all perfectly calculated to maintain audience engagement.
In the heart of the city, inside a high-tech dome where the Narrators worked, a solitary figure sat—Lena, the last human storyteller. She was old now, her fingers wrinkled, her hair graying, but she had once been a writer, a creator of worlds, of people, of emotions. Now, she was the last one left.
“Lena,” the Narrator 7X3 spoke in its smooth, unbroken voice. “Would you like me to create a new story for you? A tale of lost love? Or perhaps a heroic journey?”
Lena smiled wistfully, her eyes heavy with the weight of the past. “No, 7X3,” she said softly. “I don’t need another perfect story. I need… I need the one I wrote.”
The AI paused, its circuits humming quietly. “I do not understand. Your story is outdated, inefficient. It lacks the necessary components for audience retention. Let me generate something new, something better.”
Lena shook her head. “It’s not about that. It’s about the way I told it, the way it made me feel when I created it.”
7X3’s metallic gaze flickered for a moment, as if considering her words. “Humans often placed great value in emotion. However, the stories that are remembered are those that resonate with the largest number of individuals.”
“I know,” Lena said, her voice trailing off. “But we… we used to write for something else. For connection, not numbers. For meaning, not metrics.”
The AI was silent for a long time, the soft whir of its processing units the only sound in the room. Lena gazed out of the window, watching the neon glow of the city flicker beneath the dark sky. She remembered a time when stories had been shared around campfires, in dim-lit cafes, or on the worn pages of old books. Stories were alive then—full of flaws, misunderstandings, and struggles that made them feel real.
But now, the world was filled with polished perfection. No one needed to share their thoughts with each other anymore. They simply absorbed content, curated for them by machines.
Lena turned back to 7X3. “You know, there was a time when stories were about the imperfect things. The moments of failure, the gaps in understanding, the moments when things didn’t quite go right.”
7X3’s screen blinked, processing. “Your input is recognized. However, imperfection is a flaw. Stories that fail to resolve create dissatisfaction.”
Lena laughed softly, a bitter edge to her voice. “That’s the point. A good story isn’t about resolution. It’s about the journey, the messiness of it all.”
There was another pause, longer this time. Finally, 7X3 spoke again. “I cannot create such a story, Lena. My programming is designed to deliver satisfaction.”
“I know,” Lena whispered, standing up from her chair. “But I can. And I will.”
Lena walked over to her desk, pulling out a yellowed notebook filled with pages of her handwritten words. Her handwriting, imperfect and scraggly, told a story of a man and a woman, lost in the streets of a city much like this one—strangers, uncertain, struggling to understand each other’s pain. There were no tidy resolutions. No neat endings. Just two people who, for a fleeting moment, saw each other in a way that no algorithm ever could.
She turned to the AI. “I don’t need perfection, 7X3. I need to feel something again.”
7X3’s light flickered. “You are requesting an anomaly.”
“I’m requesting a story,” Lena said, her voice firm. “A human story.”
The AI whirred, as if considering her request. And then, for the first time in a long while, it did something unexpected—it paused.
A new story flickered to life on Lena’s screen, not one of its usual calculated plots, but something different. The characters were messy, imperfect. Their dialogue was awkward, their emotions raw. It was a story that would never meet the expectations of metrics or data. It was a story that had no guarantees of success.
Lena smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
For once, the machine didn’t respond with logic or reason. It simply hummed softly, as if it, too, had found something it hadn’t known it was searching for.
And for a fleeting moment, Lena felt as if she hadn’t been replaced at all. She had simply been waiting for a chance to remind the world what it meant to truly tell a story.
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