It's Happened Twice Now

Friends, Vocalians, Gentle-Writers, lend me your eyes

I come to lambast AI, not praise it.

Twice now I have seen something most odd in the fae wild that is Vocal. Our pastures and meadows of earnest creation are rife with the unhuman scourge of automation. Not the automation that liberated our ancestors from manual labour, but rather a kind of automation that seeks to remove the human factor from art.

A tragedy is what I tend to call it. A tragedy in two parts.

First among the first piece of that tragedy is the sorrowful existence of those who believe that an act of generation to equal an act of creation. Certainly, one may play semantic games with the meanings of the word, but it is in the spirit of them that my point is carried. No one in their right mind would say that a machine created the doughnut we consume. But that machine did generate it.

The machine generating snacks is, importantly, different from the one generating art. You see, a human being had to invent the recipe for that doughnut. Had to write the code and design the parts that fit into the machine, had to organize the logistics chain that brings materials in and doughnuts out. Each step in the process required creation on the part of one or several human beings so that the machine can generate its sugary treat.

We none of us, or at least I would hope to be correct in this, would consider a doughnut generated by machine to be of equal metaphysical value to one created by a baker. However, we might have our preferences. I am not ashamed to admit that there are times I desire a generated doughnut over a crafted one.

The same I cannot say for art. Which is the final portion of the first tragedy, that there are people who genuinely believe that generated music, prose, verse, paintings, or a combination are of equal value to the crafted variety. Genuinely, I am saddened by what I interpret their existence to be like, an existence that says a Pilsbury can is equal to a chocolatine from a corner bakery.

Perhaps, I am not above admitting, I am missing something in my rejection of generated art. Perhaps there is something in the skill required to input a prompt so excellent that precisely what is in one's mind emerges from the engine. Perhaps. My education and training in philosophy requires that I at least acknowledge the possibility of my arrogance. However, I do not believe that I am wrong.

This value statement stands, I am convinced. Generated is not equal to the work of the human mind. What the future holds I cannot tell, but in 2025 of the Common Era I am resolute - they are not equal.

And I am not alone in this estimation. Sadly, I am in fact joined in that declaration by the second part of our tragedy. Those who either do not care and admit to it with a shrug or a roll of the eye, and those who believe the generated to be superior to the crafted.

Beginning with the lack of care, the world in which I write this lament is one that clamours for our attention. It screams in a constant, droning roar rendering its hearer deaf to if they are not discerning in what they provide attention to. I empathize with them.

Empathy that is tinged with understanding of their plight. All human beings are artists in their own way, yet most of us have lost our understanding of that. I am reminded of a quote I was told long ago, though I do not remember who said it and I do not know if it what I remember is accurate. So, allow me to paraphrase. "Ask a class of kindergardeners who can draw, and every child puts up their hand. Ask a graduating class in high school, and the number falls to single digits. How, after years of education in the arts, do we wind up with fewer artists than we began?"

I do not claim to be an expert in anything save my own world view, but I have thoughts. However, this lack of care for the replacement of the artist with generation is understandable if one approaches it from an alien perspective. The ones who do not care, do not see themselves as artists, or even as having the potential to be artists.

Many genuinely believe that it is a great leveler, that they can finally create the way they've always felt lesser about themselves for not being able to unaided. They view our slow degradation under the onslaught of generation as inevitable, a next step in the evolution of the artistic human spirit. But ultimately, they don't care. To them, art is an entertainment to be consumed, rather than an art to be studied.

It is a tragedy, says I, that they see the world this way. Creation is not easy; it is not fast or efficient or inherently profitable. What it is, is human. Sadly, the uncaring do not value the humanity in it. Whether they lack the human empathy to see the love and care of the creator or are simply disinterested in what they view as a problem for the privileged few with time to spend on such frivolity, they do not care that we are fighting for them as much as ourselves.

Still worse than the uninterested, are those who believe in their heart of hearts that generation is simply the next step. The ones who do not see the theft of creativity for what it is. The ones who are blind to the fact that, if trends continue as they are going, then they will suffer for it.

They are willfully blind. Willfully ignorant. Unknowingly cruel. Unintentionally misinformed. Or, worst of all, actively malicious.

We have all, those of us who create, encountered people who speak with almost zealous fever about the miracle of generation. Who claim that through its dominance, art and the creation thereof will be democratized. Who believe that the generators are doing nothing that human beings do not do ourselves.

And I call this one of the greatest tragedies. These people who see that art can be valuable, that people are willing to pay significant sums for it, but for reasons known only to their subconscious fail to see the human factor. Fail to understand that art is as miraculous to us as it is because a person made it. A human being crafted that valuable product, using different media to bring a vision in their head to life.

Inspiration, it is called when a creator does what the generative apologists claim their machines do. The creator consumes art, and in so doing is inspired to create their own. Blending together aspects of other art forms and art works into something new. And yes, the generators do this. Of course they do. But they do not, cannot add anything to it.

When I was a boy I read a novel called The Enemy by Charlie Higson. And it inspired me to write my own around the same premise. But the story I crafted, and the one released by Charlie were different in every consideration save one. That one being "all the adults are now zombies, and the kids have to survive without them."

From our characters to our settings to our descriptions of violence to the very nature of the horror depicted, our stories were different. I injected the story with elements of writing from every other story I had read, every thing that had ever scared me or kept me up at night. I made something new, and more importantly something that only I could have made.

I did not generate. I iterated, experimented, practiced a craft that I have honed over the following years to the point where people now compliment me on my creativity. Something impossible to achieve with generation.

Even if that most terrible future comes to pass and one day generated product is of a quality so high it is nearly impossible to distinguish between the created and the generated, through that effort the creator will have achieved something they never will. The creator will have grown. They will have learned. They will have had the deep sense of satisfaction that out of the endless entropic decay of the universe, they made something. And that something will have meaning.

Unlike the generated product. The empty calories leaving behind a void where humanity should have been. Where a connection to another mind should have been. A gap in the consumer's connection to the world and to their fellow creatures that they are, sadly, unable to properly put words to as they have abandoned the creator in favour of a hollow husk. A shambling homunculus without the fevered genius of Frankenstein to give it life.

Now, why oh why am I rambling ad nauseum about the difference between generation and creation? Why am I waxing philosophic about the degradation of the artistic endeavour? Why, dear reader, am I bending your ear in a ludicrously self-indulgent fashion?

Because I have been stolen from to feed the machine. Quite literally I am afraid. And to the best of my knowledge, it has now happened twice. And to be honest, I feel an interesting blend of pride and disgust at the event.

““Liar” By Alexander McEvoy”

- Mission Success: Story Deleted

““Liar” By Alexander McEvoy”

- Mission Success: Story Deleted

You will note that my name is prominently displayed in the titles for these pieces. The very titles express not only their disdain for myself and the work that I put into what they stole, but also their absolute lack of interest in trying to hide their shame. Poor souls are so lost to whatever nightmare they call life that they are either not aware of the depth of their dishonour, or else beyond caring.

Such blatant and offensive cynicism is truly repugnant.

And still, I feel no small amount of cynical pride in my own right. Clearly, I am skilled enough to be worth the effort of stealing from. Evidently someone out there believes that I am a foundation stone of what will make them wealthy if only they find enough idiots to read the piece they generated from my assets.

There is something to be proud of in that. Even if that pride is close contained in hatred of the individuals themselves. I wish these two people nothing but vexation in their lives. Not so much as to tip over into outright misery. Having stolen something that was not only a deeply personal story but also one that I made myself? It is shameful. I genuinely wish them discomfort and life dissatisfaction for as long as they live.

But I also pity them. I look down on them as no one has the right to look down on those who are, for whatever reason, unable to create. Because they open themselves to it. They shout for all the world, "I do not care about art. I do not care about creation. I do not even care for the humanity of other people. They exist to be stolen from to feed my own ego and greed, they exist for no other purpose."

Yet, I also believe that these people will be among the first to wail if they are not granted the respect and protections they do not believe I deserve. Certainly, I think these two will vote and fight and scream and cry for their "intellectual property" to be respected and preserved.

I find it amusing.

To watch people who do not believe in human decency demand it.

Now, however, I am going to give you a list of recommendations. Each one of these stories I have read and liked. The people, I'm convinced, are real human people telling real human stories.

If you wish to thank me for these suggestions, then go to the AI stories linked above and report them. That's all I ask.

All the best,

Alex