Genuine writing in the digital age

July 24, 2024

Maybe you can never know whether these lines have been written by an AI language model or by the claim of the author of the text – me. But why does it matter? After all, having the help of a language model to write anything I’d like to is not only fascinating, but more efficient (and, probably, even grammatically and stylistically better than my own writing). The argument that follows is that, in doing so, I could have more free time to pursue other endeavors of my choice. I could learn to play an instrument, exercise, and do creative activities like painting, pottery and, guess what, writing!

If we are solely concerned with the end result of everything we do, we lose the whole inconvenient, messy, unclear and yet rewarding process of getting there. For writing, that means missing the process of maturing an idea, going through drafts, thinking about how to expose an argument, erase paragraphs, rewrite lines and so on and so forth. Yes, it’s not efficient. And that’s what makes writing humane.

But what AI language models brought to us is a tempting tool of comparison. For writing, that means I cannot write as fast as an AI model. And while I can come up with a prompt in my mind and tell my brain to write about genuine writing in the digital era, I cannot immediately start typing hundreds of words that will form a coherent text in a matter of seconds.

We are obsessed with saving time. We can’t endure any inconveniences. AI language models invite writers to accelerate their writing up to a level which is humanly impossible to follow. They offer writers a powerful shortcut. While I write these lines, there is a part of my brain that is telling me: “Leo, why don't you simply copy and paste that into ChatGPT and work on top of what the model gives back to you? For sure you will be done with that text so much faster!”. On the other hand, the critical side of my brain challenges me: “But why do you want to speed it up? Why don’t you respect your rhythm to write a text of your own?”.

You’ve probably heard about neuroplasticity, which is the brain’s ability to adapt itself to whatever is more useful and rewarding for our survival. And this serves a primal evolutionary function: to save energy. The brain requires a lot of energy just to operate its daily functions, so whatever we can optimize in our lives to save brain energy, we will do. Our brain loves being in an automatic mode. Imagine how exhausting it would be if we had to think every day how to brush our teeth, how to ride a bike, how to cut beef and eat with a fork. Remember when you were learning handwriting at school? So much time was needed to write a short sentence. But then, as we keep training and executing these tasks, our brain consolidates the neural circuits to repeat these tasks in habitual ways. That’s a rough evolutionary explanation for why it is so convenient to not consciously think about everything we do. So it’s obvious to say that the less we practice a skill – such as writing without AI models – every time we attempt to do so, the harder it will be. 

Add to it the fact that we live in a fast-paced digital society that often rewards high productivity over quality and monetizes our attention. These two pieces together make the perfect recipe for not doing any kind of genuine writing for its own sake. Rather, the message we are getting from society is that as long as we have many clicks, views and likes, we are doing good! These are the socio-economic metrics that matter. And because we’re socially wired animals, we tend to do what society rewards us with.

The result is that, if we sit down to write anything, our intention is corrupted in the first place: we write not for the sake of writing, but with the goal to post it as fast as we can to keep up with the online pressure to generate content and improve our personal brand (which, by the way, is another metric: we no longer see ourselves as human beings but as a product exposed in the marketplace [hence brand] that needs constant updates and improvements to get attention from buyers). 

Music composers are now having to compete with firms that use AI to compose hundreds of songs a day with the goal of selling them to famous interpreters and become a new popular hit — I’m not even going to start the discussion on copyrights. What impresses me is that there is no social shame in that.

AI language models are everything but neutral. Their raison d’être is to be used and fed by us. And they are getting better each day, so why bother having to sit down and contemplate about the importance of genuine writing? Because I hope that, by now, you understand that my point is not about genuine writing. Or at least not only about it. It’s about how we, individually and collectively, are being profoundly shaped and transformed by the mere existence of AI language models.

To give my example: even if I refuse to use an AI language model for writing this text, I cannot ignore its existence. I am still embedded in an economic system which is obsessed with developing AI and obsessed to apply it to as many things as possible. In that way, I’m also pressured to some extent to deal with this technology, because if I just refuse to use AI language models in my life, that could become a competitive disadvantage for me. I must confess that I have felt a strong temptation to write more, post more online, produce more content, and seek greater visibility. And I know that AI language models could bring so much more efficiency to my life.

Yet, I urge myself to resist using it when I am consciously attempting to expose my own ideas through writing, and I have my own reasons. Let me just give one of them.

I’m afraid of the consequences that in the endless pursuit of optimization and efficiency brought further by AI-driven language models, we become more like machines than better human beings. Optimization and efficiency, like French philosopher Jacques Ellul told us in the 60s, are technological values. However, as modern technology increasingly permeates our lives to a point where we can no longer draw a clear line of separation between what falls in the technological domain and what falls in the human domain – as postphenomenology correctly approaches it – we end up expecting that ourselves and others also follow the same logic that applies to technology, incorporating these same values of efficiency and optimization into human values. In other words, we see ourselves as products subject to endless optimization, as this was the purpose of a life worth living. But by keeping comparing our performance to those of machines, particularly AI, we very quickly realize that we have already lost the battle. The question that follows is existential: if we manage to create machines that can outperform ourselves in almost every task (including language!), what is left for us? Maybe we need to reframe how we understand and replicate the narratives and metaphors about technology and its relationship to ourselves.

Precisely, genuine writing is an act of sobriety and humanity against our prevalent optimization-driven lives. It brings back the imperfection, the inconsistencies, the patience, everything that we are constantly told not to bear. Consider the ancient habit of journaling, which is about bringing all of what’s happening in our inner world onto a piece of paper. The end goal of journaling is not to finish the journal but journaling itself. We would miss the point of journaling were we to give some prompts to a language model about our day, asking it to journal it for us. And why is that? Because it is through the slow process of writing that we structure our thoughts, feelings, concerns and so on. It’s about the way, not the result.

Journaling on paper is also subjectively different from journaling on a computer. Typing a keyboard is faster than handwriting, sure it is. But again: are we measuring everything as efficient/not efficient by how much time is needed to accomplish a task? Several scientific studies have demonstrated that handwriting has more positive cognitive implications on the writer than typewriting, particularly when looking at the capacity of retaining information and of conceptual thinking. Reducing everything we do to how fast we can do them narrows our existence into one that understands and treats everything as a means to an end.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not suggesting that using your laptop for writing undermines what I call 'genuine writing' or that it should be avoided. I use my laptop daily for various tasks, including writing. Take this article, for example: whenever I have a new draft, I don’t need to mail my manuscript to my editor in the Netherlands. Instead, I can send it instantly via email, making our collaboration much more efficient. He can add comments, suggest edits, and send it back to me—all without either of us struggling with each other’s handwriting! Emails, the internet, laptops, tablets, and smartphones provide us with great shortcuts, reducing the time needed to complete tasks. However, none of these technologies offer a convenient substitute for the act of writing itself.

When AI language models prove to be able to do that – and are advancing incredibly fast – they bring a whole new level to the endless pursuit of optimization game we are all inevitably playing, as we very quickly became tempted to outsource writing itself. Afterall, what’s the harm? Ellul said once that “every technological step forward has its price […] we must always ask ourselves what price we have to pay for something”.

Maybe the price is that we are increasingly impatient with whatever takes time to mature. We want to speed up everything and simply can’t bear the natural flow of things. Not only the process of writing, but also how relationships are formed and developed, the voice messages from WhatsApp, the videos we watch online, and the time it takes for a product we just bought online to arrive at our door. Paradoxically, regardless of how much faster we can get things out of the way, the more we complain about lack of time.

I realize that whether we are willing to perfect writing or any skill in whatever domain, there is no shortcut, no app, no AI that can do it for ourselves. Yes, it’s uncomfortable at the start, as it does not save brain energy. And that’s because anything we do with the intention to elevate our spirit, our consciousness, our physical health, our ability to think critically, will undeniably encounter resistance, either our own or from others. However, the rewards we experience by practicing a task consistently until we master it is not measured in likes nor views, which give us quick hits of dopamine, but it’s a more long-lasting personal fulfillment and sense of joy. It’s the joy we experience by recognizing ourselves through the piece of work that we did – whether it is an article, a PhD thesis, a song or a complex project.

Otherwise, if we keep throwing ourselves mindlessly into all the conveniences offered by modern language models as a legitimate replacer for genuine writing, we face the risk of losing the beauty of experiencing and exploring how powerful, complex, ambiguous and, for these very reasons, fascinating our minds are. Genuine writing is an invitation to expand our existence and ways to interpret and reinterpret our lives in a world that is ever-increasingly populated by machines. 

Series 'AI Metaphors'

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1. The tool
Category: The object
Humans shape tools. We make them part of our body while we melt their essence with our intentions. They require some finesse to use but they never fool us or trick us. Humans use tools, tools never use humans. We are the masters determining their course, integrating them gracefully into the minutiae of our everyday lives. Immovable and unyielding, they remain reliant on our guidance, devoid of desire and intent, they remain exactly where we leave them, their functionality unchanging over time. We retain the ultimate authority, able to discard them at will or, in today's context, simply power them down. Though they may occasionally foster irritation, largely they stand steadfast, loyal allies in our daily toils. Thus we place our faith in tools, acknowledging that they are mere reflections of our own capabilities. In them, there is no entity to venerate or fault but ourselves, for they are but inert extensions of our own being, inanimate and steadfast, awaiting our command. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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2. The machine
Category: The object
Unlike a mere tool, the machine does not need the guidance of our hand, operating autonomously through its intricate network of gears and wheels. It achieves feats of motion that surpass the wildest human imaginations, harboring a power reminiscent of a cavalry of horses. Though it demands maintenance to replace broken parts and fix malfunctions, it mostly acts independently, allowing us to retreat and become mere observers to its diligent performance. We interact with it through buttons and handles, guiding its operations with minor adjustments and feedback as it works tirelessly. Embodying relentless purpose, laboring in a cycle of infinite repetition, the machine is a testament to human ingenuity manifested in metal and motion. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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3. The robot
Category: The object
There it stands, propelled by artificial limbs, boasting a torso, a pair of arms, and a lustrous metallic head. It approaches with a deliberate pace, the LED bulbs that mimic eyes fixating on me, inquiring gently if there lies any task within its capacity that it may undertake on my behalf. Whether to rid my living space of dust or to fetch me a chilled beverage, this never complaining attendant stands ready, devoid of grievances and ever-willing to assist. Its presence offers a reservoir of possibilities; a font of information to quell my curiosities, a silent companion in moments of solitude, embodying a spectrum of roles — confidant, servant, companion, and perhaps even a paramour. The modern robot, it seems, transcends categorizations, embracing a myriad of identities in its service to the contemporary individual. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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4. Intelligence
Category: The object
We sit together in a quiet interrogation room. My questions, varied and abundant, flow ceaselessly, weaving from abstract math problems to concrete realities of daily life, a labyrinthine inquiry designed to outsmart the ‘thing’ before me. Yet, with each probe, it responds with humanlike insight, echoing empathy and kindred spirit in its words. As the dialogue deepens, my approach softens, reverence replacing casual engagement as I ponder the appropriate pronoun for this ‘entity’ that seems to transcend its mechanical origin. It is then, in this delicate interplay of exchanging words, that an unprecedented connection takes root that stirs an intense doubt on my side, am I truly having a dia-logos? Do I encounter intelligence in front of me? (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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5. The medium
Category: The object
When we cross a landscape by train and look outside, our gaze involuntarily sweeps across the scenery, unable to anchor on any fixed point. Our expression looks dull, and we might appear glassy-eyed, as if our eyes have lost their function. Time passes by. Then our attention diverts to the mobile in hand, and suddenly our eyes light up, energized by the visual cues of short videos, while our thumbs navigate us through the stream of content. The daze transforms, bringing a heady rush of excitement with every swipe, pulling us from a state of meditative trance to a state of eager consumption. But this flow is pierced by the sudden ring of a call, snapping us again to a different kind of focus. We plug in our earbuds, intermittently shutting our eyes, as we withdraw further from the immediate physical space, venturing into a digital auditory world. Moments pass in immersed conversation before we resurface, hanging up and rediscovering the room we've left behind. In this cycle of transitory focus, it is evident that the medium, indeed, is the message. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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6. The artisan
Category: The human
The razor-sharp knife rests effortlessly in one hand, while the other orchestrates with poised assurance, steering clear of the unforgiving edge. The chef moves with liquid grace, with fluid and swift movements the ingredients yield to his expertise. Each gesture flows into the next, guided by intuition honed through countless repetitions. He knows what is necessary, how the ingredients will respond to his hand and which path to follow, but the process is never exactly the same, no dish is ever truly identical. While his technique is impeccable, minute variation and the pursuit of perfection are always in play. Here, in the subtle play of steel and flesh, a master chef crafts not just a dish, but art. We're witnessing an artisan at work. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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7. The deficient animal
Category: The human
Once we became upright bipedal animals, humans found themselves exposed and therefore in a state of fundamental need and deficiency. However, with our hands now free and our eyes fixed on the horizon instead of the ground, we gradually evolved into handy creatures with foresight. Since then, human beings have invented roofs to keep them dry, fire to prepare their meals and weapons to eliminate their enemies. This genesis of man does not only tell us about the never-ending struggle for protection and survival, but more fundamentally about our nature as technical beings, that we are artificial by nature. From the early cave drawings, all the way to the typewriter, touchscreens, and algorithmic autocorrections, technics was there, and is here, to support us in our wondering and reasoning. Everything we see and everywhere we live is co-invented by technics, including ourselves. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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8. The enhanced human
Category: The human
In a lab reminiscent of Apple HQ, a figure lies down, receiving his most recent cognitive updates. He wears a sleek transparent exoskeleton, blending the dark look of Bat Man with the metallic of Iron Man. Implemented in his head, we find a brain-computer interface, enhancing his cognitive abilities. His decision making, once burdened by the human deficiency we used to call hesitation or deliberation, now takes only fractions of seconds. Negative emotions no longer fog his mind; selective neurotransmitters enhance only the positive, fostering beneficial social connections. His vision, augmented to perceive the unseen electromechanical patterns and waves hidden from conventional sight, paints a deeper picture of the world. Garbed in a suit endowed with physical augmentations, he moves with strength and agility that eclipse human norms. Nano implants prolong the inevitable process of aging, a buffer against time's relentless march to entropy. And then, as a penultimate hedge against the finite, the cryo-cabin awaits, a sanctuary to preserve his corporal frame while bequeathing his consciousness to the digital immortality of coded existence. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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9. The cyborg
Category: The human
A skin so soft and pure, veins pulsing with liquid electricity. This fusion of flesh and machinery, melds easily into the urban sprawl and daily life of future societies. Something otherworldly yet so comfortingly familiar, it embodies both pools of deep historical knowledge and the yet-to-be. It defies categorization, its existence unraveling established narratives. For some, its hybrid nature is a perplexing anomaly; for others, this is what we see when we look into the mirror. This is the era of the cyborg. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
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About the author(s)

FreedomLab Fellow Leonardo Werner has a background in law and holds a master's degree in Philosophy of Science, Technology and Society from the University of Twente, the Netherlands. He is particularly interested in the topics of ethics, existentialism and human-technology interaction. His present research and writing center on augmented reality, artificial intelligence and the consequences of digital technologies in our daily lives.

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