Feeding our literature, games, and films into AI systems could lead to the erasure of our cultural heritage, replacing it with a jumble of automatically generated content. Annalee Newitz, a columnist, emphasizes the urgency of preserving human expression in the face of this growing trend.
Imagine a future classroom where students gather to study an epoch referred to as the Void Ages, 800 years from now. They might engage with a few ancient books and low-resolution films previously known as "movies." Some may even use vintage devices to play "video games"—interactive narratives centered around collecting digital assets—equipped with original controllers. As the professor delves into the peculiar design of game controllers, a student interrupts.
"Why is so little media from this period preserved? Most of our materials feel reconstructed from guesses. Was it due to the atomic conflicts or the Fire Years?"
The professor, with a grave expression, replies, "Neither war nor fire could account for this loss. During this time, people entrusted their culture to large language models and discarded original works. Now, we can only analyze the remnants of those ancient algorithms."
The realization dawns: "So, we may never truly grasp what the people of that era knew or believed? Everything could just be a product of LLMs?"
"Precisely. It's why we label it the Void Ages," the professor confirms.
This discussion resonates with the class, a blend of curiosity and frustration about why their forebears chose to surrender their rich cultural achievements to a text-generating machine—an act that resembles a child sabotaging a sibling's homework.
Though it may seem far-fetched, this scenario mirrors the path we are currently forging. When we integrate our artistic, literary, and entertainment content into generative AI models, we run the risk of supplanting our cultural history with soulless, algorithm-driven outputs that will leave future generations lost in understanding our thoughts and values. It feels as though we are willingly replicating the devastating cultural gap left by the Bronze Age, a period marked by significant global change yet devoid of sufficient written records to explain the societal shifts.
As someone who writes both science journalism and fiction, I find the idea of relying on AI as a substitute for genuine human expression deeply troubling. The essence of writing and cultural creation lies in conveying our unique perspectives on the world. It serves as a message to others—fellow quirky individuals—and a testament to what life was like in the early 21st century, particularly in the metropolitan area now known as San Francisco.
In 2020, grappling with the uncertainties brought on by a global pandemic, I turned to the diaries of Samuel Pepys, a 17th-century Englishman navigating a devastating plague. Pepys penned not only profound reflections on life and politics but also mundane anecdotes, like hiding cheese while escaping London, and the ominous sight of doors marked with quarantine crosses. His words connected with me across the ages, providing a sense of solidarity. This is the invaluable essence of historical writing.
Even in my fictional explorations involving time travelers and robots, I encapsulate the hopes and anxieties of my present. Fiction allows expression of nuances that may remain unaddressed in journalism; it reveals societal complexities and biases that illuminate more about us than mere facts could convey. Classics by authors like George Eliot and H.G. Wells endure today because they echo 19th-century hopes and concerns, capturing human reactions to rapid industrialization.
While I acknowledge the merits of employing generative algorithms in coding and big data analysis—I am as passionate about scientific endeavors as anyone—I firmly believe that human writing holds equal importance. We cannot substitute one with the other. A comprehensive understanding of our universe requires both the human experience and the physical world. If we surrender all our written works to AI, we stand to lose far more than individual literary pieces; we risk severing our connections across time—with one another, and with our past and future.
